ON CRE ATING A BRAND WITH GEN Z APPE AL

I see the Ahluwalia Instagram as a por olio. If I’m talking to someone unfamiliar with the brand, I’m more likely to pull up the IG page than the website. e great thing about social media now is that everyone can market themselves to a global audience without having to go through the traditional channels of fashion communication. It’s not only about your brand’s page but your appearance on other pages, too. Having a presence doesn’t necessarily mean those people are going to buy anything – it’s about building a community.

I never think about creating a trend or designing something so it can go viral on the internet. Everything do is really research-based, so care more about whether I’m creating work that will leave a lasting memory in someone’s mind or that people will emotionally connect to.

When I was growing up, there were no Black and Brown female designers Representation is really important to me – to be able to amplify my culture and my community. Fashion for a long time has been Eurocentric. I think a lot of Black and Brown people, especially Gen Z, really resonate with our brand because they see themselves reflected in a way their parents never have.

By Emma McCarthy

If you start your own brand, it’s great to have ideas but what’s really beneficial is to understand how you want to communicate them. I feel like my job really sits between the two areas – I’m constantly selling the idea of myself on the brand, whether it’s through partnerships or product placement. ere are so many brands in the world, it’s important to think about how you di erentiate.

To be a new business owner, you need to get to grips with numbers. Because no ma er how good your ideas are, if you run out of cash you can’t turn that into something tangible. I’m fortunate because my mum is my financial director. I love working with her. I trust her so much and the fact that I don’t have to constantly worry gives me space to do other aspects of my job.

Collaboration is the best way to learn. I learnt so much about how huge fashion businesses operate through projects with Gucci and Adidas. My collaboration with Ganni taught me a lot about merchandising and range planning, but it also made me think about the best strategy for hiring a team. For example, when you’re busy on your own, you might think you need more designers, when in reality a new recruit in marketing may be a be er hire.

I wouldn’t do anything differently, except… Now I always interview people for jobs twice.

I think of menswear and womenswear as one collection. A traditionally menswear skew may have a “sister”, but the clothes we produce can be worn by anyone, in any way they want. What makes it di icult to be fluid is that the entire system needs to change, from wholesale buyers through to pa ern cu ers. It’s going to take time for all the di erent elements to catch up.

I don’t want to be called “sustainable”. It’s such a wide term and so reductive. I’m already a Black and Brown woman in fashion, don’t need another label for the industry to typecast me with. I make clothes the way we should be making them, as responsibly as we can, and think that my work should speak for itself. Our goal is to be a leader and inspire others. The whole point as creatives is to innovate so that future generations can find an even better way forward.

Partner of Rick Owens, occasional cabaret performer and living art piece, the indefatigable Michèle Lamy takes 180 House

By Bryony Stone

or her entire life, Michèle Lamy has defied easy definition. But since this is a portrait of the artist, let’s begin. For the past three decades, Lamy has worked with her business partner and husband Rick Owens to build OWENSCORP. Ostensibly a luxury fashion and furniture business, OWENSCORP has come to function beyond the purely transactional, elevated to near-spiritual status by hoards of devotees who worship at the altar of Rick and Michèle.

Lamy, the co-founding partner and managing director art/ furniture at OWENSCORP, has her role in the brand’s shows and gives her perspective on every part of the production. In this guise, Lamy advises her well-known friends on interior design. Her taste, if her Parisian home and OWENSCORP’s furniture output is anything to go by, merges the angular with the sculptural; concrete Brutalism with raw natural materials, including bone, marble, alabaster, bronze, leather and the occasional moose antler. “It sounds eclectic when I talk about it, but rappers are the poets of our time,” Lamy says. “I like to talk with poets; they leave a lot to the imagination, but it feels more resonant for this moment. I think the world is ge ing pushed forward by artists.”

OWENSCORP is a sensibility; a darkly poetic mode through which Owens and Lamy engage with the world they inhabit. It is housed in a five-storey building which, in a former life, was the administrative headquarters of the French Socialist Party. As our conversation begins over Zoom, find Lamy at home, framed by the camera in front of a swirling mural painted by her daughter, Scarle Rouge. She is dressed in a long-sleeved jumper in her now-signature black (Lamy wears a combination of bespoke pieces created by her husband and archive Comme des Garçons), with a line of charcoal kohl streaked vertically down her forehead. Her fingers are tipped down to the first knuckle with a midnight black Japanese dye made from vegetables, and every digit is ta ooed and stacked high with silver rings.

Dangling between her first and second fingers is a whitetipped cigare e, smoked and replaced at regular intervals throughout our hour-long conversation.

Michèle Lamy is a woman always in motion. She’s not one to dwell on the past, but during her years on this earth, she has lived one thousand lives. Born in Jura, France, her grandfather made accessories for French fashion designer Paul Poiret, who is o en credited with establishing the modern fashion industry. Lamy studied philosophy under poststructuralist Gilles Deleuze and worked as a defence lawyer and a cabaret dancer before moving to New York and onwards to Los Angeles, where she launched her mononymous clothing line Lamy, hired Rick Owens as a pa ern cu er and opened Too Soon To Know, a shop on Santa Monica Boulevard.

With her first husband Richard Newton, Lamy launched two restaurants in Los Angeles: French bistro Café des Artistes and Les Deux Cafes, a two-storey 1904 Arts and Crafts bungalow situated in Provençal-style gardens with interiors designed in partnership with Hollywood great Paul Fortune –who later went on to design the interiors of the Tower Bar on Sunset Boulevard. Taking notes from old-world Hollywood nightlife haunts including Chasen’s, Scandia and Brown Derby, Les Deux Cafes was a den of iniquity. Situated in a former parking lot, hidden further still behind an unmarked steel door, Les Deux Cafes a racted a crowd of the biggest celebrities of the 1990s – among them Heath Ledger, Al Pacino, Nicole Kidman, Ridley Sco , Lenny Kravitz, Madonna, Bill Murray, Gore Vidal, David Lynch, Pu Daddy and Doug Aitkin – who came perhaps less for the food than to drink and dine in proximity to Lamy; to experience her unpredictable, riotous allure and to feel part of her world, if only for one night. Lamy’s tiny frame – usually elevated by vertiginous leather pla orm boots – is impossible to miss at art fairs, where she has carved a path as a curator with a succession of bargebased events mirroring the unpredictable, interdisciplinary nature of the 1960s art movement Fluxus. At Frieze London, Lamy helmed Bargel, a cruise-turned-floating party; at the n April, Lamy is set to appear at the Soho Summit, the festival of ideas spanning design, art, technology, fashion and sustainability held at Soho Farmhouse. “It was a surprise to me that was [asked] to do Soho Summit, but at the same time I am so excited about it,” she says. “Soho House is not an obvious Rick Owens world, but it is completely my world. We put each other in each other’s worlds, just for a glimpse or to react to something.” Just don’t expect a keynote speech. “I already have someone in mind that I would like to do something with,” Lamy says. “ is world is important to me. It’s coming from Les Deux Cafes and going to Soho House, being with artists who are creating their environment and sharing a part of their world with installation and live performances.” 180 House, where this photoshoot took place, happens to be one of Lamy’s favourites. “I love going to 180 Strand whenever I am in London because there is everything that I like over there,” she says. “ ere is also 180 Studios, where the headquarters of Je erson Hack are. And they organise the best art exhibitions… I can go on and on.”

