WeTransfer co-founder Damian Bradfield loves the macabre, Monster Munch and Cillian Murphy’s hair

My personal style signifiers are my glasses. I’m becoming blind as a bat, and as my eyes have got worse my frames have got better. My current pair – which are bone, so they’re light and super-comfortable – were handmade by Jasper Graas near Amsterdam, where I live, but he’s since sold his shop and is no longer making glasses. 

The last thing I bought and loved was a pastel-pink and orange sculpture of a mochi cake. My son has been teaching snowboarding in Japan – we visited him at Christmas and stumbled across a store in Kyoto that makes these big sculptures. It’s purely decorative but it feels almost edible. 

The place that means a lot to me is The Turtle Conservancy in Ojai, California, a little oasis in a desert landscape. We rented a house there, and in between them the turtles just roam free. It feels prehistoric, like you’ve really gone back in time. We had tortoises as kids, but to be honest they were a bit rubbish – this is a different league.

And the best souvenir I’ve brought home is a sculpture of a man’s head that I bought at an antique shop in Tahiti. It had real hair on it but it all fell out. My dog was a bit of a monster when he was younger – he’d eat everything – so I actually think he licked it off.

The best book I’ve read in the past year I listened to: the audiobook of Hanya Yanagihara’s A Little Life. Really big books scare me a bit, but the version I listened to switched between a man and a woman’s voice from chapter to chapter, so the pace changed too. It’s one of the most beautifully sad stories I’ve ever heard.

When I started at WeTransfer, it felt like there was a lot more optimism in the world. What I loved about it was the willingness to embrace something new and share – that doesn’t happen now. Maybe I look back with rose-tinted glasses, but that energy was addictive.

The best gift I’ve received was from my wife. She had a super job in Amsterdam, where we moved to from the UK in 2005, when I came home one day and said I wanted to move to LA to open up WeTransfer in the US. She gave up a lot for me, and that is probably the most generous gift I have ever been given. We later moved back to Amsterdam because I wanted my kids to be raised in Europe.

And the best gift I’ve given is a Top Trumps-style card game I created called Megalomaniacs. We went through the internet and ranked the people with the most power –  Elon Musk, YouTuber MrBeast and Kim Kardashian – to see who was behaving well and who wasn’t. They’re ranked on things like delusion, modesty and vision. I’ve sent it to hedge funds, venture capital and private equity firms and everyone I know. There was quite a divide between who we viewed as good and bad actors, even among my friends. 

My style icon is Cillian Murphy. Every time I go to the hairdresser, I take a picture of him with me and ask them to make me look like him. We’ve still got a lot of work to do. But Cillian really carries himself well – style isn’t just about what you wear but how you carry yourself.

The last music I streamed was Saya by Japanese-Canadian musician Saya Gray. I think she’s one of the greatest artists I’ve heard. When I say artist, I mean someone who really thinks about themselves visually – someone who writes, records and produces everything themselves. She’s going to be really successful.

I love everything macabre. I don’t have a problem with being shocked or appalled – I like being made to feel uncomfortable. In the creative process, I always used to say that I wanted to work on stuff that, if I had to present to the board, there would be a chance they would fire me. Then I’d know we were doing something really interesting. The Long Goodbye, a film about racism in post-Brexit Britain that WeTransfer made with Riz Ahmed, was that.

I have a collection of drawings, especially by Ralph Steadman, who illustrated Hunter S Thompson’s Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas. It started when my dad bought me a book of his called Inspector Mouse, which led me to artists such as Raymond Pettibon and Marcel Dzama. I loved how dark and dodgy the drawings were. To be able to draw well requires real skill; I like to use it as a test to see if I can respect an artist.

The best way to spend £20 is on a foundation we started at WeTransfer called The Supporting Act, or on Alexander McQueen’s Sarabande foundation, of which I am a board member. Both help with grants for emerging artists around Europe. 

I’ve just written a children’s book. My generation is screwed already – the issue is trying to get the younger generation to understand the power they have. Caro Carrowack is about a girl with horrible parents who goes on an adventure to prove them wrong – and unlike, say, Elon Musk, she realises that she should be philanthropic and help people rather than put them down.

A way to make me laugh is to abuse me. There’s nothing that makes me laugh more than humour that’s willing to go straight for the jugular. Take the piss out of me – I find it really endearing.

In my fridge you’ll always find Scotch eggs, pork pies and Heinz salad cream – 100 per cent British nostalgia and comfort food. It’s beige, like Loro Piana. Everyone’s fridge always looks so perfect – my fridge is not tidy, it’s used. I have two teenage kids and we cook a lot.

