Talking shop with menswear master Paul Smith

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For this season, Paul Smith decided to show his new menswear collection in an homage to his first-ever shop. Opened in 1970, above another store in the designer's native Nottingham, it comprised a windowless room that measured just three metres by three metres. "The same size as that Matisse painting," he says, pointing to a print of a masterpiece that hangs in Tate Modern. "Three metres square. The Snail, by Matisse. That was it."

The shop was open only two days a week – "Just on Fridays and Saturdays." Smith's sales assistant was a 15-year-old Afghan hound named Homer, who he claims was actually in charge. Smith's girlfriend (now wife), Pauline, named this man's best friend from the ancient Greek poem The Iliad, he explains.

Today, Smith stands in a replica of that small, confined cube, full of the clutter that normally fills every surface of his office in London's Covent Garden – an eclectic mix of photographs, Japanese toys and robots, a portable vinyl record player (Bowie is on – Smith designed the T-shirt to accompany the launch of the artist's last album, Blackstar), an Asian rug, a life-size red plastic cactus and row upon row of books. There are also a few pieces from his latest collection, including some chic, cycling-inspired sportswear.

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Homer is, sadly, long gone, but Smith has enrolled the services of a lookalike who playfully jumps up on his lap. You can see how the original space would have been dominated by the two of them – the tall, rangy owner, standing well over six foot, and the enormous hound with his own bed on the floor. Apparently, Homer smelled so strongly that Smith had to spray the place with Dior's Eau Sauvage to mask the scent.

He produces an image of a flyer he sent out when he first opened up on his own. At the time, he was working as a shop assistant in a store called The Birdcage in Nottingham, so he printed something up to tell people where he was going. Charmingly, it features three shots of the shaggy-haired designer-in-the-making and his equally shaggy-haired mutt. Indeed, Smith has always reckoned he looks a bit like an Afghan himself.

The flyer reads: "Homer (& Paul) have left the 'Birdcage' and are now at what they hope to be temporary premises, at 6 Byard Lane, selling clothes for both sexes and some antique jewellery." Interestingly, the logo at the top of this document is not the familiar hand-written signature we associate with the brand, but something more formal. This was the original logo, created by Paul himself – as was the whole flyer. "I did it with Letraset." It took ages, he recalls, and getting it straight was tricky.

Clearly this presentation, staged in a London art gallery, brings back good memories for the designer. But there is a deeper purpose to it than simply launching a collection and indulging in a bit of nostalgia. From the extremely humble three-metre cube in Nottingham, Smith went on to create a global fashion business. His message today, in an age when fashion brands are often run by huge groups, would seem to be that if you have the creativity and drive, you can achieve great things in a less corporate way.

"It's quite nice just to show people that you can do things in a different way, rather than [as a designer] go with a big company, open a shop on Bond Street, etc, etc – you can actually do it in a way that is a bit more…humble.

We're sure Homer would agree.

paulsmith.co.uk