When I first stepped into an actual British clothing factory aged 24, I pretty much knew everything about menswear. I’d read books about fashion history, could drone on to anyone within earshot about the difference between Neapolitan and Roman tailoring, and had strong opinions on how pocket squares should be folded (answers at the back: generally not at all). But when I stepped onto the factory floor of a family-owned knitwear manufacturer in the Scottish borders, past the heavy industrial machines clattering away and into the dryers that filled the warehouse with the irresistible smell of wool and steam, I knew nothing about how clothes were actually made.
Workers bent over cutting tables filled the room, expert fingers working deftly and quickly to produce fabric after fabric of perfectly uniform jumper backs. “Been doing it this way for ninety years,” the factory manager said to me, his face creased like an apple by decades of working on the factory floor. “Though there used to be twenty factories like this all over the area. Now we’re one of three.” He didn’t say this bitterly, just as a statement of fact. Times had changed, the industry he knew practically destroyed in his lifetime.
That day changed how I thought about clothes forever. Clothes don’t just appear out of thin air.
Behind every garment is process and skill – and often an entire community and heritage behind that.
Factories that closed when British manufacturing declined in the 80s and 90s didn’t just shutter their doors and disappear. They took with them generational knowledge, regional specialisms, and entire communities that had sprung up around particular clothes-making skills. The town where my grandfather was born no longer has a single shoemaker.
By the time I graduated high school, the Welsh mill that produced blankets had closed its doors. But here’s the thing – just because a lot of British manufacturing closed up shop doesn’t mean they all did. Some factories survived the tumultuous decades of decline, adapting and evolving their products as needed. In recent years, many of these manufacturers have begun thriving once again as conscious consumers have begun to care more about how their clothes are made and where.
Brands that continue to produce clothing in the UK aren’t just pandering to heritage sake – they’re making truly excellent products that require specific skills and knowledge to create. Let’s start with an obvious one. Savile Row still exists, full of genuine British bespoke tailors producing wearable art for those willing to pay the price.
Every house on the row cuts and sews 100% of their suits on-site, from Anderson & Sheppard and Henry Poole to newer faces like Huntsman. There’s been innovation on the Row over recent years as well – more modern tailoring from the likes of Richard James and Ozwald Boateng, both cut with similarly high standards as their older competitors. It’s also still possible to learn how to tailor on the Row – young apprentices working their way up through the ranks by learning from the old masters.
In a world where modern manufacturing seems to value speed over craftsmanship, this is still incredibly rare. It’s not just bespoke that’s staying in Britain – plenty of brands are manufacturing their higher-end suits in the UK as well. Henry Sewell, an independently-owned company that’s been around since the mid-19th century, produces coats that are some of the best-made you’ll find nowhere near a tailor’s shop.
Like many high-end bespoke coats, their suits use British worsted wool that feels ridiculously soft against your skin and will only get better with wear. And the suits hold their shape – partly due to excellent construction, but also using something called canvas that’s specifically designed to keep its form once dry-cleaned. It’s still possible to find high-quality suits made in the UK that don’t require you take out a second mortgage. Moving away from suits for a second, there’s a company called Private White V.C. based out of Manchester and operating out of a clothing factory that’s been around since 1853.
If you’re into outerwear, you need to know about them. From waxed cotton jackets to wool overcoats to their signature ventile cotton raincoats (read: the best raincoat you can buy), this company understands British outerwear like few others. I’ve had their wax cotton jacket for five years now and it’s still going strong – the kind of jacket that gets better with every rainstorm.
The brand takes its namesake from Private Jack White, a soldier who won the Victoria Cross in World War I and later took ownership of the factory where Private White V.C. still produces today. That deep connection to place and history is reflected in their clothes. Want to know where your buttons come from?
Every single piece of clothing from Private White is marked with where every individual component is made – from buttons to zips, it’s all made in the UK. Seriously, every piece. Even the managing director is the founder’s great-grandson.
Heading north to Scotland, let’s talk about Mackintosh. No, not Mackintosh raincoat – THE Mackintosh raincoat. The original owners patented their method of bonding rubber to cotton way back in 1823, and remain in production to this day in a factory outside of Glasgow.
