Charles III is 'the best dressed head of state in the world'

He needs to work on his posture.

Spectator 18 September 2022, Alec Marsh

No one who has watched the events of the past ten days could doubt the King’s commitment to his late mother – or to his people. But I think another of Charles III’s commitments is also becoming apparent: one to British tailoring.

From his black-braided morning suit when he addressed the Houses of Parliament at Westminster Hall to the ceremonial Field Marshal’s uniform he wore to process the Queen’s coffin from Buckingham Palace to her lying-in-state, His Majesty has been nothing less than impeccably attired at every turn.

Perhaps it shouldn’t be surprising that we’ve got probably the best-dressed head of state in the world. As Prince of Wales, Charles had long flown the flag for British style. Browse the list of royal warrants and you’ll see that the 182 he's granted include no fewer than eight to tailors (Anderson & Sheppard and Gieves & Hawkes among them), plus a dozen more to firms responsible for wardrobe items such as ‘robes’ (Ede & Ravenscroft), ‘shirts’ (Turnbull & Asser), knitwear, shoemakers, kilt hosiery and waterproof garments.

Among their number (for ‘buttons, badges and military neckwear’) there is also Benson & Clegg, a London tailor whose first customer was George VI, for whom they made naval uniforms. Back before Covid, Benson & Clegg proudly announced that it had made the then Prince of Wales a set of evening tails and released a photograph of him in it. A little later I wrote an article about the firm which involved experiencing their bespoke tailoring service first-hand – meaning that I can claim the unexpected privilege of having the same tailor as the King.

Well, up to a point. I only have the one bespoke suit, and actually it’s not even quite that: rather, after an hour of agonising over books of fabrics, I chose a sensational single-breasted jacket in 14oz herringbone tweed (from Holland & Sherry) and a pair of robust cords in a luminescent brown.

But the tailor responsible was a genial chap named Ollie Cross, the very same ‘cutter’ who created Charles’s suit. (He also resembled the offspring of the Hairy Bikers, if they could pool their genes.) He took 20 measurements from me, presumably just as he did from the man-who-would-be-King, and guided me through the myriad choices over cut, pockets (inside and out), vents, buttons, flaps, zippers, piping, notches, collars, linings… as Charles must know, when you have the choice, the options seem to be limitless.

I learned over the course of three further fittings (when Ollie duly chopped the sleeve off my jacket to set it at a different angle, or tore the entire back off) that each suit goes through the hands of as many as 15 artisans – trouser-makers, coat-makers and so on – and can take something like 60 man-hours of combined labour to come to fruition. As a result these clothes don’t just fit you perfectly because they’ve been measured precisely to your body; they also fit because of all the stitches that have been undone along the way – in the same manner that a great film is the product of all the celluloid left on the cutting room floor.

Then there’s the engineering. My jacket comprises three layers of cloth – the tweed you can see, then below it layers of lapped horsehair and wool canvas, all concealed within by the lining, plus heaps of stitches – with everything combining to give oodles of body and structure. By contrast, an off-the-peg suit from a high street shop feels gossamer-light and flimsy; the sort of thing a Victorian would regard as inadequate for a swimming costume.

Yes, the resulting tailored outfit may feel heavier than a spaniel in your arms, but when you put it on it floats on your shoulders. And it’s got enough structure to make Batman jealous. Moreover it’s comfortable, of course, because it fits perfectly. Small wonder it’s so expensive; the laws of economics require it to be, with all those hands taking so much time over it.

It’s the polar opposite of the fast-fashion world most of us inhabit, where a T-shirt costs £3, doesn’t really fit you and is designed to be thrown away after three weeks. Similarly a suit from the likes of M&S or Moss Bros is to elite tailoring what a McDonald’s Happy Meal is to gastronomy. You only have to sniff it to know what you’re getting yourself into.

Of course, going to Savile Row costs ten to 20 times more than the high street, with prices from £3,000 to £5,000 for a two-piece suit. But that suit will last. That the King’s suits have probably been doing admirable service for decades (and still looking the part) speaks volumes. And if they survive for that long then they begin to seem like good value for money, too.

I predict one day, hopefully a long way off, we’ll see his suits in the Victoria and Albert Museum, just as we have with other royals’ clothing. As long as the moths don’t get to them first, of course.

In the meantime, King Charles will continue to walk to walk when it comes to British tailoring and British garment makers. He clearly appreciates that if the clothes make the man, it’s more than doubly true for a king – albeit he would probably quote Polonius on this one. ‘The apparel oft proclaims the man,’ the unfortunate courtier declares in Hamlet. Quite right.

Could the monarch even inspire a quixotic revival tailoring in general – of clothes built to a high standard and designed to be adjusted as fashions change? Let us hope so. It would be greener, and generally be better for all concerned, except for the likes of Philip Green. What’s for certain is that the King’s sartorial example can’t hurt. Long live the King… of Savile Row.

WRITTEN BY Alec Marsh

Someone should 'pie' him.

r4 can he slip his baby brother the name of his suit maker because Edward still dresses like it's 1998.