After my final year at Glenlyon, it was time to break out (and ditch the school uniform) and I went public for high school. Mount Douglas Secondary School was like [Eighties comedy film] Fast Times at Ridgemont High. I loved the parade of fashions, the different cliques, getting my driving licence and joyriding with my first car, a Volkswagen Rabbit convertible, and meeting new friends from all walks of life. I also learnt how to party nightly, how to skip classes and how to smoke, but what I loved most was dressing up every day. I was named best dressed in my graduation class but was bummed out that I didn’t win best car.

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During high school, there was an annual competition held by department store Hudson’s Bay to select 12 high school kids to form their High School Fashion Council. I went for it and got in, which was a pretty big deal. We were given part-time jobs in the store (I was assigned to the watch and jewellery department), performed in seasonal fashion shows, and made appearances at special charity events and on local TV. We were like a mini Brat Pack and, behind our squeaky-clean image by day, we partied together like rock stars at night.

Every summer, I would return to Hong Kong and from the age of 14 lived in hotels and spent my days at the Hong Kong Country Club. I organised nightly dinners followed by partying in Lan Kwai Fong all summer, armed with club memberships and my father’s credit cards. Every month, my father would show me stacks of receipts and give me grief. I would always vow to spend less and not entertain so much, but it continued. My father was annoyed, but I think he also knew I loved my friends like family, as, along with his lectures, he also said, “Invest in your friends, as you will never know who might help you one day.” Was he ever so right?

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I started tennis training at 12 and was a competitive junior. I had a lot of early success, beating older players to become a top ten provincially ranked player for under-18s. I even dropped out of university to teach tennis full-time and was making good money. But my father gave me an order: get a degree, quit coaching and get a proper job. I said I would get my degree but come back to Hong Kong to work. He agreed, but said, “You have to find your own path; don’t expect a desk and position in my company waiting for you.” It was his best advice and since then he has always been my advisor for all my professional pursuits. Father does know best.

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When I moved back full-time in 1997, my dream was to pursue a job in fashion. I was hired by luxury retailer Club 21 on its six-month management trainee programme, starting on the sales floor before moving to the office to learn merchandising. Before my training was complete, the Asian financial crisis hit, the entire programme was scrapped and I was let go.

Mimi Tang, the head of Club 21 in Hong Kong, gave me some advice upon my exit: “Peter, you are not really merchandising material. You should pursue marketing and communications.” I thanked her for her advice but I didn’t even know what that was. When I left that last day, I discovered a voicemail from Hong Kong Tatler managing editor Jill Triptree to see if I would interview for a new social editor position.

“What’s a social editor?” I asked Triptree. “Basically it’s doing what you do every day with your friends, Peter, but you write about it.” I never had any idea I would be in publishing or if I could write, nor did I even know much about Tatler. Former publishers Lina and Boya Mohindar and their daughter Sharie Ross Tse saw something in me that I didn’t, and I guess all those years of hosting dinner parties, partying with friends and wanting to meet people of all walks of life had been worth it. It was a great time to be social editor. A lot of my peers were coming back to Hong Kong, there were multiple events and galas nightly, and the mix of post handover optimism and the oncoming millennium meant the city was buzzing.

When my friend Mara Hotung, then Sotheby’s jewellery expert, asked me to come and help entertain her boss, Carlton Rochell, I went thinking it was a social lunch and it turned out to be an interview. I flew to the Sotheby’s headquarters in New York the following week to meet CEO Diana “Dede” Brooks. I was scared to death as I had no prior auction experience and didn’t know anything about the industry. I relied on my knowledge of jewellery and watches to bluff my way though. After waiting all day to meet Brooks, I was finally summoned to her office in the evening. I thought she would just blow me off. Instead, she only talked to me about one thing: being competitive. “I know you play tennis but it’s not only about winning the match; you cannot give away even one point.“

After Sotheby’s collaborated with Dior fine jewellery, my friend Leigh Tung-Chou, who was Dior’s regional marketing director, asked me if I could recommend anyone to become their new regional PR manager. “What about me?” I said. I underwent more than ten interviews, and was flown to Paris to meet CEO Sidney Toledano. I made a big mistake by wearing a suit and tie. He thought I looked like a banker and not “fashion” enough. He told me, “This is high fashion, this is business, and we do not sell old things from dead people.” He asked me to remain in Paris for another week and attend Dior’s haute couture show. I was blown away and I knew this was what I wanted to do for the rest of my career. Toledano asked to see me again and said, “You will need to roll up your sleeves and work; you will see creativity like you never have before. And lose the tie.” I never wore one around him again.

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