Less than a minute from the traffic chaos of the Great West Road in west
London is a quiet lane that winds its way down to a row of historic houses
standing on the riverfront. The air is heavy with the scent of hops from the
local brewery and old barges chug along the narrow stretch of the Thames.
All quite apt, considering one of the area’s newest residents is Cath
Kidston, purveyor of English nostalgia.
For years, Kidston and her music-producer boyfriend, Hugh Padgham, used to
walk Stanley, their lakeland terrier, along this part of the Thames, and
would look lovingly at a beautiful but unmodernised Restoration house with a
front lawn sloping down to the water’s edge.
“Then one day, as he was cycling past, Hugh saw a man with a tape measure,”
says Kidston, 49. “He pedalled home and said, ‘That house we’ve looked at
for years – it’s going to come up for sale, I know it.’ ” Eight years and a
whole lot of planning, money-saving and building later, we are sitting in
the finished house – all vintage fabrics, graphic art, bold blocks of colour
and fresh garden flowers – and it’s hard to believe that it has been lived
in for only 18 months. “I like houses that reflect their owner,” says
Kidston in her hushed, cut-glass accent. “I don’t care what taste it is, but
it has to have a personality.” Her pad speaks volumes about her, but, though
her rose-tinted world may look a picture of perfection, the journey here has
not always been easy.
Arriving in London fresh from boarding school at the age of 18, Kidston spent
“seven years of aimlessness” working in various shops before scoring her
“first grown-up job” with Nicky Has-lam. After three years, she went on to
set up an interiors business with her friend Shona McKin-ney, before
branching off on her own in 1993.
Last month, Kidston marked 15 years in business, quite a feat for someone
whose core idea – of vintage and chintz – went against the minimalist
fashions of the time when she started out. “The whole vintage thing didn’t
kick off until the late 1990s, and this was 1993, but I always felt the idea
would work,” she says. “I remember feeling really broke and making cushions
myself to sell in the shop, and the embarrassment of a woman coming up to
the counter and saying, ‘Excuse me, but this is really badly made – could I
get a discount?’ ” Kidston grimaces at the memory. “But then I’d have these
incredible customers. Miuccia Prada came in one day and bought a pile of
things, and I thought, ‘Well, if people I really respect are in tune with
what I’m doing, I’m just going to hang on in there.’” It paid to be patient.
About five years later, the craze for vintage caught on, and the business
took off.
Anyone who has ever set foot inside one of Kidston’s 21 shops in the UK (she
also has five in Japan) will be familiar with the overwhelming nesting urge
her products inspire, even in the least domesticated. With a riot of
florals, polka dots, stars and stripes adorning everything from washbags,
aprons and ironing-board covers to tea dresses, Kidston transports you to
the typically English country setting of her childhood in Hampshire, with
ponies, rabbits and a rambling house with rosy wallpaper.
This idyllic upbringing was hugely influential on her style. “I do have
particularly fond memories of that period, and I like the idea of delving
back into it,” she says. “I don’t want to reproduce what I had as a child,
but I love the idea of reinventing it, taking old memories and modernising
them.”
Kidston can recall the smallest details of her childhood home, from the
pompoms on the bedroom curtains to the particular pink of the roses on her
pyjamas. Add a teenage discovery of granny dresses and vintage shops, and
you have all the ingredients that went into her first store in Clarendon
Cross, west London.
“I saw a wonderful picture of a bathroom in a magazine. It had pale-blue shiny
paint on the walls and rose wallpaper round the edge of the bath. The
furniture was old, but all painted gloss white, and it just looked so hip.
And it’s really affordable – you could mix it with your granny’s sideboard
or a table from Conran. Suddenly, I thought, ‘My God, that is what I want to
do.’ ” It was hand-to-mouth at first. Kidston ran a decorating business
downstairs to pay the bills, while upstairs was “this glorified junk shop”
selling car-boot-sale finds, vintage fabrics and wallpapers, and old
furniture covered in gloss paint. Gradually, Kidston introduced her own
fabric designs – inspired by old finds – but it wasn’t until she began
turning these fabrics into products that her pieces started flying off the
shelves.