Venice Biennale was Bargenale, a barge docked at Certosa with a roster of guests including A$AP Rocky and UNKLE founder James Lavelle; at the Barbican in London, Bargican became part of Doug Aitken’s art project Station to Station In his Fluxus manifesto, founder George Maciunas laid out his vision for a movement that would fully integrate art and life, creating a “living art, anti-art…NON ART REALITY to be fully grasped by all peoples, not only critics, dile antes and professionals”. Lamy embodies Fluxus for the present day, becoming the catalyst for collective experiences which force unlikely guests together by demanding active participation.

For LAMYLAND – the umbrella term for all of Lamy’s creative endeavours – she pushed the concept further by placing a boxing gym inside Selfridges London for a performance in which boxing became an unlikely vessel for cultural, spiritual, social and ultimately existential questions. Lamy herself has practised boxing for over 40 years, citing Downtown New York’s Overthrow Boxing Club as her favourite place to train. en there are her musical performances, best showcased perhaps by Lavascar, the noise band she formed with daughter Scarle and artist Nico Vascellari. “I enjoy performance, singing,” she says.

With her 80th birthday edging ever-closer, Lamy shows no signs of slowing down. For the inaugural issue of System Beauty, she was shot for the magazine’s cover by Juergen Teller and captured in conversation with artist Anselm Kiefer. “Perhaps they put me on the cover because I’m the only one who hasn’t had any surgery,” she laughs. “I am not the specialist of beauty products or beauty… I think it was giving a spirit.” Reflecting on her life, Lamy tells me, “I am happiest when bring things together and a er, in the li le time of quiet but when you know already that something else is going to happen. I am like One ousand and One Nights –there is one story, but it is followed by another one. always think tomorrow is going to be so exciting.” Lamy considers herself lucky, but not as the recipient of pre-determined luck or cosmic destiny. Put simply, she exists in thrall to her instinct and her desire to experience every facet of life. “I’m seduced; want to follow, want to participate,” she says. “ ere are so many things to do; it could be boxing or participating with the greatest architect in the world. I can’t say it was luck, but at the same time I feel lucky.”

All of which is to say, Lamy is insatiable and indefatigable. “I’m always ready to see something new and make sense of it later,” she says. Her formidable image commands not only magazine covers but, in late 2022, a series of screenings on billboard spaces at London’s Piccadilly Lights and in Berlin, Melbourne and Tokyo. e film, titled LIMBO, was created in partnership with the Cultural Institute of Radical Contemporary Art (CIRCA) and directed by Amanda Demme and Mollie Mills. It depicts an unretouched Lamy lying on her stomach on crumpled linen bedsheets. Her gaze is unwavering, her voice silent; she is both subject and audience, the watcher and the watched. “Beauty is being yourself,” she says. “To be naked at Piccadilly Circus, having this voice that CIRCA gave me… I hope people understood what I was trying to say, because being me in this moment in time, I thought it was the thing to do.”

She is the antithesis of the voiceless female muses who sat for portraits by the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood — women who were artists themselves but unable to access formal training due to the restrictions of their gender. Instead, Lamy considers herself a “companion” to Owens. “ ere is a routine; it’s a continuation of the story,” she says. at story has been wri en and re-wri en many times over the three decades since the pair met in Los Angeles, when Owens started working for Lamy. In 2017, Rizzoli published Rick Owens: Furniture, which opened with the following quote from Owens on Lamy: “No one makes me lose it like the Hun.” eir union endures, at least in part, due to OWENSCORP, which functions as a shorthand for their shared commitment to challenge and disrupt. Lamy’s politics are transmi ed through gatherings and performances, which range from quietly political (consider the radical undercurrents of her silence at Piccadilly Circus), to the overt, such as WHAT ARE WE SKATING FOR? – a 2022 skate art show with the mission to raise funds for a new skatepark build in Tameslouht, Morocco. “I am trying to do something and participate in the good side of humanity,” she says.

Michèle Lamy spent her 79th birthday in Egypt with Owens, cherishing stillness; that rarest of states. “We were staying in this place – we didn’t even touch a tomb!” she says. “We were more in the mood to be very quiet, to not do much. Enjoying the same thing, talking, reading and being in this remote place.” Lamy travelled to North Africa when she was around 17, where she saw Berber women with ta ooed faces – an ancient signifier of tribe, social and marital status. “I’m a nomad,” she says. “It’s why I feel super well in the desert, carrying everything with me in case I decide not to come back. My rings, my bracelets, everything I need to survive!”

Ask an average person what it means

“to play” and you’ll probably get an answer which alludes to having fun and laughing with friends until stitches set in. An actor, however, might take a di erent view: to play a role is to fully inhabit another character; to express their “truth” even when it’s a work of fiction. For Andrew Sco , though, there’s no in between. All work is all play. “I don’t think I’ve ever played a role where there’s no comedy,” says the 46-year-old, who is taking the stage at this year’s inaugural Soho Summit, held at Soho Farmhouse. Keep in mind that this is a man whose CV includes turns as the criminal mastermind Moriarty in subject and circumstance of a project make the process of bringing a character to life more challenging. Such was the case with Ripley, a new Ne lix series adaptation of Patricia Highsmith’s classic novel e Talented Mr. Ripley in which Sco plays the titular character.

“It was an extraordinarily di icult job to do. He’s a very intense character,” he says of the charismatic con-man-turnedmurderer, whose swindles lead to a life of isolation and paranoia. It didn’t help that filming took place in New York and hunker down and give up my life. [felt] so lucky to play the part that there was no choice but to just succumb to it.” Did Sco take a well-earned break once filming wrapped? Not quite. Instead, it was back to London for Andrew Haigh’s new film Strangers also starring Paul Mescal, Claire Foy and Jamie Bell. An adaptation of Japanese writer Taichi Yamada’s novel of the same name, the plot follows Sco ’s Adam, who begins to see his dead parents a er an encounter with Mescal’s character, Harry. e shoot for Strangers was a li le more relaxed. “We were just having a laugh. love Claire and Jamie, and Paul is a great friend,” he says of his Oscarnominated co-star and countryman. “It was wonderful to work with him – you do have a shorthand. We know a lot of the same people and we’ve been brought up in the same culture.” Plus, being in the city he calls home helped Sco to regain a sense of normality: “I would get the Tube to work because I was so happy to be back in London.”

