‘Knees Are a Private Business’: Bill Nighy on Good Trousers, Terrible Advice, and His Love of Knitwear

My first encounter with Bill Nighy was through his delightfully risqué portrayal of a “washed-up pop star”—his role in the beloved British holiday film, Love Actually. I was likely too young to grasp the full extent of the humor, but I’ve since watched it enough times to know the script by heart—a talent that doesn’t quite entertain those who share the viewing experience with me. Despite expanding my collection of feel-good films, Nighy’s presence remains a mainstay: whether I’m sobbing through About Time or binge-watching Emma and Chalet Girl repeatedly, his distinctive blend of British charm and subtle elegance is always there.

Nighy has not only built a remarkable acting career but also gained a reputation for his straightforward views on life’s intricacies and for being spotted around various cafés in London. His passion for fashion has resulted in a collaboration with the esteemed knitwear label John Smedley. The bond between Nighy and Smedley goes back over fifty years, but only recently has he transitioned from being a long-time user to a creative partner, curating a range of ‘40s-inspired twinsets and long johns, alongside their timeless merino and cashmere pieces.

His collection, marked by subtle sketches and a “Stay Modern” message, reflects a desire not to disrupt the usual customer experience, while acknowledging that he may have “committed a few transgressions.” For those craving more wisdom from this extraordinary figure, good news: Nighy has launched a new podcast, Ill-Advised by Bill Nighy, where listeners can call in for nuggets of advice, no matter how minor. Kicking things off, Vogue had the pleasure of sitting down with Nighy to chat about his Mod roots, the essence of quality trousers, and the ever-important topic of sock etiquette.

Vogue: Can you tell us about your first experience with John Smedley?

Bill Nighy: In my youth, I had aspirations of being a Mod—but my hair posed a significant challenge. A must-have item for any Mod back then was a John Smedley three-button leisure polo, which came at a price. I’d save up diligently for them—putting coins in a jam jar weekly for a new shade. Irrationally, I like to think I set the trend for wearing a John Smedley polo beneath a jacket.

How was your experience collaborating on this collection?

When John Smedley reached out, I genuinely thought it was a prank. It felt poetically fitting—the brand has been part of my life since my teenage years. I wanted to ensure I wasn’t just a decorative addition, so I had my agent convey that I wished to shorten the men’s cardigan by four inches—mostly to grab their attention. I’ve always found cardigans too lengthy, often leading to awkward adjustments.

Then there are the birds I’ve doodled—always a go-to while pretending to learn lines. When they inquired about my sketches, I shared my favorites. These now feature on the garments subtly, named Peter and George, adding a refined touch rather than a bold logo that says “look at me.” I hope people appreciate the chic nature of it.

From your wardrobe, is there something you’d want to resurrect or eliminate?

I once splurged on a dark blue double-breasted Giorgio Armani suit that I wore until it was threadbare; I adored that suit. I’d definitely bring it back, although I might need to adjust the shoulder size to navigate modern door frames.

As for what I’d banish, those shiny black leggings reminiscent of rock-chic style—akin to PVC but not—and shorts. I haven’t worn shorts since childhood, and I don’t see why I would start now. Knees are a private matter—I have no desire to showcase mine to the world.

Let’s talk about trousers; you’ve noted your preferences over them.

Yes, I have a passion for trousers, particularly those that are loose and flowing—not the tight-fitting variety. In period pieces, I breathe a sigh of relief if the story postdates 1814, enabling me to avoid breeches altogether. I’ve successfully dodged knickerbockers throughout my career.

Are there any historic trousers you’d like to wear, in a literal or figurative sense?

Figuratively, I’d aspire to don the trousers of David Niven; his elegance and impeccable manners were unmatched. Literally, I’d choose the 1940s high-waisted, pleated trousers—broad, stylish, and functional; no one has enhanced upon that design since.

Does your dressing routine differ from day to day?

No, my approach is pretty consistent. The primary dilemma is whether to opt for a suit or not. I recall Andy Warhol sharing how he’d routinely go to Bloomingdale’s each year to stock up on a hundred identical pairs of white briefs. He’d survey all the vibrant options but would stick with the ones he always chose. I was impressed—not just by the dedication but because he could afford such a luxury. In my youth, a friend of mine had seven suits, one for each day. I vowed that if I were ever successful, I’d emulate that, which I eventually did.

The photographer Angela Hill follows suit: she buys seven outfits per season for her week.

I find that method commendable. I truly respect that kind of commitment.

Let’s shift to your podcast that explores advice—providing, receiving, and even the bad kind. What are your thoughts on sharing wisdom?

The premise is that I don’t have all the answers—just conversation. I make an effort to avoid sounding sage; pretending to be wise is impolite. Most questions I tackle are trivial—like those about socks or plants. A listener once inquired whether it’s ever stylish to go without socks. The answer is a resounding no. I’m continually surprised that people even pose that question.

What would you say about flip-flops?

Flip-flops are perfectly acceptable—they’re straightforward. But shoes without socks? That raises some suspicions for me.

What’s the worst piece of advice you’ve been given?

These days, advice seems less frequent in my direction. That’s one of the downsides of aging; people start seeking advice from you. When asked for “advice to the youth,” I casually say: stay away from drugs and make sure to pay your taxes. It may sound flippant, but it’s solid advice. While dispensing advice can be tricky, I wish someone had laid that out for me in my younger years.

The Bill Nighy X John Smedley collection can be exclusively pre-ordered at John Smedley stores and via www.johnsmedley.com.

Check out Ill-Advised by Bill Nighy, available for streaming now.