What’s incredible is that not much about how they produce their coats has changed in nearly 200 years. The raincoats still pass through multiple sets of skilled hands until they’re finished. Certain steps in the rubber bonding process are still completed by hand – requiring a particular skill set that takes years to perfect.
Today they still produce their signature rubberized cotton raincoat, known colloquially as a mackintosh. What’s fascinating is how they’ve modernized their business without sacrificing tradition – operating collaborations with Maison Margiela and designer Kiko Kostadinov in addition to their classic raincoat. By offering clothing that fits with modern aesthetics they’ve introduced their traditional products to new customers who might not have discovered authentically British-made rainwear otherwise.
If you want to know what truly remarkable British knitwear looks like, I’ll point you in the direction of Johnston of Elgin. Knitting has been produced in Scotland since the late 1700s, but few families can say they’ve been making cashmere and fine wools since 1797. The family actually owns several farms in the Scottish borders that supply the raw material for their textile production – ensuring absolute control over the quality of their yarn.
If that isn’t vertical manufacturing, I don’t know what is. Their knitwear is some of the best produced in Britain. If you’ve ever wondered how those old-school cashmere jumpers from Benetton and Patagonia could last decades despite the price, Johnstons has some answers.
You won’t find many shortcuts being taken in any stage of their production process – every element of their manufacturing is stuck inside Leeds like Jetsons-style capsules, dedicated to preserving skills that may have been lost to British manufacturing otherwise. Ok, so we’ve covered the fancy trousers stuff. Who’s making normal clothes in Britain nowadays?
Enter Community Clothing. Started by Patrick Grant of both E. Tautz and Norton & Sons fame, Community Clothing is a sort of side-project that aims to use downtime in British factories to their advantage.
In order to combat travel time and the difficulty of turning a profit on British-made basics, Community releases styles that are carefully designed to use dead-stock fabric and produce garments during times of the year where UK factories would otherwise be sitting idle. Instead of producing clothes half a world away, Community Clothing provides a realistic alternative that supports skilled jobs in the UK. I own several shirts and jumpers from them.
The quality is excellent, especially for the price point. Their basics are well-cut using serious weights of cotton that get better with each wash – not weaker. They’re also extremely transparent about what each item costs to make and where each factory is located.
There’s no mad-dash to offshore production when you can make quality clothes in Britain. Shirts Nearly every shirt manufacturer still cuts and sews a significant portion of their garments in Britain, with many continuing to produce their shirts entirely at home. Drake’s still manufactures their shirts in Somerset, where seasoned machinists hand-piece together decades-old shirt patterns to produce their line.
Fit is probably the biggest indicator that a shirt was made in Britain – pay attention to the collar and you’ll see why. Offshore production cuts corners by simplifying patterns and designs to speed up the production process, but British shirts are tailored with particular care that you can feel in a well-cut garment. Collars won’t fray as easily.
Cuffs won’t break when you undo them for the first time. For a lesser-known brand that’s been cutting and sewing shirts in London since 1910, cheque out Budd. Much like their Savile Row counterparts, Budd produces bespoke shirts in addition to ready-to-wear versions that can be purchased direct from their shop on Piccadilly.
Training to be a shirt-cutter is no easy process – it takes years of practise to translate a body’s measurements into tangible pattern pieces that produce a shirt that fits. And when I say years, I mean it – some of Budd’s shirt-cutters have been with the company for decades. Shoes Despite everything we’ve discussed so far, British shoemaking might be in the best state it’s been in years.
Northamptonshire is currently enjoying something of a renaissance, with domestic brands leading the way in high-quality footwear that’s made to last. Wellington Boots produced entirely in Devon. Brogues and oxfords from Alfred Sargent.
Loafers from Randolph. All maintain traditional production methods that allow their shoes to be resoled and repaired for decades to come. At the heart of high-quality shoe production is something called Goodyear welting.
Named after its mid-19th century inventor, this method of stitching together the upper, insole, and-welt means that outsoles can be replaced should they become worn over years of use. It’s a time-intensive process that takes significantly longer than glued or stitched construction methods, but the difference in durability is night and day. Still confused?