Since then, Sco ’s had a chance to flex his funny bone in the more traditional sense. Last year, he appeared in the Lena Dunham-helmed comedy Catherine Called Birdy opposite The Last of Us star Bella Ramsey. And the day before we speak, fans caused a Twi er frenzy a er they spo ed Sco filming Back in Action around Richmond, London –a Ne lix action-comedy with Cameron Diaz and Jamie Foxx. Sco delicately evades any attempts to glean more information about the project. e most he can give away: “It’s been good fun.” e playful spirit sounds like it’s here to stay, then. Sco is able to find joy in every project because, ultimately, he knows that good art celebrates the highs and lows of human existence, even when one threatens to eclipse the other. “ e great gi of my job is to be able to understand why somebody might behave the way they do. It’s not about what you think you see, but what you actually see,” he concludes. “I’m just endlessly fascinated by the idiosyncrasies and the surprising nature of people.”

Actor Andrew Sco on his creepy new role in Ripley and what it was really like working with his old mate Paul Mescal

Sherlock a broken lieutenant in Sam Mendes’s World War I film 1917 and Shakespeare’s tragic hero Hamlet, at London’s Almeida theatre in 2017. “You know, Hamlet is a really funny play –all great tragedies have good comedy as well,” he argues. “One of our unique traits as human beings is our ability to be able to have a sense of humour, so when you’re representing humanity, that’s a very important thing to remember.”

Finding the funny isn’t always easy. In an ideal world, it’s already wri en into the script – see Sco ’s internet-breaking role as the “hot priest” in Phoebe WallerBridge’s Fleabag But sometimes, the

Italy during the pandemic, uprooting Sco for a year with li le opportunity to see friends and family. “I’ve never been away for that long. I found it really tough.” e actor o en found himself alone on set, too. “Usually, TV shows are about couples, families, a police department –groups of people,” Sco explains. “ is one was unusual in the sense that it’s based around one man. I was on set the whole time, with long shooting days, so it was hard to escape the character.” A er work, Sco would “draaag” himself to the gym, eat, then go straight to bed. On weekends, he’d make up for the sleep lost during night shoots. “I just had to

Louise Xin Couture

Worn by Louise Xin, creative director and founder of Louise Xin Couture

Self-taught Xin works largely with upcycled and deadstock fabrics for her brand, which is Scandinavia’s first rentalonly, none-sale couture label. “We came to this world with nothing, and we are leaving it in the same way,” says Xin. “ e beauty and magic of the earth can’t be owned, they are there to be shared – just like Louise Xin Couture.” Dress, approx £880 (excluding VAT) per day to rent, Louise Xin Couture

Northern

Lights

Soho House Stockholm is fast becoming a beacon for Sweden’s fashion pack. We’ve brought together some of the most notable names under one roof for a celebration of local design talent

Words by Teo van den Broeke Photography by Elisabeth Toll

Cdlp

Worn by Andreas Palm, co-founder of CDLP

“CDLP is a luxury essentials design house that founded with my best friend Christian Larson in 2016,” explains the perpetually upbeat Andreas Palm. “I wear this,” he says of the brand’s signature “Home” robe, which he is pictured in, “when working in our Maison, or to external meetings in the House. It feels effortless but tailored; have worn it to all occasions.”

Robe, £418, shirt, £218, and trousers, £180, all CLDP. Trainers, Palm’s own

Acne Studios

Worn by Izogie Guobadia, Director of Membership & Communications Europe at Soho House

Louise Xin Couture

Worn by Louise Xin, creative director and founder of Louise Xin Couture

Founded in 1996 by Jonny Johansson, Acne Studios has become synonymous with o -kilter Scandi style and killer denim. Who be er to showcase this than Izogie Guobadia, who was instrumental in the opening of Soho House Stockholm.

“I first loved Acne’s perfectly fi ing jeans,” she says. “Its pieces are timeless with a twist, which makes them fun to wear.” Coat, £2,700, Acne Studios. All other clothing, Guobadia’s own

Fronted by designer and activist Louise Xin, Louise Xin Couture is Scandinavia’s first rental-only, none-sale couture brand. Self-taught Xin works largely with upcycled and deadstock fabrics and is fast becoming a

Imaskopi

Worn by Nelly Skog, founder and creative director of Imaskopi

Swedish designer Nelly Skog creates genderless kni ed clothes with a playful edge for her label Imaskopi. “I want to challenge norms of aesthetic, gender and handicra ,” she explains. “ is look is from my upcoming collection, which is more melancholic than the previous one. is time I’m inspired by res ul boredom and non-demanding grey days.” Jumper, approx £355, skirt and legwarmers, both price on request, all Imaskopi. All other clothing, Skog’s own

House Of Dagmar

Worn by Karin Söderlind and Sofia Wallenstam, co-founders of House of Dagmar

Sisters Karin Söderlind, Kristina Tjäder and Sofia Wallenstam established their label in 2005, naming it a er their grandmother.

“ e Swedish woman is our biggest source of inspiration,” says Söderlind. “House of Dagmar has this Swedish minimalistic side: we want you to feel sensual but also e ortless. at’s the typical Swedish woman: she’s never too much but she’s there.”

Karin (le ) wears T-shirt, £90, and trousers, £260, both House of Dagmar. Sofia (right) wears coat, £380, House of Dagmar. All other clothing, their own

Adnym Atelier

Worn by Stefan Söderberg, co-founder of Adnym Atelier

Acne Alumnus Stefan Söderberg co-founded Adnym Atelier with Frippe Persson in 2016. “Adnym’s progressive, genderless designs meet your everyday needs,” he says. “We will always design for individuals, not gender. We reach out to people who want to wear clothes that strengthen who they are, rather than becoming what they wear.” Jacket, approx £575, jumper, approx £250, and trousers, approx £250, all Adnym Atelier. Glasses, Söderberg’s own

Tiger Of Sweden

Worn by Per Håkans, marketing director of Tiger of Sweden, and his daughter Selma Håkans, artist

Tiger of Sweden is “not just any brand”, says marketing director Per Håkans, pictured with his daughter Selma. “We’re celebrating 120 years. With that, I think, comes responsibility.” Per is wearing a jacket from the recent Ben Cobb for Tiger of Sweden collection. “When we started the project, we agreed that we should have fun doing it,” he explains. “We also had fun when this shoot started,” adds Selma, “but you owe me one now – just so you know.”

Selma (le ) wears: jacket, £639, and jeans, £179, both Tiger of Sweden. Per (right) wears jacket, £719, Ben Cobb for Tiger of Sweden.

