No, like… umm, I don’t think mistakes really exist. A mistake is only a mistake if you decide it is. If I spill paint on a canvas, that’s not ruined, that’s a new direction. If my kid scribbles on my work, it’s suddenly more valuable. If I forget to show up to an exhibition, the absence itself becomes the performance. Like people, umm, they love to separate perfection and failure, but to me they’re the same thing wearing different shoes. Everything is material, bro. Even when you fail, it’s like the universe collabing with you in a way.

I mean… nah. Why should I? They’re not really buying paint on canvas. They’re buying, like, the story of owning it. They’re buying bragging rights. Some of them don’t even hang it, they just keep it in storage, climate-controlled vaults, bro, like cryogenics for canvases. It’s mad. And if you’re that rich, if you’ve got 50 grand to spend on a doodle of a clown, then I don’t feel bad taking it. In fact, I think I’m doing a public service. You’ve got too much money? Let me hold that for you. It’s like… umm… a redistribution of stupidity.

I’m Nigerian first, always. That’s my blood, my foundation. Britain is just where I ended up, not what made me. People keep trying to box me in as a “London artist,” but I don’t even feel that. What I carry is Lagos the noise, the pressure, the improvisation of surviving there. Even the way I dress, the white tees, it’s less fashion and more memory. They remind me of where I started, what shaped me, and I just carry that forward.

Yeah, 100%. Hate has a kind of purity that love doesn’t. If someone loves you, it can be soft, it can fade, it can switch off tomorrow. But hate? Hate is committed. Hate is obsessive. If someone hates you, they’ll talk about you forever. They’re like an unpaid marketing department. When I was thirteen, posting my first little brand online, people cooked me. Like properly destroyed me. And that fire… it’s what made me. My name, my persona, everything comes out of those moments. Slawn is basically just the ghost of bullying in designer shoes.

Collaboration used to mean two people making something together. Now it’s just logos fusing so both sides sell more hoodies, and I don’t like that — it’s too clean. I prefer collabs that feel illegal, or like they shouldn’t exist. That’s why the fake KAWS thing worked: everything’s already fake. KAWS is a fake of graffiti, I’m a fake of him, Asspizza faking me is just honesty. Bootlegs of bootlegs until no one knows what’s real — that’s the true collab. I’d rather work with my kid scribbling on a canvas, or even just not showing up at all. Absence is more authentic than any brand meeting.

Yeah… don’t believe anything I just said. Half of this never happened. The other half I made up while talking. I’m not even real. But thanks anyway.