In the sixties everyone you knew became famous. My flatmate was Terence Stamp. My barber was Vidal Sassoon. David Hockney did the menu in a restaurant I went to. I didn't know anyone unknown who didn't become famous.
I think it's useful as a famous person to have as little separation between the perception of you and how you really are – because otherwise I'd be sitting here thinking I'm keeping secrets and wondering when you're going to find out.
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I made my living being 20 or 30 pounds heavier than the average model. And that's where I got famous.
