You may be wondering about the wearability of such garments. Wan, of course, is only too aware of the painful compromise between publicity and actual sales. The rubber-gloved frock was an expression of his originality; the garments in his shops in Tsim Sha Tsui and Causeway Bay express a more wearable creativity. But he retains an appealing quirkiness which he is trying to hang on to.

It is not always easy. In 1989, he won the Trade Development Council's (TDC) Young Designer Contest, which involved a trip to Paris, and inspired by what he saw there he set up his first workroom in Jordan in 1992. 'So I've been in this industry for 10 years,' he says, 'and it's getting harder and harder to create. That's also the most interesting part of the job, that you are forced to come up with new things.' So how does he cope? 'I think it's like being a film director,' he says. 'It might be a very old love story but if you direct it in a new way, it comes out totally differently. I don't believe there are new things in fashion - it's how you pick the ideas and mix them up. That's the most important part of the game.' That use of the word 'game' is significant: the Wan signature is a particular child-like, skewed vision which does not believe in taking the world too seriously. His current autumn/winter collection, for instance, is based on Cinderella and the Frog Prince, so his shops are full of frog motifs and sweet, glittery frocks - in contrast to last year's collection which was based on the darker themes of The Exorcist. He likes to play with fashion.

Perhaps this is a result of having three children - Silky, nine, Idees, four ('It's the French word for 'ideas' because when she was born I thought the most important thing for a person is to have ideas') and Toby who is 15 months. 'Having them did affect me,' he agrees. 'Some people say: 'Oh, Pacino Wan designs very cute things,' and I think that's because of the children. When Silky was one year old, for example, I bought her a little hat with a braid attached. I thought it was wasted on kids so I made it for adults.' What does she think of his clothes now? Wan grins. 'She is really a fan of me. She says: 'Daddy, I like this style.' I think when I make these cutie styles, it's for my daughter.' The fashion business in Hong Kong, needless to say, is more cut-throat than cute, particularly where retail space is concerned. In 1998, Wan took on a shop space in Tsim Sha Tsui that was so tiny there was no space for a mannequin. So he decided to make a display of Perrier bottles ('Because I like the shape') and dress them in miniature versions of his clothes. Now, although he has expanded into bigger spaces, he has kept the glass motif.

'It always makes people happy. In May, I went to Sydney with the Trade Development Council and I took 80 miniature designs. I couldn't find Perrier bottles there, so I bought San Pellegrino, which also worked. I displayed 80 bottles in my booth and everybody who passed through was smiling.' The TDC shows will be held later this month at the Convention and Exhibition Centre so Wan has broken with tradition by showing several weeks early. 'Normally, I have a collection during fashion week but I think the convention centre is too . . . conventional,' he says. 'I wanted to make a change. So I asked Benny Chia [director of the Fringe Club] in October and he fixed it.' Being the first Hong Kong designer to show in the millennium brought its own traumas. Wan spent Christmas Day and New Year's Day working in his Tsuen Wan studio on the designs, the music and the choreography. Lack of space meant that instead of inviting 1,800 people he could only squeeze in 400, and although he contemplated doing two shows, the models (who, unlike Perrier bottles, have firm opinions about what is expected of them) refused.

Still, despite problems with the lighting which meant a late start, the intimacy of the venue certainly contributed to its success. One model, in a dress filled with confetti, flung handfuls more across the front row; another, in a wonderful frock concocted of multi-coloured strips of Velcro, encouraged the audience to fling little baubles at her as if she were a strolling Christmas tree.

There was no particular reference to the millennium or to the passage of the years - but then Wan needs no reminder of how time plays its own game on fashion designers. On the one hand, its swiftness keeps them in perpetual motion; on the other, it can feel as if it takes forever to get established in the big markets, especially if you live in Hong Kong.

Wan sells in London, Australia and Asia, but he has yet to crack the United States. 'I want to stretch my arms. But it takes time. You have to make your collection very good, and then some more. You have to compete with yourself all the time.'