As with anything successful, her designs were quickly parodied, and you can
find Cath Kidston imitations in every other high-street store. Despite this,
and even in the current financial climate, sales figures show no sign of
dwindling (this year’s projected turnover is £30m).
On the face of it, Kidston is an unassuming business tycoon – she is
constantly smiley and warm. The day we meet, she’s wearing a sundress and
flats, her hair brushed but not “done”. But her placid exterior belies a
strength and determination that don’t go unnoticed during the photo shoot,
when the table setting has to be “just so”; the photographs are allowed to
be fun, but the overall message must be down-to-earth.
Kidston, who has lost both her parents to cancer, and was herself diagnosed
with breast cancer when she was 37, is the picture of health and happiness:
all long limbs, bronze glow and gently highlighted hair. As well as 15 years
in business, this year also marks 15 years with Padgham and her
stepdaughter, Jess. “We got together when I was completely distracted
opening up the shop,” she says, “so he’s a big part of the anniversary. He’s
been so supportive, putting up with me as I disappear to car-boot sales
instead of making Sunday lunch.”
This house, then, is the result of everything Kidston has achieved over those
15 years. When the couple bought it, it was split into two flats. They had
to change the layout completely, altering as little as possible of the old
part of the building while entirely redoing the other end, adding a modern
kitchen extension designed by the architect Wilkinson King.
The contemporary glass-sided extension floats against the back of the old
house, bringing the outside in, literally, as the old garden wall and the
exterior of the house flow seamlessly into the kitchen.
A cosy kitchen is, of course, the heart of the Cath Kidston trademark home,
but, as throughout the house, she manages to blend sweet nostalgia with a
sharp style to create something that’s far from cutesy and not quite what
you’d expect. Yes, there’s a pink striped oilcloth adorning the table, laid
with a quintessentially English afternoon tea – jelly, cupcakes, a victoria
sponge and homemade elderberry juice – but, in stark contrast, minimalist
white units, custom-made by the Swedish firm Skandium, run the length of the
kitchen.
“Most of my friends live in their kitchens, so I wanted somewhere we’d enjoy
spending time,” she says. When the two kitchen tables are pushed together,
they seat 18, and another in the garden seats 12, so it’s a fantastic
entertaining space. “I’ve got 30 people for supper tomorrow, which is fun,
but I never do it tidily,” she says. Dinners are casual, cross-generational
affairs mixing family, friends and fashion folk – for instance, the designer
Nick Ashley, art dealer Gerry Farrell and his wife, Jo.
In the sitting room, the pillar-box-red walls offset a contemporary-art
collection. A print above the sofa in primary colours by Alex-ander Calder
contrasts with a cartoon of Daffy Duck over the fireplace. Kidston likes
things to be both practical and fun. “Sometimes a sitting room can be
too tidy. I wanted it to be comfortable and not at all formal – a room
everyone loves being in.” Jars of Quality Street sit on the coffee table,
and jugs bursting with blooms – roses, del-phiniums, tulips – adorn every
surface.
Upstairs, the main bedroom is airy and fresh – a clean red-and-white palette
against the putty-coloured walls. A red-and-white paper cutout of the house
(commissioned from the artist Rob Ryan as a present for Padgham) was the
starting point for its decor. The curtains, made from vintage fabric found
in France, fit the colour scheme perfectly.
For someone who spends so much time at car-boot sales, the house is remarkably
uncluttered. “Before moving in, I gave a shaming amount to charity,” Kidston
admits. “I was horrified by what I’d accrued and swore I’d turn over a new
leaf and have a modern, minimal house. The day we moved in, I walked up
Chiswick High Road to buy a pint of milk and came back with an antique
quilt. How long did that resolution last?”
Vogue © The Condé Nast Publications Ltd
