Bianca Spender, designer, 38

Carla Zampatti’s daughter, Bianca Spender, opens up about making her own mark as a designer.

Talent: Bianca Spender. Picture: Steve Baccon

You virtually grew up in the fashion industry; your mum is Carla Zampatti. Was fashion your obvious path?

I never had that ambition. Growing up in the business, I realised how tough it was and how determined, talented and lucky you had to be to make it work. As a realist I didn’t think I could do it.

Your father, John Spender, was a QC, politician and ambassador. What was it like to be in a family of overachievers? I had to learn to be non-competitive in that family. Luckily I’m older than my sister Allegra, because she’s incredibly bright, was dux of the school, head of the year. But that was after me so it was OK – I didn’t have to live up to that.

What was the conversation like over dinner? We’d get into full-blown conflicting conversations on politics, arts, law, anything, from a very young age. We were never told our opinion wasn’t valid. We were corrected if we were wrong, or asked to back up our arguments. I thought everyone had these wild debates at dinner. And when I started having them with a few of my boyfriends, they said: “Why are you getting so excited, Bianca? Calm down.”

What career path did you think you would take? Always a psychologist or social worker. But I thought I needed 20 years of living before I could help people and guide them through their lives. My joke is if it doesn’t work out in fashion, I’ll always go into psychology or social work.

What finally led you to study fashion? Much coaxing from my friends. Then a short course – one week in the holidays. I loved it. I thought, OK, I’ve really been resisting this, I don’t ever want to be compared to my mother, but I suppose the proof was in the experimentation.

What did you learn when you worked for fashion companies in Paris and regional Italy? The level of political debate in France is fascinating, with everyone screaming at each other at dinner and then – “anyone for cheese?” Living near Vicenza was wonderful; I had never lived in a small town. I would never do it again. But it was eye-opening. I learnt that there are seven kinds of artichokes and that pumpkins are seasonal – they shouldn’t be in the supermarket all year.

You won the Australian womenswear part of the International Woolmark Prize and you’re off to the finals in February. How does that feel? The next one is much bigger so I’m going to have to get my head around it. I’ve spoken to former finalists Dion Lee and Christopher Esber, who said it’s about selling yourself. I’ll have to pep-talk myself into an American way of speaking because the final is in New York and those buyers are half the judging panel. And you’ve got 15 minutes to present your work.

As a big fan of art, do you see crossovers with your work? I don’t see myself as an artist but for me, clothes are the sculpture we wear. I’m never happier than when I’m draping on a mannequin – where does that line go, how does it travel around the body?

You had a career mother – how was that when you were growing up? I did ask her, “Why can’t you pick us up from school like other mothers?” We walked home every day and made dinner. She said to me so knowingly, “I’d drive you mad. I’m not meant to be at home.” And it’s true.

Has that influenced you with your sons, Florian (six) and Dominic (three)? Having my mother’s example gave me a lot of faith. Now it’s quite lovely. Florian says things like, “Mummy, I love that dress, did you make it?” They have a real appreciation of what you do.