Ok, lets get one thing straight: I’m a snob. Not on purpose, of course – I pride myself on thinking that – but in the same way that anyone who regularly handles wines south of £10.99 at work becomes a bit of a connoisseur without meaning to, I’ve somehow got to the point where I use the phrase “the hand feel is exceptional” whilst not bursting out laughing. Sorry Dad.
You’d hate me now. The reason? Blame fashion week.
Wear enough Italian merino and Japanese denim, and your fingers develop a sixth sense that can identify polyester from across a room. It’s awesome in most situations but makes splashing your cash in the high street a thoroughly depressing experience.
However, I’ll admit that recently I’ve become something of an enthusiast of proper, proudly-British-made menswear that doesn’t require you to take out a second mortgage to buy.
It started as idle professional curiosity (“what’s the best you can actually do for under a hundred quid if it’s genuinely made in Britain?”) before becoming something of an obsession fuelled equally by guilt (I’ve spent years telling people to “invest” in designer shirts and jeans that cost more than some people’s weekly food budget) and sheer bloody-mindedness (hang on a minute, surely it can’t *still* be this difficult?! ). It’s not like Britain’s textile industry hasn’t been through enough turmoil already, is it? Growing up in Manchester, my grandfather used to regale me with stories about the mills when I was old enough to understand.
He’d worked in one from the age of fourteen until they shut it down in the early eighties and used to take me down Lancashire road trips (“That was Birnley’s… that was Johnson’s… they’ve all gone now.”). There was always a note of genuine grief in his voice when he spoke about them. So in a way it became a bit of a crusade to sniff out clothes that normal people with normal budgets can afford to buy that are still genuinely made here, in Britain.
Not because I’m some misguided flag-waving patriot (God no – I spend more money on clothes from Japan than practically any other place, my wardrobe is the diplomatic circle at Hermès.) but because quite frankly when you find something that *still* is made here, by people who are properly trained to do those jobs and are being paid a proper wage for it, and it doesn’t break the bank… well, it feels like winning the lottery. Enter: Community Clothing. Now I know what you’re thinking.
CC has blown up a bit in the last year or so, whatever this geezer’s trying to sell us. Been there, done that. Look at Richard!
He’s wearing socks AND a proper tie! And y’know what? You’re kind of right.
But hear me out. Community Clothing was the first “modern” brand I came across that actually nailed this whole “made in Britain, affordable, quality” formula. Owned by the impeccably dressed Patrick Grant of Sydney Watts and The Great British Sewing Bee fame, the idea is beautifully simple: during slack periods for British factories (hello globalisation), commission them to make Craftsman-approved, no-frills high-quality basics, cut out all the middlemen, and sell them direct to the customer.
Heavyweight t-shirts for eighteen quid. Made from 100% cotton that feels like it was woven by Incredibles and sewn together in British factories. Their range has expanded since I discovered them a few years back, but I still proudly own three t-shirts that have survived weekly washings and wearings for over two years without losing a hint of shape or colour.
Unlike pretty much every t-shirt you’ll find on the high street now, proper cotton gets better with age – if you look after it. High street fashion fibres are designed to pill and wear weirdly after three washes. Cotton from these guys will only get softer.
Speaking of ageing gracefully… let’s talk about their shirts. Specifically, the Oxford shirts I wore in my recent “smart pub outfit” article. Made in Britain. £45.
Buttons? Mother of pearl. Pretty sure a whole sweatband on your favourite Italian shirt costs more than those alone.
Funny story about that actually. I once met someone wearing one on a press trip for a luxury Italian brand – who works for the Italian brand. He visibly recoiled when I told him how much it cost. “That’s… well.
That’s about how much our pocket squares are,” he muttered conspiratorially. Cookson & Clegg are another UK favourite of mine, making equally excellent workwear from their Lancashire base. They do some cracking twill work trousers for eighty five quid that are basically my go-to casual trousers now.
They were something I picked up originally to avoid looking like a tit on a factory visit (“no way I’m rocking some pricey denim in here!”) but since the initial purchase I must wear them at least once a week. Sewn in Blackburn from British cotton twill with ridiculously well thought out details (who reinforces the seams on their trousers nowadays? Everyone but Cookson & Clegg seem to charge you extra for it.) that will last you until we’re all floating on hoverboards and you’ll still look sharp when the robots come to reclaim the planet.
