At Tom Ford’s Milan HQ, the inky-black calla lillies on reception line up with such precision that they look as though they’ve been measured with a set square. A cabinet of collars and ties is backlit with more art than Ms Streisand at her most demanding could command and the efficiency of the elevator has been timed by Ford himself.

"It takes exactly 11 seconds from ground to first floor," he sighs, as if the contraption has let him down entirely. "Italian time."

As his surroundings are the best illustration of the Ford aesthetic, the man himself – in black suit with white shirt unbuttoned to reveal a coiffed swirl of chest hair – is the best ambassador for his brand, particularly in the arena of men’s grooming. He admits to dyeing his just-so stubble and boasts skin that belies his 56 years. He gave up on Botox years ago.