To give you a more detailed breakdown of the purchases being made by my fashion friends in seaside shopland – it’s a niche area, I’m sure.
First off, fisherman’s workwear – the obvious one – is the one you can find in all sorts of random hardware stores and marine supply shops for about 1/10th of the price you’d pay for some “designer” version of the same item. My stylist friend Deepa has spent the past few years scouring the coast for authentic fisherman’s sweaters – “they’re really scratchy,” she tells me “but they’ll soften up after a bit, and they’ve lasted for decades.” She’s worn one to Paris Fashion Week and had three people ask if it was some obscure French heritage brand.
Next up, there are the canvas tote bags. Not the ones with glittery slogans on them – obviously. The ones that are plain and look like they could be from COS if you squint. My friend Jacob, a men’s wear buyer (actual job, fancy department store etc.), has amassed a stash of these from various coastal towns and rotates them around London. “Perfect size, £5, and they age really well,” he explains. Plus there’s something kind of funny about taking your Waitrose shop home in a bag that says “Cromer Crab” on it.
Striped tops are another goldmine. Yes, Saint Laurent will sell you a Breton stripe for £400, but the ones that are actually good often come from the unassuming harbour shops where they’re still made for people who actually work on boats. Imani – a stylist who’s properly into sustainable fashion – has amassed a collection from all sorts of different seaside towns – each one has slightly different width stripes and necklines. “The cotton’s thicker, the cut’s bigger, they’re made for usefulness rather than for Instagram,” she tells me. “I’ve had this one from a tiny St Ives shop for eight years, and it’s still better than the designer versions I’ve tried.”
This is where things get really strange – the accessories. Do you remember those shell earrings Sasha was freaking out about? They ended up in an editorial she styled for an indie mag, paired with a crisp white shirt and no makeup, and they looked… actually pretty cool? The trick, apparently, is in the styling. It’s all about the context.
Enamelware is having a proper moment right now. Those metal mugs and plates with nautical stripes weren’t made as style statements – they’ve developed a cult following among people with good taste. My editor Sophie has an entire shelf of enamel mugs from harbour shops along the British coastline. “They’re useful, they’re £6 instead of £60, and they’ve got a charming, unpretentiousness that high-end homewares tend to lack,” she explained at dinner last month. Good point.
Postcards and other seaside ephemera may seem odd, but many of the designers I spoke to collect these as inspiration or for cheap art. One designer I know frames a collection of 1960s Blackpool postcards in her studio – the bright colours and old-school typography are influencing her new print collection. Another designer uses vintage seaside posters as Zoom background images. Which is pretty clever.
Beach towels are probably the least expected category. Not the micro-fibre ones with gaudy designs, but the basic striped cotton ones that haven’t changed since about 1950. These have taken on a second life as picnic blankets, sofa covers, even wall decorations. Tomas, a fashion photographer whose east London flat gets featured in mags, has vintage beach towels hanging in his bathroom as art. “They’re graphic, colourful, they reference British seaside culture in a way that’s both nostalgic and modern,” he told me. “Plus twenty quid for large-format artwork is a steal.”
Real weather gear is the final category. I’m talking about clothing designed for people who actually work on the water, not just posing near it. Old-fashioned oil skins, sou’westers, waterproof smocks – they have a functional authenticity that expensive designer rain gear tries to emulate. My friend Priya bought this perfect yellow fisherman’s jacket in a marine shop in Whitby four years ago. 45 quid for something that looks almost identical to the designer versions that cost ten times as much. “It’s fully waterproof,” she told me. “Not fashion waterproof. It’ll keep you dry in real rain, not just a light drizzle.”
There seems to be something deeper going on here about why fashion people (who presumably have access to the most cutting-edge, sophisticated design) are drawn to these non-fashionable seaside purchases. It’s authenticity, isn’t it? These items didn’t get made by a committee or focus group. They exist because they function. And they’ve largely remained unchanged for decades. There’s an integrity to them that’s refreshing given the sheer number of items that have been engineered to appeal to your Instagram followers.
And then there’s the thrill of discovering something amazing unexpectedly. In an industry where products are becoming increasingly discovered through algorithms and targeted advertising, there’s something particularly pleasing about stumbling upon something great in a place where you weren’t actively looking.
Of course, not everything passes the test. For every perfectly-proportioned striped top, there are a hundred polyester tea towels and garish plastic souvenirs. The secret to success, my seaside shopping friends tell me, lies in looking with an open mind but maintaining high standards. Ask yourself: is this actually well-designed, or am I just getting drunk on seaside air and holiday memories? Will I actually use this once I’m back to reality?
Over the years I’ve developed my own rules. My weekend wardrobe is essentially based on a series of striped tops from various harbour towns. My kitchen is full of enamel mugs from Southwold, Whitstable, St Ives – each one reminding me of a particular trip. And, yeah, I do own a shell-adorned mirror from a shop in Margate that hangs in my bathroom and gets more compliments from design-conscious visitors than pieces that cost a lot more.
The ultimate test arrived last summer, when I hosted dinner for several senior fashion editors. When I served coffee in my mismatched collection of seaside enamel mugs, one of the editors – known for having particularly discerning taste – asked where they came from. I told her the story behind each one – expecting maybe a polite nod. Instead, she immediately pulled out her phone to write down the exact shop in Whitstable where I’d bought the blue striped one. “I’m going there next weekend,” she told me. “I’ve been searching for exactly that type of mug for ever.”
There you have it. Fashion can be found in the most bizarre locations – even beside the candyfloss and plastic seagulls. You just need to know what you’re looking for and be willing to wade through a certain amount of tourist tat to find the good stuff. But when you do find it, it’s often far better than anything you can buy on the high street.