Here’s an excellent deep-dive on everything you need to know about quality shoes. I have worn a single pair of Crockett & Jones boots for almost eleven years. They were hideously expensive when I bought them – three weeks’ worth of rent for a then-newly graduated writer.
But they’re still with me today because of how they’re constructed. The soles have been replaced twice (by myself). The leather has softened to perfectly conform to my feet.
C&J even offers a re-profiling service should your shoes become scuffed or unevenly worn. There is simply no entry barrier for purchasing an inferior pair of shoes when British brands offer such a high bar for quality. 
Denim/Workwear UK-based selvedge denim? What about it?
Blackhorse Lane Ateliers is a compelling brand story about how British manufacturing can adapt to create something new. Opened in 2016, BHLA has set themselves apart by creating a domestically produced denim brand with sustainability and ethics at the core of their philosophy. The denim itself is sourced from mills in Japan, Turkey, and Italy (sorry – no domestic denim production these days), but cut, sewn, and finished in London.
They’ve even gone one better – by using a former public school as their headquarters, they’ve opened a restaurant on-site where guests can sit down with the makers who produced their clothes. While you can’t tour the factory itself, they host workshops on repairing and customising your own denim – fostering community and skills-sharing rather than hiding the evidence of their labour like so many brands do. While BHLA might be newer on the scene, there are smaller boutique manufacturers making clothes in tiny batches that are worth your attention.
If you’ve got the money to spend, S.E.H Kelly’s “grandmother chapter” dresses London tailors, Scottish knitwear mills, and Irish shirtmakers to create uniquely beautiful menswear. Each garment tag contains information about the producer, where they’re located, and even who made your clothes. Closer to home, Hiut Denim is proving it’s possible to create a globally loved brand manufacturing nothing but jeans in a tiny Welsh town.
Started in Cardigan, Wales – a town that once produced 35,000 jeans a week before the factory shut down in the early 2000s – Hiut set out to revive skills that would have been lost to overseas production. By hiring old employees of the town’s former denim manufacturer – whom they affectionately call “grand masters” – they’ve created a collection of jeans that feel distinctly Welsh. I mention all this not to tell you how great these brands are – though they are – but to illustrate a point.
The economics of shoemaking and clothing production in the UK will never look the same as they did before Brexit and a global pandemic. In a world where clothing can be produced for a fraction of the cost overseas, it’s simply impossible for British manufacturing to compete on price alone. But what if they didn’t try?
What if, instead of trying to create shirts at the same price points as goods made in China, they focused on transparency, quality, regional specialities, and building durable products that would outlast the temptation of buying something cheaper? More and more brands are eschewing aspirational heritage in favour of genuine use.
Sure, there are stalwarts like Nigel Cabourn carrying the torch – and rightly so, his gear is amongst the best British-made gear you can buy – but newer brands are emerging that take British manufacturing seriously. Country of Origin is one such brand, producing knitwear made entirely in London using British-sourced yarn.
They might produce traditional styles, but the designs feel distinctly modern and aim to reach customers who might not otherwise be interested in heritage-focused brands. Then there’s Labour and Wait, who have revitalized interest in British manufacturing by doing the opposite of everything I’ve talked about so far. Searching out traditional British products and introducing them to a new audience, Labour and Wait have created a fascination with utilitarian products built to standards of old.
Whether it’s an English wool macintosh or a pair of launderable hemp canvases, they seek out the most useful products MADE IN BRITAIN has to offer. Can British manufacturing survive the new economic landscape? It’s difficult to say for certain – but it’s not trying to.
Large scale clothes manufacturing abroad will never return to British soil, and smaller manufacturers are learning to embrace that reality. What will look like in the future is boutique production that leverages Britain’s best assets – exceptional skill, narrative-centric branding, and the ability to produce clothes that last lifetimes rather than seasons. After decades of fearing the worst, I’m glad to say I regularly visit factories where I see young kids training next to men and women who have been sewing or cutting for decades on end.
The knowledge isn’t being lost, it’s being transferred and put to use on modern clothes that the world wants to buy.
