English Fashion Brands: Ten Makers and What They Do Best

THE COUNTRYLOOK WARDROBE   /   ENGLISH MAKERS

A good English wardrobe is not made by choosing ten English labels. It begins by understanding what each maker does well, what is still made here, and which things are worth repairing rather than replacing.

I have an unfashionable habit of turning clothes inside out before admiring the label. There is a particular pleasure when the claim is precise: a boot made in Northampton, a fine jumper knitted at Lea Mills or a shirt cut and sewn in a particular workroom. I know what I am being asked to pay for. A famous English name without that detail is a much thinner sort of reassurance. The story on the label ought to connect to the object in my hands.

When I follow these clothes back to where they were made, my mental map of English fashion changes. London has the hatters and shirt shops; Northamptonshire has shoemaking; Somerset has leather workshops; Derbyshire and Nottinghamshire have knitwear and jersey. I like that the geography is as varied as the wardrobe. The best English clothes come from specific skills cultivated in specific places, not from some vague national instinct for being well dressed.

I have picked ten makers for ten quite different tasks. I would not ask a Jermyn Street shirtmaker to make me a country boot, or judge a hatter by the same measures as a handbag workshop. This is not a list of the most prestigious names. It is the route I would take if I needed one reliable object and wanted to understand why a particular maker was worth approaching for it.

First, what does “English fashion brand” actually mean?

When somebody says 'English fashion', I ask a question that can briefly spoil the romance: English in what sense? A business may have been founded here, designed here or made a particular product in an English workroom. Those are three different claims. I find a maker's history interesting, but I still look for the manufacturing origin of the exact item I have picked up. The distinction matters most when an older brand now has a much broader range.

For this guide I have included brands with a substantial English origin or base, and I have separated the location of their products from their own histories. We have also given preference to makers with an identifiable contribution: a construction method, a material, a specialist garment or a properly functioning repair service. There are excellent companies missing here. Ten is a useful starting point, not a verdict on everyone else.

THREE CLAIMS NOT TO CONFUSE

British or English brand describes identity, ownership, history or a business base. It does not prove where a particular item was manufactured.

Designed in England tells you where the design work took place. It does not certify the origin of its fabric, printing, cutting or final assembly.

Made in England is a product-level origin statement. Look for it on the actual garment or product listing, and ask the maker what that covers if the wording is ambiguous.

Ten English makers, each with something different to offer

1. John Smedley — Derbyshire knitwear with an unusually long memory

At Lea Mills in Derbyshire, there is a pleasingly direct connection between a garment and the place that makes it. The John Smedley business began there in 1784, initially spinning cotton and making fabric before moving towards fine-gauge, fully fashioned knitwear. It still describes the mill as the home of its English manufacturing. That continuity is more substantial than a heritage slogan: machines, patterns and people have accumulated skills that are difficult to conjure up elsewhere overnight.

At John Smedley I reach for a fine jumper in a quiet colour and slip it beneath a jacket. The pleasure is in the absence of bulk: the shoulder lies neatly and the knit does not turn the sleeves into a wrestling match. I run a hand over the fabric and check the care label before thinking about more ambitious colours. A long-established Derbyshire mill is part of the appeal; the jumper still has to earn its place by fitting, feeling good and surviving sensible maintenance.

Where it earns its place: fine-gauge knitwear. What to check: yarn, laundering requirements, sleeve length and fit, rather than the age of the company alone.

2. Tricker’s — Northampton and the serious country boot

There are few more useful connections between English place and object than Northampton and shoes. Tricker’s dates to 1829 and says its footwear is made from beginning to end at its Northampton factory. The town's shoemaking history is far older; what makes Tricker’s interesting today is that a pair of Stow boots still has a recognisable purpose. They are built to be worn on pavements, lanes and damp ground rather than admired as delicate objects.

I pick up the Tricker's Stow boot and notice the substance before I notice the polish. The Bourton brogue is another natural starting point. With Goodyear-welted footwear I like the possibility of a specialist replacing the sole when it wears, provided the upper and construction are sound. I try on the actual last and walk rather than assume a stout English boot will somehow mould itself to a foot it plainly does not fit. A boot can be built for years and still be wrong for me on day one.

Where it earns its place: substantial boots and shoes. What to check: last shape, sole, weight, fit and the available repair route. Read our wider piece on buying clothing for long use for the same approach to maintenance.

3. Mulberry — Somerset leatherwork, with a useful distinction

Mulberry began in Somerset in 1971, when Roger Saul started making leather accessories. The brand now has two factories in the county, The Rookery and The Willows. Its own account says that more than half of Mulberry bags are made in its Somerset facilities. That is an impressive commitment to British leather-goods manufacturing and also an important qualification. It would be wrong to tell a reader every Mulberry bag is English-made.

I understand the Mulberry Bayswater better when I put the status story aside and treat it as a bag for everyday things. I look at the opening first, then how the handles feel and where a book, purse and keys would go. I think about the weight after the bag is full, not only how it hangs empty in a shop. The Somerset workshops and repair infrastructure are worth knowing about, but I still check the country of manufacture for the exact model. The object should be useful before it becomes symbolic.