Jumper, £399, shirt, £339, and trousers, £429, all Tiger of Sweden. Boots, vintage Tiger of Sweden. All other clothing, their own

Cmmn Swdn

Worn by Saif Bakir and Emma Bakir Hedlund (with their son, Idris), founders of CMMN SWDN

Husband and wife design duo Saif Bakir and Emma Bakir Hedlund established CMMN SWDN in Malmö in 2012. “Our considered approach is the coming together of contrasts – a result of our diverse backgrounds and design disciplines,” explains Bakir Hedlund. “Our collections seek to traverse the boundaries between masculine and feminine sensibilities.”

Saif (le ) wears jacket, £928, top, £309, and trousers, £239, all CMMN SWDN. Emma wears top, £301, and trousers, £167, both CMMN SWDN. All other clothing, their own

By James Conrad Williams

When have a subject in mind, I like to imagine the session we’re going to do together. en I get prepared. think of the best location and start to build the team I will work with on the day. Good chemistry on a shoot is key. And then I like to leave a li le space for that unplanned magic to just happen on the day. at’s the exciting part!

e secret to making people relax in front of the camera is to show them your idea, give them direction and then collaborate with them to make it happen. Make them feel included and light it well, so that they feel really good.

Be prepared and organised, but don’t overthink it. Allow some space for the unexpected and keep on shooting at any opportunity you get, so you can build up your confidence and perfect your style. And don’t be too hard on yourself.

Find a creative mentor. At the beginning of my career, I had my mum, Linda McCartney, as my creative soundboard. could always rely on her for honest and direct advice. She was one of my creative icons, alongside Diane Arbus, Bernice Abbot and Garry Winogrand for photography, and Hal Ashby and Kathryn Bigelow as film directors.

Inspire yourself. Go to a museum to wander and daydream. Paintings, their composition and lighting, can be hugely inspiring. London’s National Gallery, Tate Britain and the National Portrait Gallery are some of my favourites.

I’ve never cared much about what people think about me, other than my friends. I think it’s always been embedded in me. I’ve always had strong female role models – especially in my family, but also in music. There’s always been a Madonna, a Whitney Houston, a Grace Jones – a strong musical role model who, publicly at least, was fearless and didn’t give a f**k.

We all know the RuPaul quote: “We’re all born naked and the rest is drag.” My ou its – which are escapism, but also a work uniform – add a layer of armour and a “let’s go” mentality. I don’t need it, but I like it to perform and present in.

DJing is 50% entertainment, 50% education, 100% party. It’s half playing stu that people really want to hear and half playing new stu , too.

I never plan my sets. I’m not there like a robot, just playing songs I’ve already thought about in order. It takes quite a big level of fearlessness to be there, in front of the crowd, going: “I don’t know what I’m about to do, but we’re in this together, and the energy that you give back to me is going to dictate how I’m going to perform to you.”

Very rarely have I gone to a work thing and thought, “I wish I didn’t do that.”

I just go with it. I facilitate fun, so I’d be a bit of an arsehole if was moaning about my job all the time. constantly remind myself how lucky I am to be making a living doing the things I love.

I started my artist project three years ago. I’d done bits of production and some writing previously, but it got to the point where I had loads of stu made and it was like: do keep giving this to other people or do I just bite the bullet and start releasing music on my own?

I always get anxious pre-release. e song that’s lived in your laptop for six months, a year, is about to be given to everyone and you’ve not got any control over it. I never worry if people will hate it, or wouldn’t put it out. It’s more that I hope people like it as much as me.

I love being queer. It’s my favourite thing about myself. I’ve always naturally been very di erent and I’ve always liked to stand out from the crowd.

Hone your cra before you present it to others. Be willing to get out there and do your thing – don’t do what someone else does, because that person already exists.

I’ve already planned my funeral. It’s going to be the biggest rave. I hope people remember me for being really fun; for creating a place you can escape to.

By David Levesley

Photographer and film director Mary McCartney – whose first documentary If eseWallsCould Sing will be screened at Soho Summit – discusses finding inspiration in the Old Masters and the trick to making her subjects feel relaxed.

Do work you feel passionate about I’m very proud of If ese Walls Could Sing

It was a challenge to tell that story in 90 minutes. It was important to convey why

I feel so passionately about Abbey Road Studios; needed to infuse it with that emotion. When it premiered at Telluride Film Festival, to see the appreciation of the audience was such a great feeling.

I would describe my style of direction as collaborative. I don’t tend to go on set and start bossing everyone around! It comes down to teamwork. need to be on the ball and give a clear vision, but also need to let the team excel at what they do best. I like to create a comfortable space for my subjects. That way, once I start shooting, we can connect.

Photographing Her Majesty e Queen le an indelible mark. It was incredible to be invited to Buckingham Palace. It was very relaxed and I was allowed to observe her character and how engaged she was in the whole process.

Keep Busy. ere are so many things still to capture. I’m currently searching for my next directing project and finishing preparations for my new photographic exhibition Can We Have A Moment? Plus, I’m deep into making a new portrait/cook book called Feeding Creativity due out later this year.

By Teo van den Broeke

e British fashion designer and Soho Summit headliner on what he’s learnt from five decades (and counting) in the industry

I always advise budding designers to find their own point of view. e truth is, nobody needs another designer, so you need to figure out what you’re about if you want to succeed. en it’s figuring out your style of design before starting in a low-level job with a company that suits your mindset. Creativity is important, of course, but you have to be able to understand modern communication, marketing and the way it all works – the actual design process is just part of the ingredients list these days.

who have been with since I was 21. Since the beginning, her standards have impacted the quality, cut and shape [of my designs]. She’s also helped me to keep my feet on the ground. It’s about good quality products and never living above your station or means.

I didn’t model my career on anyone else’s, but Pauline set a high standard. She was living in London, where she’d been studying at the Royal College [of Art]. She worked with London designers, so her references were not provincial but based on international and city culture. One of the first things we did was mount fashion shows, albeit tiny ones, in Paris during fashion week. We were put into the category of “international designer” because there was no London or Milan, there was just Paris. We’ve stayed showing there ever since.

ere are designers whose work I appreciate, of course. At the same time as me, there was Yves Saint Laurent breaking down barriers in the way he designed clothes for women. ey were so different. Four years after me, Mr Armani started. He was such an exceptional designer. He always had the back cover of L’Uomo Vogue and he built a very strong business.

Always work with people who have strengths you don’t. In the 1980s, I was lucky that my accountant joined the company as my financial guy. Although he knew nothing about fashion, he stayed with me for many years – my strengths were his weaknesses, and vice versa. Pauline’s standards, my enthusiasm and eventual design ability and John’s financial abilities made it work.

