Why do my outfits make people so angry?

Spectator

25-06-2025

I have always cycled everywhere in London, not because I want to save the planet but because I want to get to my destination on time. I ride a big heavy Dutch woman's bike: practical, less nickable and I can wear pretty much anything while riding it. On this occasion I was wearing frilly pink nursery-print dungarees, pink patent bootees, a sweet little jacket with puffy pale-blue bows down the front, a pink cloche hat and a pink-and-blue shiny PVC backpack. I was just locking my bike to the railings on Charing Cross Road when an angry man approached. 'Are you a paedophile?' he roared. 'Why are you dressed like that?' This is not the first time one of my outfits has elicited this kind of reaction and my initial proposed response is: 'Having watched the news, paedophiles tend to look more like you than me.' But this time I thought better of it and just replied: 'I don't think paedophiles tend to advertise.' He stormed off.
Still on two wheels, I motorcycled over to Hay-on-Wye for the festival to do a presentation called 'The Joy of Singing' with my vocal coach Juliet Russell. I have worked with her for six years and, as someone who had never sung before, I have found our lessons to be emotional and revelatory. To sing well one has to make oneself very vulnerable. It took a year before I could sing in front of my wife. Juliet is very encouraging but also has to deliver tough feedback. Another of her pupils once praised her to me: 'She serves the best shit sandwich in London.'
The beginning of June heralds the opening of the Summer Exhibition at the Royal Academy of Arts, an event which has been a fixture of the London season for more than 250 years. The preview party is always a glorious spectacle. The first time I attended I felt as if I were on an acid trip, overwhelmed by golden rooms swirling with colourful art and fashion. I always save my most paparazzi-friendly outfits for the occasion. This year I wore a cartoonish orange-and-yellow number with a giant blue nappy, purple wig, orange tights and my highest cerise flatforms. The event was very well attended but I thought a plague of chromophobia (fear of colour) had swept in. The artworks were as bonkers and bright as always, but a lot of the crowd looked as if they had just popped in from work – a sea of black, navy and grey. Dressing up for a party is like pimping your front garden: you don't just do it for yourself, you dress up so everybody feels they are at a fun event, not a conference sponsored by LinkedIn.
Disappointment in someone's dull attire can be a creative force. In 2005 I was on the number 38 bus dressed as a housewife in M&S when I bumped into a friend. Natalie Gibson, always a vision in popping colour, teaches fashion print at Central Saint Martins art school. She looked me up and down and said, 'I think my students could do better than that.' Over coffee we conceived the Make a Dress for Grayson Perry Project. So every year Natalie and I and the staff at CSM coax the students to design and make me an outfit featuring print. Over 20 years I have had more than 500 made for me and have probably bought about half of them. This year I decided would be the last. So the day of the final, final crit arrived. It is a joyous occasion. I model all the outfits and award trophies. Some of the students were not born when we started the course, and Natalie has taught there since 1964. The arts endure.
I was sad to hear of the death of Alan Yentob. My experience of him was always as a champion of the arts and the talent working behind as well as in front of the camera. He was someone I was always pleased to encounter for a funny chat at some arts do. He had an endearing/infuriating habit of incessant name-dropping and loved hanging out with what I call 'cerebrities'. I once arrived early at some big arts event and immediately encountered Alan. We chatted and then he wandered off only to return ten minutes later. 'Couldn't you find anyone more famous to hang out with?' I asked. 'No,' he said.