Dressing up with Grayson Perry

When I collected my CBE I wore a satin two-piece I called my ‘Italian mother of the bride’ look. I didn’t want to wear anything too unusual, but Prince Charles likes a giggle. The Royal Family are cool; they’re totally unfazable.

I’m flattered that Harriet Harman was recently mistaken for me. I’m at that difficult age for a transvestite, between the blandness of youth and the androgyny of old age, so I’m happy being compared to any competent, attractive woman.

The first time I cross-dressed in public I wore my mother’s houndstooth pleated skirt, a cream blouse, black patent court shoes, a beige raincoat and a headscarf. It was a hugely risky thing to do aged 15 in an Essex village but I remember feeling the excitement of potential disaster.

When I first moved to London I was a low-key cross-dresser. If I’d had the skills, confidence and budget I have now when I was 20, I’d have been gorgeous.

My early style icons were female newsreaders and Margaret Thatcher. I’ve still got a soft spot for a pussybow blouse but my style is very different now.

The highlight of my cross-dressing career was at the BAFTAs when I wore my diamanté penis dress. It was the right dress, the right time, the right event.

I’m cutting-edge: most of my wardrobe is designed and made for me by students at Central Saint Martins. One made me an off-the-shoulder ballgown with a huge puffball skirt and pantaloons, printed with photographs of penises from gay porn.

I feel sexier when I’m dressed as a woman because you get attention and that makes you feel special.

I’ve got the equivalent space of seven wardrobes at home and that’s just for my female clothes. I share the odd handbag with my wife.

I’ve embraced the trainers-under-the-suit look. Today I’m wearing a teal and orange DayGlo pair.

I always wear lots of colour. It’s the one thing I’ve got to differentiate myself from the man in the grey suit. He’s the enemy.