Where it earns its place: leather bags with an established British repair and resale infrastructure. What to check: the exact bag's country of manufacture, weight, interior, handles, repair terms and condition if pre-owned.

4. Burberry — the coat that began as weather protection

Thomas Burberry opened in Basingstoke in 1856. His great advance was gabardine, developed in 1879 and patented later, a fabric conceived as a lighter, more breathable answer to cumbersome weatherproof clothing. The trench coat makes most sense against this history: the belt, storm flap and layered construction have functional ancestors, even if some modern versions are worn more for their silhouette than for hard weather.

I turn the Burberry trench over and look at the label of the particular model. The company identifies its Heritage Trench Coats as made at Castleford in Yorkshire; that is a range-specific claim, not a promise about every product with the famous check. Then I try it over the clothes I actually intend to wear. I want enough room across the shoulders, a length that works with my height and a clear idea of its weather limits. A distinguished fabric history is a wonderful reason to look closer, not a reason to stop asking questions.

Where it earns its place: a tailored outerwear silhouette. What to check: whether the item is from the Heritage range, its origin, fabric, cut and realistic weather performance.

5. Barbour — South Shields and the working life of waxed cotton

In 1894 John Barbour, a Scot, set up in South Shields supplying oilskins to people who worked around the North Sea. There is nothing especially glamorous about the problem he was solving: cold, salt water and persistent rain. Yet the waxed jacket proved capable of crossing from practical workwear into country and town clothing without entirely losing its purpose.

I like the idea of a Barbour Bedale or Beaufort that comes home from a muddy weekend and can be cared for rather than replaced. The company says these classic jackets are still made by hand at South Shields and that its workshop undertakes re-waxing and repairs. The wider range has other origins, so I check the actual product label. I handle the waxed cotton and decide whether I enjoy its weight, touch and maintenance. There is no point buying a supposedly useful country coat if I dislike living with the fabric.

Where it earns its place: repairable waxed outerwear. What to check: model, lining, length, country-of-origin label and whether the owner actually likes the feel and care of waxed cotton. For more, see our Barbour jacket guide.

6. Sunspel — Nottinghamshire and the difficult art of simple clothing

Sunspel began in Nottingham in 1860 and has occupied its Long Eaton factory since 1937. It still makes many garments there, including versions of its classic T-shirt. Its most telling achievement is making the sort of clothing that can be ruined by tiny errors: a neckline that loses shape, a shoulder seam that twists, jersey that looks fine in the shop but has no body after washing.

At Sunspel I start with the ordinary white T-shirt because simplicity leaves nowhere for mistakes to hide. I pull it on, turn in the mirror and look at the neck finish, sleeve length and how much fabric shows through against the light. Then I compare the weight with another style; cotton jersey is not one uniform material. Long Eaton production is an interesting part of the company's story, but I check the origin of the exact piece. The perfect T-shirt is an unromantic ambition and surprisingly difficult to satisfy.

Where it earns its place: elevated everyday jersey. What to check: weight, opacity, neck finish, care and the origin of the specific item.

7. Turnbull & Asser — the work inside a Jermyn Street shirt

Turnbull & Asser began in 1885. Its London identity is inseparable from Jermyn Street, but its making is not confined to the shopfront. The company describes shirtmaking in its Gloucester workrooms and ties produced through its English facilities. A signature shirt, it explains, comprises 33 hand-cut pieces. This is an unusually concrete detail in a business where many claims about handwork are left conveniently vague.

Turnbull & Asser reminds me that a shirt is easy to ignore until it fits badly. I button the collar, turn my head, lift an arm and put on a jacket. I want the sleeve to move freely and the cuff to sit where it should, without a heap of excess fabric at the waist. Jermyn Street is a splendid address; the Gloucester shirtmaking work is the more useful detail. I choose collar shape and fit for the days I actually dress for, not because a famous man once wore the same pattern.

Where it earns its place: considered English shirtmaking. What to check: collar shape, fit, fabric, care and whether double cuffs suit everyday life.

8. Lock & Co. — a London hatter and the importance of fitting

Lock & Co.'s story begins with Robert Davis's St James's Street hat shop in 1676. It remains at No. 6 today. There is something comforting about such continuity, but the more interesting point is that hats are among the least forgiving things to buy by appearance alone. A beautiful crown can be too tall for its wearer; a brim can narrow or widen a face; a hat that pinches will be taken off long before the weather changes.

At Lock & Co I begin with the uncomfortable truth that hats are almost impossible to judge by size alone. I try the crown at different positions, check where the brim falls and notice whether the band presses at my forehead. The St James's Street staff have fitting expertise, and the house works with specialist suppliers in Britain and elsewhere. That is different from claiming every hat is wholly made in London. I care about the knowledge of the person helping me and the origin of the specific hat I take away.

Where it earns its place: headwear expertise and fitting. What to check: actual circumference, crown height, brim, seasonal material and the item's manufacturing origin.

