Fashion legend Lucinda Chambers talks taste

I would never leave the house without a good pair of earrings. I have hundreds, which I find everywhere, high and low, from markets in Syria, Marrakech and India to designer and vintage shops. My collection ranges from colourful to diamanté, elegant to cheap and gaudy – the longer and bigger the better. I consider them essential for completing my outfit, along with my shoes, which are always quite jazzy. These also run the fashion spectrum, from H&M to a gold, fringed loafer from my time working with Marni. If you’ve got a good pair of earrings and an extreme pair of shoes, your whole look is pulled together and you can wear really boring things in between. I never edit my collection, though I often think about who will inherit it someday as I have three sons. These things are not just accessories to me, but meaningful items that tell the story of my life. 

I love, love, love cars. I just bought myself a Mini Moke in British racing green, my favourite colour. It’s in perfect condition. One of my great joys is spending hours online trawling through second-hand-car sites. The magic words to look out for are “careful lady owner”. My Mini Moke spells happiness and holidays; this summer I will take it brocanting in France with friends in the back, possibly with a chair and a table poking out of the sides. 

The place that means a lot to me is our house in Goujon, France. We have had it for nearly 25 years and it is a place where memories are made. I never tend to work there so it represents nothing but pleasure. We go there every six weeks and I love to fiddle around in the house, repainting anything I can get my hands on and moving furniture around. Every time I go, I take suitcases full of cushions and lampshades. Recently I’ve been chainsawing some fallen trees in a bikini with no goggles. Some would consider this eccentric, but I don’t. 

And the best souvenir I’ve brought home is a 3ft-high Murano-glass lamp I found in a market in New York. I was with the photographer Eric Boman who had the most incredible taste. I saw his eye alight on it, but thankfully he moved on and I snaffled it. I always work on the premise that, as long as I can get whatever I’m lugging back over the threshold of the plane, it’s going to be OK. That lamp sat on my lap and I think I wore the shade as a hat!

The best book I’ve listened to in the past year is the audiobook of Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray, read by Stephen Fry. I studied it for A-level so it is an old friend and I really enjoyed revisiting it. It follows the lives of Becky Sharp and Amelia Sedley during and after the Napoleonic Wars, navigating a world of ambition, social climbing and the illusion of success. Still such relevant topics! 

My style icon is Tilda Swinton. When I first met her a very long time ago – I spotted her in a café – I didn’t know she was an actress; she possibly wasn’t one at that point. But she was incredible – she was wearing stout corduroy trousers, a pebble around her neck on a piece of string and she had this long red hair. I’ve never forgotten it. She was so stylish without even being interested in fashion. I approached her – something I have only done on one other occasion with a teenage Helena Bonham Carter – and asked if I could photograph her for a charity project I was working on. Over the years I have watched her unique understanding of style, the language of clothes and how she uses them to tell stories. It’s beautiful.

I would love to know why I collect – I need to ask a psychiatrist! Is it comforting?

The best gift I’ve given recently was a pair of Colville trainers – the brand I co-founded with Molly Molloy – to a friend with awkward feet. We collaborated on them with Diadora, who asked us if we wanted to upcycle several hundred pairs of trainers that had a tiny mistake on them; we dipped them in two colours of rubber and they came out beautifully. Like me, she adores colour and – best of all – you can walk miles in them. I consider them a double-dipped double whammy of a gift. 

And the best gift I’ve received is an Edward Weston print of a girl sitting on a chair – I think it was his wife – from a friend of mine, James Danziger, who has a wonderful photography gallery in New York. It ignited my passion for collecting photography. It is the smallest picture in my house, but one of the most beautiful. 

I don’t really know how to download music – I am a bit of a Luddite – but recently I found myself watching Shirley Bassey singing “I Am What I Am” on YouTube. I have always been drawn to her. As a child – I must have been seven – she would appear on the telly, and she was so charismatic and mannered. The way she moved her mouth and hands, it was all about drama, showmanship and expressiveness, and the dresses. She was the first dazzling person I had ever seen – real glamour. I was so not like that. I was and still am completely captivated by her. 

What don’t I collect? I started collecting things from about the age of 10, when I first had pocket money. It started with, of all things, razors in velvet boxes. I would love to know why I collect; I need to ask a psychiatrist! Is it comforting? Is it the fact that it gives me a specific purpose when I go to a market? I’m always on the lookout for the unexpected. Currently it’s ceramics; my house is crammed with them. There are references to my finds in the Zara and Collagerie homeware collaboration that has recently launched – a blue, brown and cream lamp inspired by the shape of a light I found in a brocante, and a black candlestick based on a ceramic one from a vintage shop in Fourcès. Everything feeds into my work. That is part of the fun of it. 

The one artist whose work I would collect if I could would be Tanya Ling. She is a friend and I still kick myself that I didn’t buy one of her line drawings back in the day. Her work is so spontaneous. There is a childlike quality to her drawings that just go with her flow. They’re not predictable. I rarely regret not buying things; normally I can let things go. But if I could turn the clock back 10 years and buy one of her drawings, I would. 

In my fridge you’ll always find Cadbury chocolate buttons – they go from the fridge, where I store them, to the freezer because I like them really crunchy – and a non-alcoholic sparkling wine called Noughty, which has the worst name but is the nicest drink. I am not a cook, but I love cheap chocolate – nothing posh. Don’t give me anything with a dusting on it. I go to the farmers’ market in Queen’s Park every Sunday and fill the fridge with vegetables, but when that is gone, you’ll only find marmalade and cat food.

I believe in life after death because I am a cradle Catholic, so I am hard-wired to believe in an afterlife. Even though I know almost nothing about Catholicism, I am an optimist; I have to believe I will meet the people I love again. Otherwise there is no point to any of this. 