If work trousers aren’t your thing but you still like the sound of bona fide British knitwear, Peregrine has been crafting Garments in England since as far back as 1796. Clearly they know a thing or two about longevity. Just look at those prices!
Another brand who mainly specialise in plain jumpers, theirs are currently hovering at around the £85 mark when they’re on sale as I type this (and they *are* on sale quite often if you time it right.) Batchcrafted in Manchester from British wool sourced from farms all over the country. They ain’t versatile with fashion like some of the above shirts, but ain’t nothing gonna beat these when it comes to jumper season – and you’ll be saving a fortune on your central heating bill. Ok I know what you’re thinking.
You Might Also Like
Socks. The bloody socks bit. Bare with me.
Coronation Street aren’t famous for their male modelling opportunities, but you get my point – I couldn’t think of anywhere near as nice to start this paragraph with. Anyway. Corrymoor make some ludicrously comfortable mohair socks in Devon that will change your life.
For about £13 a pair. Were I you, I would buy multiple pairs. Go on.
I’ll wait. Look, I don’t care if that’s an exaggeration. I bought a pair years ago on the off chance my PR guy offered me at some event, wore them on the way to Milan two days later and have barely worn anything else since.
They don’t sweat. They don’t smell. They just… last.
Ages. Plus the mohair is actually from their own herd of goats. I die.
I really wanted to pop along to see their farm when I was last in Devon but was told that “turning up unannounced and demanding to see someone’s goats” is “weird” and “borderline concerning” from UK farming standards. If you ask me. For when you need something a bit smarter but equally as casual, London-based Universal Works will often do some of their simpler pieces in the UK.
Look out for their Baker’s jackets and overshirts popping up in the elusive ‘made in England’ section for just shy of a hundred quid in the sales. I picked up a cotton twill number in navy about two seasons back that’s since become one of my go-to’s when I need something smarter than a sweatshirt but not as faffy as a “proper jacket.” Lastly for those of you who run: Iffley Road actually make some of their t-shirts in Leicester. Not just any old t-shirts, mind.
Technical ones that *actually* wick away sweat and don’t chafe like plastic *doesn’t* ruin your life. Yours for £65, which isn’t great if you plan on buying them with the express intention of shrinking in the wash but will last you for years otherwise and serve their purpose admirably. Long-sleeved version on top here that I’ve run two half marathons in – as well as the inevitable gym sessions and “start running regularly I swear!” false-starts.
Look. Let’s be honest here: I’m not naive enough to think that every British factory is effectively worker’s paradise with living wages and three Fridays off each month. There are issues with garment production everywhere – sweatshops abroad included.
But what I will say is that buying clothes made closer to home, where regulations are stricter and wages are (generally) higher just feels like something you can trace easier. Plus when you break down the cost of that £85 jumper by how many years you’ll get out of it… suddenly £100 doesn’t go as far as it used to. Fact.
Clothes don’t cost what they used ‘to’ because most of them aren’t made in the UK anymore. Sure there’s corporate greed involved – but only being able to charge £15 for a t-shirt because you pay your workers a dollar an hour doesn’t help much either. Simply put: it costs more money to *properly* make clothes.
And it costs more money to do that here. Everything I’ve mentioned above genuinely delivers on that. There are no terrible itchy fabrics being glued together at the sides in some nameless Chinese factory to keep these prices down.
They’re either running fantastically slick businesses with everyman pricing in mind (looking at you CC and IW), going direct to consumer to keep mark-ups down, or benefiting from making large volumes of very simple products exceedingly well for many, many years.
The worst thing about all of this? As Fashion Editor of a magazine that features enough €€€€€ menswear to wallpaper my flat in I’m overjoyed by an £18 t-shirt or a £85 jumper.
If that doesn’t sum up why we need more stuff like this I don’t know what does. They’re the antithesis of “investment” pieces. They may not have the bragging rights of a Blazy dress shirt but they’re everyday luxury at its finest: not brag-worthy or flashy but exceptionally good at doing what they say on the tin.
I took my dad down to the Community Clothing store down in Manchester last Christmas. Bought him a heavy weight t-shirt and he actually liked it. “Feels like the clothes grandad used to have.” he said, running his hands over the weight of the sweatshirt. “Before they all became…” He paused, staring into middle distance, clearly searching for the right word. “Disposables?” I replied. He nodded vigorously. “Yup.
That’s it. You’d actually mend them back then.” You will with these. I promise you that.
Trust me.
