AD’s West Coast editor Mayer Rus pops into the new Rick Owens boutique in Los Angeles with the legendary L.A. arbiter elegantiarum Paul Fortune, who expounds on matters of taste and trash.

Mayer Rus: You’ve known Rick Owens forever, yes? What do you make of the store?

Paul Fortune: I love it. It feels very 1980s with all the concrete and white and big volumes. I like the bombast of the fitting rooms and the other amusing details. Plus, they carry pots by my husband, Chris Brock, which are divine.

MR: Yes, the pots are gorgeous. I’ll be hitting you up for a discount shortly.

PF: Good luck with that.

MR: Are you doing any shopping for yourself while we’re here? I can really see you in one of these intergalactic shrouds.

PF: No, darling. My chifforobe is full. When I moved to Ojai, I looked at my closet and realized I never wear 90 percent of the s--t that’s in there. When I was a kid, you had a wardrobe; you didn’t have 50 suits and 300 pairs of shoes. Besides, I’m too old for shopping. There’s too much stuff in the world, and most of it is crap.

MR: Does that apply to the interior design world?

PF: Especially the interior design world! All these people rushing around doing awful lines, which simply aren’t necessary. It’s too much.

MR: Is it any different than it ever was?

PF: I don’t know what’s going on with design. It was always about money, but today it’s money untethered to any idea of living well.

MR: This is getting grim. Let’s turn that frown upside down. Have you seen anything brilliant—or at least lovely—recently?

PF: Over Thanksgiving I went to see Ian Falconer’s Nutcracker in Seattle. Ian did all the sets and costumes, which are fantastic. Chris and I went up with David Hockney and had a blast.

MR: Anything else you’ve liked?

PF: Let me think. . . . I saw some chandeliers by Jorge Pardo at David Gill’s place in London that were kind of good. They’re made of Plexiglas and aluminum. They sound horrifying, but they’re actually quite beautiful. I was drawn to them, which is . . . unusual.

MR: That’s what I love about you, Paul. You kvetch about how awful everything is and when I ask what you’ve been up to, it’s always David Hockney at the opera, cocktails at the Casbah, pilates with Jacqueline de Ribes. Your life sounds pretty glamorous.

PF: Please. You can have the glamour. I just want a little peace and quiet.

MR: Is that why you abandoned L.A. for Ojai?

PF: Living in Ojai is easy. It’s not pretentious. Nobody’s Instagramming, nobody’s Twittering. It’s about having a little space to yourself, and having time to do what you want to do. Billionaires can buy a plane, buy an island, whatever they want. Minions like us have to find a place like Ojai.

MR: Are you concerned that all the recent “Ojai is happening!” publicity in travel and fashion magazines will spoil your idyll?

PF: Ojai is a weird place. You have these pockets of secret Republican money tucked in with the Krishnamurti people and the dreamcatchers. It’s an improbable mash-up, but somehow it works. Ojai is not Montauk. It’s never going to be groovy.

MR: What are you working on these days?

PF: I’m doing Sofia Coppola’s townhouse in the Village, a loft on Broadway for a pop star, and a house in Montecito. I think I’m doing a hotel in Puerto Rico, although I’m not sure how the economy is doing there. That one’s a maybe.

MR: A loft for a pop star? Don’t be coy, dear. It’s tedious.

PF: It’s the same one who bought my house in Laurel Canyon. Figure it out yourself.

MR: Fair enough. But you sound busy. I thought you were getting out of the rat race.

PF: I’m not doing a lot of the heavy lifting anymore. The days when I’d get into the car and drive around for a week looking for the right lamp are over. I’m more like an éminence grise. People want their houses to be okay, so I scan their drawings and plans, and if anything looks off, I alert them.

MR: Intriguing. Tell me more.

PF: Think of it as damage control design. I was just looking at a lighting plan for a bedroom that had 20 spotlights. Somehow, nobody said no to that idea except me. So I helped save money and spare egos. People don’t want to look like Dracula when they go to bed.

MR: I think you’re being a bit modest. People don’t hire you to check their lighting plans. They want that Paul Fortune magic.

PF: That magic gets harder to conjure every year, but we try our best.

MR: Piffle. I’m sure you have many more abracadabras left before you’re done.

PF: God, I hope not.