When I was young, my father and I would disagree about masculinity. I remember how he was deeply shocked and offended by the first 'Brut' adverts on the TV in which two very heterosexual sportsmen, Henry Cooper and Kevin Keegan, shared some roll-on deodorant. My father thought it meant the two of them were gay.
Every once in a while, I stand in front of my wardrobe and hate everything in it. Things have either become too small, too big, too old or I just feel meh about them. Put this alongside some dubious fashion purchases that have only been worn once, or in some cases not at all, and suddenly the desire for new clothes becomes overwhelming.
My design philosophy is rich, luxurious and desirable, in the sense of a woman see's it, wants it and has to have it. I want my name to associate with this feeling. I want my graduate collection to be on the same level as Haute Couture, when I design I want my clothes to be segmented with this category.
Once upon a time, long before I moved to London, I used to enter Oxfam with a heady sense of adventure about the the delights I was sure to discover. And discover I did, knocking aside the elderly in my greedy quest to rifle through the rails, gathering great swathes of questionable but utterly brilliant items into my arms.