The initial clothes in the Paul Smith collection were ones I wanted to wear. My character isn’t confrontational. It’s about looking nice but not in a catwalk sense – clothes that an average man would like. My designs just had that extra nudge of a bright lining or contrast cut, so they were very wearable but also made the wearer feel special.

Regarding my success in Japan, people have said to me, “Of course you’ve been lucky.” But Pauline says, “It’s not called luck, it’s called hard work.” I started going to Japan in the 1980s. Many others my age – from Italy, France, America –went at the same time. Most of them didn’t have a business in Japan, or a business at all. Much of the reason it worked out for me was because I was going two to four times a year. Now, I have an o ice there. It’s about working hard and having your feet on the ground.

I’ll stop when I fall over. Either literally falling over or dying. don’t consider what I do work. Many young people now want to create a business to then sell.

at’s never been my purview. I’m not looking to sell Paul Smith. I’ll have to slow down because of health or age, maybe I’ll look for a buyer then. It’s not on the cards now. Let’s wait and see.

I’ve never thought about my legacy. It’s only ever been about today or tomorrow. Over the past few days, I’ve been writing postcards to sta who have an anniversary coming up. think wrote 30 or more cards to people who have been with me for over 20 years. If there is an image of the company, it’s that we are nice, polite, reliable and well organised. It’s very down to earth. [In 2020,] I started Paul Smith’s Foundation. I’m hoping it will provide opportunities for people to seek advice if they’re a bit lost in life. Hopefully.

When I first started as a designer, you could only find a brand like Louis Vui on in a small number of countries. Now, big brands are distributed worldwide. en there is the comms: social media is reliant on how much cash you’ve got and how much you can get your brand in front of people. It’s a challenge if you’re an independent brand, like us.

e key to my success is that I started working in a shop, then I had my own. I understand shops and the supply you need to curate them. A flow of ideas is essential. You have to understand about promotion and display. e key to my success is also my wife Pauline,

Somehow, we’ve always been a relevant brand. If there was a survey in the 1980s or 1990s, we’d have been at the top, and that’s where we’ve remained. It’s about good quality clothes that have relevance: modern but never over the top.

A new season marks a fresh start for food at Soho House. We’re going back to doing what we do best: focusing on fresh produce to create dishes our members will want to eat time and again. It all comes down to working with trusted suppliers for quality produce and locally sourced ingredients – we’re showcasing six of the best here

Asparagus

All our chefs are commi ed to cooking with seasonal ingredients. Not only is the practice environmentally friendly, it also allows for the freshest flavours to come to the fore. Case in point, asparagus: the woody vegetable is only really worth eating between the months of April and June (the season is finally here, huzzah!) and is grown at a number of our Houses, including the Wall Garden at Babington.

Scallops

Rhubarb

Tart, sweet and precociously pink, there’s very li le not to love about rhubarb. e season begins in April and stretches through to July, which is when the vegetable (yes, it’s a vegetable) is truly in its prime. We source our rhubarb from local producers, such as Chef’s Farms, and it’s best used in seasonal fools, cakes, trifles and desserts – its sharpness cu ing through rich creams and custards.

Radicchio

Sometimes the versatility of a single vegetable can be so stark that it transcends the status of mere “ingredient”. Case in point, the regal radicchio. With its bi er taste, crunchy texture and classic Dutch still-life aesthetic, it’s a hit at Soho House Rome and beyond. Best paired with citrus and salt – in fact, bacon is a dream partner for radicchio. Spring salad, anyone?

Lamb

Here at Soho House, we’re commi ed to creating the most satisfying dishes using responsibly and sustainably sourced produce. Our spring lamb, for instance, comes via respected producers such as Paddock Farm and Turner & George. If our suppliers are king, then consider this freshly roasted rack of lamb with sprigs of farm-picked rosemary their queen.

As far as pop star unveilings go, Debbie Ehirim has set the bar. The south London-based singer, known professionally as Debbie, was playing open mic nights across the capital as lockdown struck in 2020. She emerged from that strange time signed to 0207 Def Jam with a debut single: Is is Real Love? featuring Lucky Daye. Since then, the 23-year-old has opened for John Legend and Maverick Sabre on tour and achieved her first collaborative UK Top 10 with Stormzy’s Firebabe “I was telling myself to se le my dreams a bit, to humble myself,” she smiles. “I tried to keep my expectations low.” ere was, of course, no need.

A soul artist in the truest sense of the word, Debbie describes her style as “raw”, “authentic” and “in the moment”. She never thinks too hard about the music she’s writing because, she says, “that’s how art dies off”. Instead, her songs embody whatever spirit comes out at the time. “I’m really good at pu ing emotion into my music. I feel like can talk [about how I feel] through my melodies.” ree years ago, life was heading in a di erent direction. Debbie was a finance undergraduate at Pearson College London, on target to be an investment banker, underwriter or marketing strategist. “I loved business and numbers,” she admits. She was brought up in a “strict, religious house” and her younger days were very much “church/school, church/school”. Singing, however, was as natural as breathing. Music was rooted in her way of life. “I always had natural rhythm and harmony,” she says, so she wasn’t surprised when her mum told her she “was singing from the womb”.

Debbie admits it was a lack of confidence that stopped her pursuing music from the get-go. “But I couldn’t stop that creative itch.” So, in her first year of university, she took the leap.

“I remember it clearly, sitting in my living room and making the conscious decision: I would rather be broke doing what love than rich doing something that didn’t fulfil me.”

She worked two part-time jobs, doing the marketing for a start-up and as a learning advisor at a local college, all while completing her degree and a ending open mic nights and studio sessions in central London. “My mum would have been annoyed [if I didn’t finish university] and I’m a big believer in [having a] plan B,” she laughs. Not long a er, she met an A&R scout who introduced her to 0207 Def Jam – the label to which she eventually signed in November 2020. “It felt surreal.”

So, how does a finance studentturned-soul singer connect with the likes of Stormzy? e same A&R from Def Jam sent the grime star her music. When Stormzy came back saying he wanted to “jump in” on one of her sessions, Debbie was “freaking out a li le”. ankfully, “Stormz”, as she calls him, was “natural and normal. I looked at it as two people coming together to create music. But I was also trying to keep my cool so bad.” Since then, more studio time has resulted in numerous co-written tracks and Debbie’s silky vocals on Firebabe, from Stormzy’s chart-topping LP is Is What I Mean “I was humbled,” Debbie confides. “Art is personal, and for someone to say they trust you so much that they want you to feature on their art – let alone that person being Stormzy – is an honour.” is year, a European tour beckons, supporting four-time BRIT nominee RAYE. And, according to Debbie, we are yet to see what her music can really do. “I want to show the world more of that ‘Debbie flair,’” she says. e glint in her eye tells us she’ll succeed.

