Okay, so there’s something that’s been bothering me for months now, and I need to work through it with you because honestly, it’s making me question everything I thought I knew about authentic fashion. Last fall I was in this converted warehouse in Walthamstow – you know the type, exposed brick and industrial lighting that screams “artisan workshop” – watching this woman named Melissa Whitten hand-stitch the most gorgeous leather satchel I’d ever seen. The craftsmanship was incredible, the leather was buttery soft, and everything about it screamed “British heritage brand that’s been around since your great-grandfather’s time.”
Plot twist: the company launched in 2018. I mean, my houseplant is older than this brand.
This is what I’m wrestling with – these so-called “new heritage” British brands that are popping up everywhere, creating products that feel completely timeless while being, in reality, younger than some of my favorite thrifted pieces. It should feel fake, right? Like some sort of fashion cosplay? But here’s the thing that’s messing with my head: some of these brands are making products that put actual heritage companies to shame, and they’re doing it in ways that align way better with my sustainability values than many of the “authentic” alternatives.
Whitten & Co., that leather goods company I mentioned, is completely transparent about when they started. Melissa told me she “wanted to create the sort of British brand that people think has always existed.” She’s not lying about her history or pretending to have found some dusty Victorian patterns in an attic somewhere. She’s just really, really good at capturing that feeling of permanence and quality that we associate with traditional British craftsmanship.
And you know what? The bag I eventually bought from her is hands down better made than the “heritage” leather goods I’ve seen from companies that actually have been around for decades but moved all their production overseas to cut costs. So what’s more authentic – the hundred-year-old brand name slapped on a bag made in a factory with questionable labor practices, or the two-year-old company employing skilled craftspeople in London using traditional techniques?
This question keeps coming up as I discover more of these brands. Last year I ducked into this tiny shop in Southwold to escape a truly vicious rainstorm and found Blackshore Coastal Clothing. Founded in 2017, they make these incredible fisherman’s smocks and coastal workwear pieces that look like they’ve been worn by Suffolk fishermen for generations. The cotton is heavyweight and substantial, the construction is bulletproof, and the designs are so perfectly functional they feel almost timeless.
The woman working there was completely upfront about it: “We’re inspired by workwear that’s been used in these parts forever, but we’re not pretending to be something we’re not.” There was something I really respected about that honesty. They weren’t spinning some elaborate backstory about being “established in 1847” or whatever – they were just making excellent clothes inspired by a genuine tradition.
But here’s where it gets complicated from a sustainability perspective, which is obviously where my brain always goes. Many of these new brands emerged specifically because traditional British manufacturing was dying. When factories closed in the ’80s and ’90s, we didn’t just lose jobs – we lost centuries of accumulated knowledge about how to make things properly. Some of these founders are literally trying to preserve skills that would otherwise disappear completely.
I interviewed Patrick Grant from Community Clothing last year, and he talked about this passionately. His brand isn’t trying to look heritage in that tweed-and-leather aesthetic way, but the mission is completely rooted in keeping British manufacturing traditions alive. He uses the quiet periods in traditional factories to create modern basics, keeping skilled workers employed year-round. The sweatshirt I bought is still one of my favorite pieces – perfectly constructed, ethically made, and under £50.
“These factories contain decades, sometimes centuries of knowledge,” he told me as we toured this knitwear facility that’s been operating since the 1800s. “Once that’s gone, you can’t just snap your fingers and bring it back.” From an environmental standpoint, this makes so much sense. Using existing infrastructure, supporting local skilled labor, creating products designed to last – it ticks every box I care about.
Then there are brands like Carrier Company, which has been around since 1995 but somehow feels like it’s existed since the Depression era. I found their work jackets in a Shoreditch shop about five years ago and became slightly obsessed. Everything they make has this quality like it was designed in 1937 and never needed updating – canvas work coats, fisherman’s jumpers, pieces that feel completely outside of time.
Tina Guillory, the founder, told me people constantly tell her their grandfather had a jacket exactly like theirs. “It’s not true since we’ve only been around since the ’90s, but it speaks to how familiar the designs feel.” That’s the thing about these brands – they’re not copying specific vintage pieces, they’re capturing something more essential about traditional British workwear and craftsmanship.
