A microphone has been set up in the corner, next to a framed poster for a recent Oxford Union season of events. Many guest speakers are listed on the poster – Max Clifford, Joseph Heller – but only two are circled in green ink Paul Smith and Kermit the Frog. For all of this overwhelming pomp and glamour, Smith would like us to know, he is only a muppet (albeit, like Kermit, the chief muppet – you wouldn’t get Fozzie Bear invited to speak at the Oxford Union).
Then Terence Conran and Jeremy Issacs take the stage, and eulogise (as you’d expect). The eulogies, however, are ebullient enough to temper any cynicism These are super eulogies.

Jeremy Isaacs: “Probably the most extraordinary and remarkable man I have ever known.”Terence Conran: “A true Brit A credit to this country. If there were more people alive like Paul Smith, Britain would surely be a greater place. Let’s give him a resounding cheer!” Everybody cheers, heartily. Paul Smith blushes, and sticks up his thumbs.Paul Smith is every profile writer’s nightmare, for he seems genuinely to be the world’s most liked man. His likeability, it seems, transcends analysis: it is ubiquitous and boundless (“He knows everything about football We talked for ages about George Best Fantastic.

One of the lads” – a journalist from Loaded magazine).Although I certainly hadn’t intended to dig up the dirt and rake the muck, I have become rather ungraciously obsessed in finding someone who has anything in the least bit mean to say about him: nobody can, surely, be that impeccable But it is to little avail. (“Thank God for Paul Smith”- the Independent, March 1994.)And now that all the superlatives have been exhausted, the “Man Who Has, and Deserves, Everything” (Sunday Times) has been given something new – this elaborate and fine Design Museum exhibition, dedicated to the life and myth. Like the suits, Paul Smith is an uncomplicated – if slightly goofy – fellow designed to be painted in broad strokes, as the exhibition deftly does.And these are they:1 Down-to-earth Credit Trader father.2 Fell off his bicycle aged 17 Months in hospital. (An exact replica of the bicycle – buckled wheel intact – begins the exhibition.)3. Started selling T-shirts from a big box in a Nottingham back alley (He did, however, call the box-business ‘Vetement’ The exhibition is entitled Smart from the Start.)4.

Met Pauline, his partner of 29 years, who convinced him to branch out and move to London (We can read Pauline’s diary from the time: “Just came home We are all very tired.”)5 Now owns 146 shops in Japan.6 Likes toy trains.7. Everyone likes him.The quintessential salt of the earth, suggest these broad strokes, is awed by his own life and accomplishment. Indeed, one corner of the exhibition is dedicated to nice letters he’s received from people like Bruce Weber, which would be perceived as vanity in most, but comes out as something akin to ingenuous charm in Smith.As does everything else. The accent, the demeanour, is parochial (if slightly effete) Nottingham through and through. It is as if he’s in a permanent state of Not-Believing-His-Luckness. “I am an OK designer,” he has said, “and an OK businessman.”This self-deprecation is not to be taken seriously, of course. He had a wonderfully simple idea, which he has executed beautifully: how to transform The Suit into a personal expression of subtly kooky, yet nicely wealthy, individuality.Paul Smith suits go well with Filofaxes and boxer shorts (both popularised by Smith), but just as well with toy sculptures of spaghetti (which you can also purchase in his shops).