No Passengers is a joint endeavour from Soho House and Porsche, highlighting creative pioneers who are pushing culture forward. Over the past few months, we’ve released three docu-shorts, each focused on an individual who is a cultural leader in their field. Enter artist and designer Mac Collins, Steve and Nick Tidball of future-forward clothing label Vollebak and multi-hyphenate designer and filmmaker Dr Nelly Ben Hayoun-Stépanian

When it comes to innovation, Steve and Nick Tidball are experts. The British entrepreneurs combine science with creativity for their boundary-breaking label Vollebak. “Instead of designing for the next fashion season, we design for the next century,” says Steve. e idea came to the brothers in 2015 during an arduous run in the Namib desert, when their clothes weren’t fit for purpose. And so began Vollebak, a brand which makes clothing capable of withstanding cataclysmic world events. “Resource scarcity, space colonisation and climate change are things we factor into our design process,” says Steve. e “Apocalypse” jacket, cra ed from a material invented for NASA, is a prime example. As is their latest invention, the first computer-programmable “ ermal Camouflage” jacket.

“We start with problems we’re trying to crack, or with a crazy material. For instance, due to climate change, parts of the world are becoming colder. We’ll design not for the coldest place on Earth but in our solar system: Jupiter’s moon, Titan,” says Steve. “So we developed the ‘Titan’ fleece jacket – as the weather gets colder, the material gets stronger.” In the second instalment of our No Passengers series, we put the brand’s “Indestructible” pu er to the test. An electric Porsche Taycan Cross Turismo drops Swedish ultra-runner Jakob Åberg (who is wearing the jacket) in the wilds of Northern Sweden. Enduring temperatures as low as -22°C, the jacket, stitched from a fibre 15 times stronger than steel, sees Åberg safely to central Stockholm, where he enjoys a muchdeserved cocktail at Soho House.

“The most challenging aspect is where clothing will go next,” the brothers say. “It will start to combine with data, electronics, AI and robotics.” Ge ing people to wrap their heads around this hasn’t been as much of a task as you’d expect. “If someone had a empted this in the 1990s, the brand wouldn’t have made much sense,” says Steve. We’re living through times of outlier scenarios: wildfires, floods, people heading to Mars, a pandemic. It has made the public more receptive to a brand like ours.”

Mac Collins

Newcastle-based artist and designer Mac Collins crafts objects encompassing innovative design and inspiration from his Caribbean and African heritage. Experimenting with various artistic practices, he specialises in creating statement furniture, with one of his pieces – the Concur chair – included as part of the permanent collection at London’s Design Museum. “I consider my practice to be at the intersection between commercial or rational design and contemporary or conceptual art,” he says. “I started in furniture, so furniture is a language that I have predominantly used [to describe my work], but as my practice matures and grows, find more opportunities for it to shi in scale and ambition.”

Last year, Collins was awarded one of the Black British Artist Grants, designed to champion outstanding talent and created by Samuel Ross, winner of the 2022 Soho House Award for Changemaker of the Year. A few months later,

Collins was the subject of our first No Passengers film in collaboration with Porsche, where we visited his No ingham studio for an insight into the emotive and innovative nature of the creator’s hands-on practice. “I start each project by building the narrative and trying to define exactly what I want to communicate,” explains Collins. “Using machinery and being able to see and find the evidence of human interaction in the creation of these things is particularly important for me.”

One of Collins’s most recent creations was an installation exploring the game of dominoes, which holds a significant place in British-Caribbean communities.

“Playing dominoes and engaging with objects associated with the game has become a key for me to engage with aspects of my lineage,” he says. “ ese objects, like a single domino, become tokens to a larger concept.”

Collins is a shapeshi er in the world of fine art and design – his work highlights the importance of telling diasporic stories through realms of creativity that have historically been gatekept. By taking up space on his own terms, he is not only telling his own story, but spotlighting the untold stories of others and breaking barriers for a future generation of artists. “My dreams for the future of my practice is to reach different audiences with di erent languages,” he says. “I don’t want my practice to sit within a particular category of creative expression, but instead to flow between them, whether that’s commercial design, installations or smaller, tactile objects. I hope to push culture forward by offering new and divergent visual language to the established canon of Western material culture.”

Dr Nelly Ben Hayounst Panian

in politics and activism, advocating for the recognition of the Armenian genocide – shaped her approach to creativity. After a BA in Textile Design, she secured an MA in Design Interaction from the Royal College of Art. “ e course was about creating a movement in design that thought about things critically. We weren’t just making products, we were asking questions and building scenarios,” she says from her o ice, a former London Tube carriage on the roof of Village Underground, a nightlife venue in east London. In the final episode of No Passengers, Ben Hayoun-Stépanian designs a limitededition Porsche Taycan wrapped in a fluoro colour pale e. e film follows her design process, from conceptualising an alternative world with an industryleading 3D artist in Unreal Engine to the grand finale, where she drives her custom Porsche through the dusty surface of the 3D world she has created.

The No Passengers project brings together Ben Hayoun-Stépanian’s experiences as both a student and company founder. While studying for her MA, she developed an interest in theatre. is led to a course at RADA, which in turn led to the birth of Nelly Ben Hayoun Studios –the design agency she launched in 2009: “I wanted to create design experiences that act as an entry point for audiences to critically reflect on the way they do things.”

Dr Nelly Ben Hayoun-Stépanian is quite the force – just ask NASA. e multihyphenate is the founder and director of the International Space Orchestra, the world’s first to consist of space scientists. It’s just one of the many ventures led by her uncategorisable creativity.

Ben Hayoun-Stépanian started her creative journey at the age of 19, when she spent six months perfecting the traditional cra of Kimono-making in Japan and became fascinated with design. is, combined with her experience as a child of Armenian and Algerian immigrants in France – many of whom were prominent

Today, Ben Hayoun-Stépanian (who has since added a PhD in Political eory to her list of achievements) is not only an award-winning designer of experiences but a director and producer of films – eInternationalSpaceOrchestra, 2013; Disaster Playground, 2015; I am (not) a monster 2019 – and the founder of the tuition-free University of the Underground, which includes Arjun Appadurai and Noam Chomsky as professors. “I started the University to create a space where we think and teach outside of the traditional box,” she says. “Society isn’t wired to open the minds of the public because there’s a power dynamic in place. We don’t activate our imaginations because we’re stuck in these ways of thinking. It’s time to change that.” rough her company, Tilting the Lens, the Dublin-based, physically disabled activist is on a mission to remind us that visibility is just one step on the journey towards building equity for the 1 billion people living with a disability, as she explains here, in her own words.

Sinéad Burke is a once-in-a-generation catalyst for change; an architect restructuring the operational foundations of the culture sector, from fashion’s front rows to industry boardrooms.

“One of my strongest memories is being 12 years old and going shopping with my three sisters: all younger than me, and none of them were disabled. As the eldest, I thought it was my responsibility to show them the way in fashion.