I’ve recently discovered Willow Smith’s album Empathogen. I didn’t want to like it. I wouldn’t go out of my way to big up Willow Smith. But man, 
she is talented. If you appreciate contemporary jazz, she’s brilliant.

I don’t believe in life after death. I want closure. When I die, I want my ashes to be turned into diamonds. My kids think I’m winding them up but I’m serious: my ashes turned into diamonds so they can put one on a tooth and I can always be with them. I also thought it would be funny if they scattered my diamonds and someone found them but didn’t know it was me.

An indulgence I would never forgo is pickled onion Monster Munch. Most crisps are lazy and look like the shape of a potato – these are in the shape of a monster’s foot. There are just enough monster’s feet in a bag to make you feel nauseous and fulfilled without feeling grotesque.

The last items of clothing I added to my wardrobe were a jacket and a pair of shoes from Swedish brand Atelier Saman Amel. Almost everything is made to order – it’s a very personal process. The jacket is Loro Piana fabric but not at Loro Piana prices, and it’s tailored by someone who can cater to a 47-year-old who drinks a lot of Burgundy.

An object I would never part with is a blue Maison Margiela bag I’ve had for 15 years. I use it every single day and it looks as good as the day I bought it. It cost something crazy, but if I’d known I’d get that much use out of it I wouldn’t have hidden it from my wife for 13 years.

I try very hard to avoid social media. I hate Elon Musk, and Mark Zuckerberg is a close second. I do 10 minutes of voyeuristic scrolling on Instagram a day and then leave. My feed is random, it doesn’t know who I am at all.

The grooming staple I’m never without is the world’s most expensive floss from Officine Universelle Buly. It comes in a cute metal tin. They make these stupidly beautiful toothbrushes too. They last the same length of time as any other toothbrush, but you don’t want to throw it away because it cost €40. Maybe I could put it near my Tahitian sculpture and replace the hairs that the dog licked off. Officine Universelle Buly peppermint dental floss, €14, and polychromatic travel toothbrush, €40

My favourite room in my house is a games room with a snooker table and TV. We’ve put Cole & Son Fornasetti wallpaper on the walls and ceiling. It’s grey with beautifully illustrated clouds; if you lie on the floor and look at the ceiling, it’s very therapeutic.

My wellbeing guru is Noble Rot co-founder Dan Keeling. If you buy everything that’s in Noble Rot’s magazine, life is going to be really peachy. You might end up a bit overweight and your cholesterol might go up, but life is going to be really good.

I don’t think anyone has a favourite website any more. There are brands I like that have a web presence – MSCHF, the Brooklyn art collective, or slow-news platform Tortoise Media. But the web has just become a series of motorway service stations positioned to quench your thirst – they’re not there to teach you anything. 

When I need to feel inspired, I go off on my own. In the tech world, everything is about collaboration, and I hate collaboration – it’s grossly overrated. I like being alone and coming up with ideas.

In another life, I would have been a gardener. It’s bizarre because I spend all my life indoors behind a screen curating projects for WePresent – WeTransfer’s digital arts platform – and chairing The Supporting Act Foundation, but where I find I can really switch off is the garden.

The thing I couldn’t do without is email. I love it. It’s been the lifeblood of my work for 25 years. There are people I’ve never met whom I feel quite close to and have stayed in touch with because of it. I can’t imagine a world without email.

The one artist whose work I would collect if I could is Tesfaye Urgessa. I saw his work at Saatchi Yates a few years ago, then at the Venice Biennale. He produces these super-big-format sculptural portraits and his use of colour is mesmerising.

My favourite building is the Sarabande Foundation’s home in Haggerston, east London. The building’s not spectacular but the energy there is. It has 15 studios at the back that are let for peppercorn rent to different creatives, and you can’t help but walk out of there feeling energised. I particularly love the work of Daisy Collingridge – she creates fantastical characters and worlds in pastel fabrics that make you feel warm. You don’t even need to touch the fabrics to feel the emotion and sentiment that she has conjured.

The person that changed art for me was Ann Philbin, who used to run the Hammer Museum in Los Angeles until she retired last year. Annie opened up the art world to me in the most generous manner: she introduced us to artists from all over the world, she invited us to events at her house, she even gave us her house once to host a party. I liked art before – she got me to love it.

The best bit of advice I ever received was from Peter Blake. He said two things: that his role was always to be ahead of the avant-garde, which I loved, and that “living well is the best revenge”. I didn’t really get it at the time – but I do now. Whatever living well for you means, it’s just about getting on with it. 

Not A Playbook, £14, and Caro Carrowack, £36, are published by FUPE