An indulgence I would never forgo is face cream; I have a fair few. Currently I’m putting snail mucin on my face! It sounds loony, but I have a friend who knows about these things and she swears by it and I do as she says. It honestly doesn’t feel slimy on my skin! I am also obsessed with the Victoria Beckham by Augustinus Bader tinted moisturiser, which is like putting on someone else’s skin who is much younger and has just been on holiday. CosRX Advanced Snail 96 Mucin Power Essence Gel, £25, boots.com. Victoria Beckham by Augustinus Bader The Cell Rejuvenating Illuminator, £76 

The last item of clothing I added to my wardrobe is a crisp brown cotton Zara shirt – long at the back, short at the front, big sleeves, weird buttons. Very exciting. 

An object I would never part with is my mother’s signet ring. It is her family crest, a unicorn. It is very her because it’s sort of elegant, but also a bit beaten up and bashed. My first boyfriend swung the car door on her hand and the ring saved her finger. She was so brilliant with her hands – building dry stone walls, marbling paper, sewing and cooking – and the ring was always there. She was extremely crafty, a passion we shared: to create and transform things is my happy place. Since she died, I’ve always worn the ring – it’s a constant reminder of everything she taught me.

My biggest pet peeve in a hotel is finding the lights. By the time I’ve mastered them, Marcel Marceau-style, I’m checking out. Why is it always so difficult?

The best way to spend £20 is to take a train somewhere like Cambridge and visit a gallery like Kettle’s Yard. How fun, to take a train out of your comfort zone and see something that’s not on your patch. 

The beauty staples I’m never without are Ffern fragrances, which are designed to reflect the seasons. I lost my sense of smell for 10 years when my wonderful brother died – it went overnight – and when I finally regained it, I discovered these beautiful scents and have never looked back. I am never not asked what that glorious scent is I’m wearing.

My favourite room in my house is a veranda outside our kitchen in west London that we built 15 years ago; I love it. It’s a higgledy-piggedly room for all seasons, full of wicker chairs, rugs and hanging plants – like a west London nod to Chekhov. It is festooned with lights and looks very romantic at night. We sit out at all times of the day. It’s as close to being in the country as I can get here. 

The work of art that changed everything for me was a tiny oil abstract the size of a postcard that hung in my parents’ various flats – we moved 18 times. It was just patches of colour – I don’t know who it was by – but I was always very drawn to it. One day it struck me to ask my mother and she said. “Oh, darling, It’s Glasgow airport at night.” And I thought, of course it is! For me, that changed everything, the fact that abstraction in art could mean something so literal; it just cracked something open that made total sense. I don’t have it any more but I always remember it was like a switch being flicked. 

My beauty guru is Nicola Clarke, my hair colourist, someone I have been seeing for 30 years. God knows what colour my hair really is! I certainly have no idea any more, but I know that she keeps me happy and blonde. Lots of friends of mine have gone grey and I think, “Good for them, but not for me.”

My favourite buildings are Takashi Kobayashi’s treehouses in Japan. I have never actually been in one but his work appeals to the introvert in me, which may come as a surprise to some as I have a very outward-facing job that requires engaging with people all the time. For me, being alone is a luxury. I grew up in Chelsea and I would go into the communal gardens there and create a den for myself among the bushes and tree stumps. To be able to create a space for myself in one of Takashi Kobayashi’s treehouses would make me very happy. 

I find inspiration everywhere. Recently I was visiting a hospital and I happened to glance down at the handrails. There was a grouping of colours that was just incredible. The rail was electric blue, next to it was a yellow notice, then a red warning sign of some kind and a turquoise pattern on the floor. I took a photograph of it as the colours were talking to me and I knew they would end up somewhere. It always happens in the most unlikely of places; your eyes have to be on receive mode at all times, letting things in and leaving your mind free to wander around. The podcast I’m listening to is The Blindboy Podcast. He’s like Banksy because you don’t know what he looks like – he wears a bag over his head. He just chats away about all sorts of things from art to mental health. I find the way he articulates his thoughts intelligent and incredible. He talks about his own autistic preoccupations with his guests, who range from musicians and artists to mental-health professionals, and even when the subjects he’s discussing are serious, he is really funny. I read about him in The Week, where I pick up a lot of my information.

I’ve recently rediscovered the joy of stand-up comedy. I know I’m late to the party but Michael McIntyre is a genius. I also worshipped Dame Edna, whom I saw about a million times when she was still performing, I’m never sick of watching her. I like going to see comedy live – there is something about an audience of people howling with laughter that is good for the soul. 

My Instagram always leads me to art. It takes me to lovely places, from people making lino cuts in cupboards in Cornwall to printmakers all over the world. We have an art shop on Collagerie, my online shopping platform, where we are about to launch 15 new artists, including Virginie Hucher and Zoë Pawlak. I found pretty much all of them on Instagram. It’s amazing. I go down a rabbit hole, then I find out who they follow and keep finding more. The wonder of it is that I can message all of them – some reply and others don’t, but it’s like being a wonderful art detective. The best part of it all is that I get to showcase their work on our website. 

My favourite app is Waze; it’s life-changing. I love to drive but I have no sense of direction. In the past I used to write directions out in longhand: “Turn left at the lights, go right, etc.” I would lay out all the sheets of paper on the front seat of my car, then they would fly out the window. So Waze is like a best friend who just tells me where to go. I have also realised, quite late in life, that I love being given clear instructions. When Waze is talking to me, her voice is reminiscent of somebody I vaguely know. I find it quite comforting. She’s like somebody from The Archers, which I adore. 

A way to make me laugh is to tell a story that makes me appear ridiculous and inappropriate. My family are excellent at this.