I felt this most strongly when I visited Hiut Denim in Wales. This tiny company was founded in 2011 specifically to bring jean manufacturing back to Cardigan, a town that previously had a factory making 35,000 pairs a week before everything moved overseas. When I watched Elin, who’d worked in the original factory for sixteen years, construct a pair of jeans with incredible precision and speed, I realized I was seeing something genuinely rare – traditional skills being used to create modern products.
Their approach is completely aligned with how I think about sustainable fashion. They’re not trying to be the biggest, just the best. They encourage customers not to wash their jeans for six months so the denim develops a personalized wear pattern. They focus on longevity over trends. The jeans cost £180+, but they’re designed to last for decades, not seasons.
This pricing thing is where I really had to examine my own assumptions about value and authenticity. None of these brands are cheap – you’re looking at £95 for a Carrier Company work jacket, £225 for a Whitten & Co. satchel. But when Melissa pointed out that if you use a £200 bag daily for ten years, that’s about 5p per use, it completely changed my perspective on the math.
My mum has been carrying the same leather handbag since 1985. Dad bought it for their tenth anniversary, and it’s been repaired twice but looks better now than most bags do after six months. When I was younger, I couldn’t understand why she didn’t want something new and fashionable. Now I look at that bag as this incredible piece of family history, something that’s moved through time with her, accumulating stories.
Maybe that’s what these brands are really selling – not just products but the potential for their items to become part of our personal histories. In a world where everything feels disposable, there’s something profound about objects designed to physically accompany us through our lives, getting better with age rather than falling apart.
The sustainability angle is what ultimately won me over on many of these companies. Hiut’s transparent supply chain, Blackshore’s lifetime repair service, Community Clothing’s commitment to British manufacturing – they’re all pushing back against the throwaway culture that’s destroying the planet. Traditional making methods were often more sustainable by default – using local materials, creating products meant to last, establishing a completely different relationship with consumption.
Here’s what’s been really challenging my thinking though: for all their apparent traditionalism, these brands are actually doing something quite radical. They’re completely rejecting the modern fashion business model. No trend chasing, no pushing for constant growth, no trying to be everything to everyone. Instead, they’re focusing on doing one thing exceptionally well while maintaining skills that might otherwise disappear.
That Whitten & Co. satchel I eventually bought? (And yes, it cost more than I care to admit – sorry about that expense report.) Two years later, it’s traveled with me everywhere, been stuffed with laptops and notebooks and once a half-eaten sandwich I completely forgot about for three days. The leather has developed this gorgeous patina that tells the story of everywhere it’s been.
Will it still be with me in forty years like my mum’s bag? I hope so. And maybe that’s the real test of whether these “new heritage” brands deserve the title they’re claiming. Not whether they’ve been around for generations, but whether their products will be. Whether they’re creating objects that transcend the moment they’re made and become part of people’s lives in meaningful ways.
From where I sit as someone who cares deeply about environmental impact and authentic craftsmanship, many of these newer companies are doing heritage better than the heritage brands themselves. They’re preserving traditional skills, supporting local manufacturing, creating products designed to last, and being completely transparent about who they are and what they’re doing.
Maybe authenticity isn’t about how long you’ve been around. Maybe it’s about whether you’re authentic to your values, your mission, and your commitment to quality. In which case, some of these five-year-old “heritage” brands might be more genuine than companies trading on century-old names while cutting every corner they can find.
I don’t know. I’m still working through all this. But I do know that the bag on my desk right now, made by a company that’s younger than my nephew, feels more real and substantial than a lot of things I own. And in a fashion industry built on planned obsolescence and artificial scarcity, maybe that’s the most radical thing of all.
Claire started Claire Wears to bridge the gap between fashion media and real life. Based in Chicago, she writes with honesty, humor, and a firm “no” to $300 “affordable” shoes. Expect practical advice, strong opinions, and the occasional rant about ridiculous trends.