As a li le person, fashion was a visual methodology by which I could translate who I was. I wanted to extend this vocabulary to my sisters, not realising that as young, white, cisgendered, non-disabled women, their physical existence was cued to so many cultural signifiers of acceptance that they didn’t need fashion in the way that I did. This humbling experience was a professional catalyst for me. realised that not only was this a market that was neither considered nor catered for, it

The disability educator, advocate and author explains how we can all assist in making virtual and physical spaces more accessible was a perspective and an expertise that was wholly invisible within the wider fashion system. I wanted to move the dial on how disability was framed and positioned within the industry.

As a physically disabled queer woman, am driven by the mission of building and designing a more equitable and accessible world. My advocacy is rooted in my lived experience of disability – the mismatch between how the world is designed and my existence in a disabled body. Tilting the Lens was founded in the midst of a pandemic.

Overnight, remote working became a possibility and through the prevalence of long Covid, more people were selfidentifying as and becoming disabled.

Yet as individuals, we developed a further complacency with the loss of disabled lives. In the UK, for example, six out of 10 deaths from Covid-19 were disabled people. Our lack of conscience was shrouded in language of ‘underlying conditions’ or ‘those who were

Le In addition to her work as an advocate, educator and author, Burke is the founder of accessibility consultancy Tilting the Lens feeling comfort, pride and empowerment with the lexicon of disability has been very fulfilling and inspiring. As someone who was born with a congenital, physical and visible disability, being an observer to other people’s discovery of who they are is one of the greatest gi s. vulnerable’. I couldn’t understand how our proximity to experiencing disability was more tangible, and yet the prioritisation of the non-disabled continued.

My time in the fashion industry has taught me that change will only truly be embedded when disabled people are in decision-making positions. It’s vitally important that we continue to advocate for disabled people to be represented on runways and for adaptive clothing to continue to evolve, but I want disabled people in design rooms and boardrooms. For example, we recently worked on a project supporting the development and design of an accessible playground. To ensure that we designed with disabled people, rather than for disabled people, we created focus groups with disabled parents across the spectrum of disability and identity. To learn about the ways in which access needs might support their children to play, imagine and explore was incredibly humbling and reinstated my desire to continuously reiterate the definition of accessibility.

As someone who has the capacity, skills and a network that could create change, I felt that an organisation rooted in community was the most meaningful way to design new systems to support the delivery of equity, dignity, respect and interdependence.

Over the past year, the Tilting the Lens team has grown to five people, all of whom work remotely and the majority of whom identify as disabled. eir journey of self-identification and in

Leaders need to understand that accessibility and disability justice are strategies that must be implemented by them, and that they must continuously ensure their teams and colleagues are accountable for their progress. Organisations need to see this work as an investment, not a cost. Visibility and representation cannot be limited to marketing. Eighty per cent of disabled women are outside of the labour market and the pay gap between non-disabled men and disabled women is 35%. Redesigning the employment process to be equitable and accessible is vital for systemic change. Awareness is a starting point, not a destination.”

Not content to simply ride the wave of Happy Valley’s success, the British star is embarking on his greatest acting challenge to date

By Hanna Flint

i ing still for a long time is not something that comes easily to James Norton. e chipper British actor tells me as much at Shoreditch House on a late Tuesday a ernoon in spring. I’ve secured us a private table for two as you walk into the main bar on 5th floor. It’s a good spot for people-watching; the buzz of members taking meetings, catching up and enjoying an end-of-day glass or two of Picpoul vibrates around us. Norton, however, has sworn o alcohol since January, so we’re sipping on fresh lemon and ginger tea as he opens up about his deep-seated desire for exploration. “I love to travel,” he says. “I love jobs that get me around the world. I’ve had a nomadic thing forever.”

We’re about 45 minutes into our chat, so I’m impressed he hasn’t already skedaddled. Fortunately, he not only arrived 10 minutes early but he sticks around for an extra half an hour so we can talk in candid, sometimes earnest, detail about the career he’s steadily built over the last 15 years. It’s been a riveting journey.

On the small screen, Norton’s roles have ranged from a delightful sleuthing vicar in ITV’s Grantchester and a mournful prince in the BBC’s adaptation of War & Peace to a British-raised son of a Russian mafia boss in McMafia And, of course, there’s his chilling turn as the psychopathic killer Tommy Lee Royce in Happy Valley, the BBC’s celebrated crime series, which returned for a third and final season this year to huge acclaim and record viewing figures.

In film, he’s appeared in glossy Hollywood fares including Greta Gerwig’s Li le Women and the 2017 Flatliners remake. He also recently charmed in the intimate indie drama Nowhere Special All the while, Norton’s maintained a love a air with theatre, which began a er leaving the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art before graduating to star in the original 2010 production of Posh at the Royal Court eatre. He last trod the boards in 2018, garnering rave reviews for his perfor- mance in Belleville at the Donmar Warehouse opposite British actress Imogen Poots. Despite playing a newlywed American couple in trouble, they have been happily together ever since.

So far, Norton has plo ed significant points on his professional and personal map. But to be able to go to so many places – physically, emotionally and creatively – building a home has become a vital anchor. “Even if I’m never there, to know that it’s there is a big stabiliser for me,” he explains, pointing to his childhood experience at boarding school.

“You have a very specific relationship with home and space. You go away from your home, and the stability of your family, to spaces which are quite hectic. For me now, when go away on a job, I find myself doing coping mechanisms that I used to do when was a teenager.”

Such as? “Telling a room that I’ll be back,” he o ers, slightly embarrassed, before deciding not to divulge any further “weird idiosyncrasies”, as he puts it. Luckily, Poots has no qualms with his quirks or nesting habits. “She lives more in a cerebral space,” Norton smiles. “She’s very happy with a book and I’m more in the physical space. I’m probably overly o icious when tidying up. It’s why we work so well together, because we come at life from slightly different spaces. As a result, I’m certainly house proud.”

As the floor lamp next to our table dims for the evening, the Soho House member says he’s enjoying the perks of having access to the Soho Home collection. “ ere is an amazing range of furniture – it’s f*****g great!” e couple were in the throes of renovating their Peckham property, but that has been put on hold for now as he embarks on his greatest acting challenge yet in the play adaptation of A Li le Life

When we meet, Norton is five weeks into rehearsals for Ivo van Hove’s latest stage adaptation of Hanya Yanagihara’s renowned bestselling novel. e actor takes the lead as troubled lawyer Jude St. Francis, and to say his protagonist is dealing with trauma would be a gross understatement. Life has, and continues to come at Jude hard, pounding him with physical, psychological and emotional abuse as he navigates work, relationships and personal demons alongside his college friends in New York. To prepare for the role, van Hove told Norton everything he needed was in Yanagihara’s 814-page novel, which was a small relief. “ e pressure isn’t so much about finding the character, writing the biography, going into the backstory and knowing what my bedroom smelled like or what my favourite colours are, all that s**t,” he says. “ e challenge is trying as much as I can to honour the character people have already fallen in love with.”

