Interview: Deryck Walker - Feeling right at home

YOUNG fashion graduates would be forgiven for thinking the streets of London are paved with gold. Or rhinestones. Or whatever the fashion equivalent is.

In the British fashion industry, it's notoriously difficult to forge a successful career outside of London, something celebrated Glasgow designer Deryck Walker knows all too well.

Walker, now 33, moved to London in his early twenties and spent a decade there honing his style of quirky menswear. The industry sat up and took notice, but as he entered his early thirties, this chirpy designer began to feel like the London machine was chewing him up. So he decided to get out before he was spat out.

One morning last year, as he was getting out of the shower, he collapsed. He was taken to hospital, where he was told that, essentially, that if he didn't slow down he'd risk doing himself some serious damage.

He sold off all his machines, packed up his tools and returned, somewhat disillusioned, to Glasgow and his mum. He joined her on his first holiday in years, before returning to his home city, relaxed, reinvigorated and ready to start afresh. One year on, he's just been named Designer of the Year at the Scottish Style Awards for the second successive year, and will be opening his own shop-cum-studio above Princes Square on Thursday.

Called Micro, and inspired by Walker's trips to Japan where he saw tiny spaces with multiple uses, from fast-food outlets to nightclubs, the shop will sell Walker's inimitable brand of classic menswear, characterised by its youthful, edgy twist. He'll also be providing made-to-measure tailoring for women, and the shop will feature partnerships with fellow Scottish designers, who include Noki and Jamie Bruski Tetsil and stylist Judy Blame.

It's been nearly three years since I last sat down for a cup of tea and a chat with Walker in his London studio. Back then, his hair was a garish shade of peroxide white and he had the gaunt pallor to match. He was sleeping under his cutting table and surviving on a diet of takeaway pizzas and cigarettes.

Today, he's a changed man. Sitting in his airy studio space high above Princes Square, he looks healthier and happier. He is as animated as ever – still the mischievous imp – but an imp who's embraced a slower pace of life.

"I knew that I had to do something back home," he says. "I'd spoiled myself rotten with fashion, and the sums just weren't adding up. Now I feel a lot more settled, and I know that I want to stay here in Glasgow.

"I'm very happy with my lot, whereas I thought that coming back here would be quite difficult.

"I've also got a sense of community, you know. I felt I didn't get that in London as much. I felt quite isolated and anonymous. When you go to London there's automatically a demand on you, saying you've got to work ten times harder than everybody else. But here we just get on with it, and we actually get more done."

Micro is a grown-up space, all exposed brickwork and old metal utility pipes painted cornflower blue. It's got an industrial feel that's softened by rows of immaculate yellow Harris tweed jackets and fine knits in greys and powder blues. Battered heirloom furniture re-upholstered in Harris tweed (Walker has collaborated extensively with Harris Tweed Hebrides) gives the space a homely feel.

Walker also uses fabrics by Scottish company Holland & Sherry and has collaborated with knitwear impresario John Smedley. He shows me one of the Smedley pieces – a simple fine knit with a subtle pattern through the weave that emulates the pins on the cylinder of a musical box.

"I tell people it's Bananarama," he says with a cackle, displaying the Glaswegian wit that's remained with him despite a decade down south.

Next, he moves on to the tweed pieces: classic on first glance, but with edgy detailing that tugs them into the 21st century. First and foremost, these pieces are wearable.

"I'm getting older and now I want to be able to wear clothes," he says, dismissing the more conceptual pieces he created earlier in his career. "I think when you're in your twenties you want to look like a mental case. And I did look like a mental case. I want people to wear my clothes. At the end of the day, I'm a designer and I make clothes and I want people to wear them. I see what I do as very classic, with a nice twist that's not enough to scare people away."

Walker's ambitions have changed over the years and it's possible he's mellowed. He says he has never felt more on track or closer to his goals, however.

"I remember looking into the window of Paul Smith in Japan and someone said to me, 'What would you love to do, Deryck?' And I said, 'It would be great, wouldn't it, to be a sort of Scottish Paul Smith? That would be a lovely dream, wouldn't it, to go home and open a shop?' And I did it."

He stands up and walks to the window, which overlooks one of those bright, wintry Glasgow skies. "It just seems like Glasgow's come full circle since I wanted to get away from here," he says happily.

I get the impression that's it's not Glasgow that's come full circle. It's Deryck.