9. Paul Smith — Nottingham wit, with proper tailoring underneath

Paul Smith's first shop occupied a small room in Nottingham in 1970. The brand's story is often told through stripes, bright linings and unexpected details. They are enjoyable, but to my eye they matter because the foundation is often a very good piece of classic menswear. The joke would not land if the jacket's cut were poor.

Paul Smith is where I enjoy a restrained piece of mischief. I try the jacket for its shoulders, drape and cloth, then discover an unexpected lining or detail when I take it off. That little private pleasure can be wonderful. But I refuse to pay for a clever print if the fit is wrong. The Nottingham story is part of the identity, not proof that every garment is made there. I want something that carries me from work to a train and perhaps out to dinner without needing a whole new performance around it.

Where it earns its place: expressive but wearable tailoring. What to check: construction, alteration allowance, fabric, origin and how many outfits the piece genuinely supports.

10. Thackray of England — the small silk edition, examined honestly

Thackray is an English art-and-fashion house working at a quite different scale from the manufacturers above. Its silk scarves begin with original drawings and stories about places, gardens, animals and remembered things. A signature square measures 90 × 90cm in 18-momme mulberry silk twill with hand-rolled hems; its published editions contain five pieces worldwide. The individual design and its story are the centre of the proposition, not an inherited centuries-old factory.

I should be clear about Thackray: it is Countrylook's sister business. I include it because a very small English art-led operation poses an interesting question about authorship and edition size, not because its history is comparable to a centuries-old factory. I take a silk square and fold it until only two corners show. If the picture still works, I am interested. If it needs to remain flat to be appreciated, it has become an expensive picture rather than a useful scarf. I check the actual production details and delivery timing too.

I turn the scarf once more in front of the mirror and look at the border rather than the entire picture. The corner motifs, the way colour sits near the face and the likely occasions for wearing it matter more to me than a small edition number alone. I can appreciate a personal story and still decide the design does not suit my clothes. That is a perfectly good outcome of a careful comparison.

Where it earns its place: narrative silk scarves in limited editions. What to check: design, scale, colour, fabric, stated production details and delivery date.

The Countrylook comparison: which maker for which object?

A hatter, a shoemaker and a handbag workshop cannot meaningfully compete on one universal 'quality' score. In the chart below I have compared the things I would actually need to know: what each maker is best approached for, which production claims are specific and what might make me hesitate. I want the chart to help me choose a starting point, not manufacture a winner out of incomparable objects.

Maker	Start here	What we can say about making	The caution
John Smedley	Fine knitwear	Lea Mills, Derbyshire	Check fit and fibre
Tricker's	Stow boot / Bourton brogue	Footwear made in Northampton	Heavy build; last matters
Mulberry	Everyday leather bag	More than half of bags made in Somerset	Not every bag UK-made
Burberry	Heritage trench	Heritage trench made in Yorkshire	Not the whole collection
Barbour	Bedale / Beaufort	These classics made in South Shields	Wax needs upkeep
Sunspel	Classic T-shirt	Many styles made in Long Eaton	Origin varies by item
Turnbull & Asser	Signature shirt	Shirts in Gloucester workrooms	The collar must suit
Lock & Co.	Fitted hat	Hand-prepared in London; suppliers vary	Fitting before provenance romance
Paul Smith	Tailoring	English design; product origin varies	Check construction and alterations
Thackray	Artwork-led silk scarf	English design; making origin not assumed	Five-piece editions; delivery lead time

Manufacturing is product-specific and may change. Confirm the current item label or ask the brand before purchasing.

Five questions I ask before the name carries me away

1. Who made this particular piece? A company history is not a manufacturing certificate. Ask for the origin of the product you are actually considering.

2. What does the garment have to do? A waxed jacket is not a technical mountain shell; a fine-gauge jumper is not a heavy outdoor layer. Match the object to its use.

3. Can it be altered or repaired? Ask about resoling, re-waxing, replacement buttons, bag repairs or an honest lifetime service before you need one.

4. Does it fit now? Do not buy an expensive boot to “break in” a bad last, a shirt that catches at the shoulder, or a hat that presses at the forehead.

5. Will I still want it without the label? Remove the name from the picture. The colour, cut, material, handle and usefulness should remain convincing.

The Countrylook view: a better wardrobe is often a smaller one

What I admire about English fashion is its collection of particular trades. I can connect a fine Derbyshire knit, a Northampton boot, a Gloucestershire shirt and a South Shields waxed jacket to very different habits of making. Those differences matter far more to me than memorising the founding dates. I want to open a wardrobe and know exactly why each of these objects is there.

I would rather own one boot that fits and can be resoled, one coat whose care I am willing to undertake, and one shirt that falls properly beneath a jacket than ten pieces bought to complete a list. The same goes for a scarf: I want to find myself reaching for it on an ordinary morning. A smaller wardrobe becomes more interesting when every garment has a purpose and a story I have had time to understand.

Place matters to me, and so do the people and practices that make it meaningful. But I only know whether I have chosen well when I take the object out of the shop and begin living in it. That is when the boot, coat, shirt or hat stops being a claim about heritage and becomes mine.