Norton took his time reading and digesting the story a er being cast in October 2022. It was a “profound experience” and he believes the story could only be successfully be adapted for the stage. “It’s so big and sprawling, and there are elements of abuse that I don’t think can be adapted with a child actor playing it,” he explains. “ e medium of theatre allows us a sort of abstraction. We have a string quartet playing the whole way through. It’s very nonlinear –it’s this wonderful, choreographed milieu with only specific and tie, £110, all Paul Smith. sections [of the book] chosen. It’s 50 years of these people’s lives and you want to go on that journey.”

Having a safe space to go home to has never been more essential. For three hours and 40 minutes each night, over its nearly four-month run at the Harold Pinter eatre in London, he will have to shoulder the heavy burden of what that tormenting performance will require. He’s anxious.

“I’m going through it,” the actor admits. “I have to put an insane amount in every night; there’s sexual violence, there are beatings, there’s self-harm. don’t know what the cost is going to be.” Yet Norton has long strived to draw a firm line between fiction and reality. “ ere’s an expectation that I’m going to go to hell and back in order to give this book its due justice,” he says. “I will be using all the tools available to me to get as close to it as I possibly can but I’m going to come o stage, grab a beer and I’m going to hug my friends and be James.”

Strange dreams are currently a byproduct of this theatrical endeavour – though it’s nothing new. While shooting Happy Valley Norton’s sleep went to unusual places due to spending each day in the mindset of a murderous manipulator. Now, as he gets to grips with the play alongside castmates Luke ompson (Bridgerton), Omari Douglas (It’s A Sin) and Zach Wya ( e Witcher: Blood Origin), Jude is bleeding into his subconscious. But that’s the only way he will allow his characters to come home with him – especially when they are so dark and tortured. It’s why he’s not one for Method acting. “I’m not from that school,” he says. “I do not begrudge anyone if they want to do that. ere’s a line; this is as much as I can give and if I give more than that, then it starts to really hamper my own life and my relationships su er.” e antisocial element is also rather unappealing: “One of the best parts of a stage rehearsal process or film set is hanging out. e idea of spending every co ee break and every lunch on my own in character? F**k that!”

Managing his food intake is a major part of Norton’s creative process. He has Type 1 diabetes, which can complicate things when doing stage work especially, but he and the production team have a plan: sugar tablets and his insulin pens hidden onstage and his blood sugar levels monitored by a Bluetooth device a ached to his body that someone can track from his phone o stage. “We’re working in a way where we can have a cue light just in my eyeline, so if it goes red, it means one thing. If it goes green, it means another,” he says. “If I need to eat some sugar or to inject, I’ll just surreptitiously do it.” e subject reminds me of the diabetic drug Ozempic, which Hollywood types are using to stay slim. He whips out his phone and scrolls to a message from a friend with a link to a viral e Cut article on the topic. He’s not had time to read it yet, so I give him the bullet points about the massive expense to secure versions of the drug to stave o hunger, the high demand from non-diabetics and the problems this causes for those who actually need it. A perplexed look washes over his face. “I’d never heard of it and I don’t want to suppress my appetite,” he says. “I f*****g love eating and having a drink! Luckily my diabetes is well-controlled and totally manageable.”

His health condition has not prevented him freedom to work but in the past, he did worry that being typecast as a “privately educated, floppy-haired period drama guy” might limit his opportunities. “I don’t feel like I was born into some period drama but producers like to categorise people because it makes their life easy,” he says. “I don’t want to be that. If people think I’m that, then fine, but I’ll do everything I can to fight against it because it’s not as interesting as all the other roles out there.”

To be fair, he does have a great head of hair. And he was privately educated. Born in Lambeth, London, Norton’s teacher parents moved him and his sister to Malton in the Ryedale district of North Yorkshire, where he a ended the fee-paying Ampleforth College with some financial support from his grandparents. “I feel very lucky,” he says. “My mum and dad worked hard and my grandparents worked hard, so I owe them a lot. But I’m aware that a lot of people work hard and can’t a ord private school.”

Peppered throughout our conversation is this selfconscious acknowledgement of his privilege. “It might appear to some people that I’m apologising for my past but I’d much rather run that risk than feeling like I was entitled,” he says.

“I guess it’s like, ‘Why me? Why do I deserve this?’ don’t deserve it. I think what do is far less than most people. I got lucky. People ask me for advice for young actors and that question is hard, because didn’t do anything di erent from thousands of other actors who work hard. got some great gigs early on, the right people saw me in the right role and that bred more work.”

He also finds the negative framing of diversity as the industry “untangles ourselves from old a itudes and structures” reductive. “I do believe that all industries are massively benefited by listening and educating ourselves,” Norton says.

“Does every single role need to be played by someone who has lived that experience? No. But there are roles which do require [that]. It’s not about forcing tokenism on people. It’s about acknowledging that a role will be massively improved by someone who has lived that experience.”

Time, place and unconscious bias are important things to consider when looking at certain actors’ success stories, but there’s no denying that talent is a major factor in Norton’s case.

He’s a transformative performer who brings emotional intelligence and physical depth to his roles. During the season three finale of Happy Valley caught myself welling up as watched his ill-fated monster deliver his final few words opposite Sarah Lancashire’s formidable police sergeant Catherine Cawood. He’s pleased to hear it. Tommy is a role he cherishes and the series represents a community he fondly remembers. “ ere’s a temperament and that world of endless cups of tea around kitchen tables was familiar to me – I grew up in that,” he says. “Although some people did get upset, saying wasn’t a Yorkshireman, and reviewers said my accent was bad. was like, ‘F**k o !’ I came from Yorkshire. I literally had the accent until was about 13!”

Now 37 years old, the actor excitedly credits himself as a producer through Rabbit Track Pictures, which he co-founded with Ki y Kaletsky. eir first feature Rogue Agent, with Norton in the eponymous role, launched to acclaim on Ne lix in 2022 but it’s not “one of those vanity projects built around an actor”. Actually, he tells me, 70% of their current projects in development won’t feature him. Norton’s not done with acting, of course. But after a growing awareness of the small part actors play in the grand scheme of filmmaking, he’s plo ed a new path to bring him closer to the world he loves. “I would arrive on a film set and so much of the creative process was all pre y much done, and I just had to facilitate someone else’s creative dream,” he says. “ is is definitely a much bigger contribution. I’ve learned a new skill set as a producer and, in development, script editing through Ki y and just being thrown in the deep end. ree years in, love it.”

Max Richter is arguably the most popular classical musician of his generation.