I'm a bucket hat, and I'll start by saying I'm grateful. I sat in a drawer for a long time, and it wasn't a good time, if I'm honest. Then somebody put me on, and now I go everywhere, and people in places I've never been know what I look like. I don't take that for granted.

Style here goes the way football goes. It's episodic. Some seasons you're in and some seasons you're out, and nobody in the stands thinks the club has stopped existing because it had a bad year. You keep turning up. That's most of it.

Every weekend I go across town. I come back with a case of records, and on the way I look at the clothes, properly look: the shop windows, and what people have on at the bus stop. I don't buy much of it. I look. You have to keep going out to see what's fresh, because the day you stop going out, you're wearing last year and calling it a style.

That's the only rule I've really got. Keep it fresh. Don't make stale stuff.

The desk's position, which is mine: men's style is not accentuating your assets. Whatever you've got, whether shoulders, arms, or a waist that came back after the winter, leave it alone. A man who's found a way to point at the good part has told you which part he thinks is good, and now you're both looking at it.

Modesty, and under it humbleness. Nothing with a logo on it.

Everything comfortable. Not tight in a softer fabric. Comfortable, like a chair is.

The shape is in the trousers, not on the body. A trouser has a drape and a break, and those are the decisions. Put the shape there and the body underneath can be whatever it is that morning.

Flat sneakers. A heel is a shoe with an opinion about your height.

Walking. That's what all of it's for. A long way, in September, and you never have to adjust anything.

From up here, that's what I see: a man going through Providence with nothing on him that needs looking after. That's the standard. There's nothing to see. That's the point.