I’ve got this navy blue crew neck jumper that I’ve worn to death for going on seven years now. Nothing fancy—just a simple, medium-weight merino wool number with a clean silhouette and ribbed cuffs that have somehow managed to retain their shape despite countless washes and my habit of pushing sleeves up when I’m writing. Cost me £65 from John Lewis back when I was still pretending I could maintain a sensible budget. Every autumn I tell myself I should probably replace it, and every autumn I try on about fifteen different options and end up coming home with nothing because, well, they’re just not as good, are they?
The thing is, that jumper represents something that’s becoming increasingly rare: a fairly priced, well-made basic from a British high street retailer that’s actually built to last. In an era where we’re drowning in £9.99 t-shirts that twist after one wash and £29.99 jumpers that pill before you’ve even got them home, finding properly made staples without venturing into luxury territory feels like a proper treasure hunt. And it shouldn’t be, should it?
I got into a slightly heated discussion about this with Jamie last week. We were grabbing a pint at this pub in Northern Quarter where they insist on serving everything in those dimpled pint glasses that always make me feel like I should be wearing driving gloves and complaining about decimal currency. Jamie—who, if you remember from previous columns, now runs his dad’s menswear business—was insisting that “proper basics” at accessible price points are dead. “It’s all fast fashion or designer now, mate. Middle ground’s gone,” he declared, with the confidence of someone who spends his days knee-deep in wholesale catalogs.
I disagreed. Strongly. Because while it’s definitely harder to find quality basics on the high street than it was in our dads’ day, there are still British retailers holding the line, making proper gear that won’t disintegrate if you look at it sideways. You just need to know where to look. And since I’ve spent an arguably unhealthy amount of my life investigating exactly this, I thought I’d share my findings. Consider it a public service.
Let’s start with the obvious: John Lewis & Partners. Yes, I know—not exactly a groundbreaking revelation, but there’s a reason this middle-class institution has endured. Their own-brand menswear is consistently reliable, particularly when it comes to knitwear and shirts. The design team there seems to understand something fundamental that many others have forgotten: men actually like clothes that look the same year after year. Their pure cotton Oxford shirts (around £35-40) are cut well, don’t shrink unevenly in the wash, and the collars don’t curl up at the corners after a few months—a personal bugbear that has me muttering under my breath in changing rooms nationwide.
What’s particularly impressive about John Lewis is their consistency across price points. Even their more affordable ANYDAY range doesn’t completely sacrifice quality for cost. Is it as good as their mainline stuff? No, of course not. But a £22 ANYDAY t-shirt will still be in your rotation longer than most other options at that price. Their cashmere, while not cheap at around £85 for a basic crew neck, is genuinely good value when you consider cost-per-wear over the years. I’ve got one that’s four years old and only just starting to show wear at the elbows, which is practically ancient in modern clothing terms.
Next up, and I know this might raise some eyebrows: Marks & Spencer. Stop that sniggering at the back. Yes, your dad shops there. Yes, some of their stuff can look a bit, well, safe. But here’s the thing—their basics are legitimately good, especially in the last couple of years. The cotton they use in their £15 t-shirts is surprisingly substantial, with decent recovery (meaning it doesn’t go all saggy around the neck after a few hours), and their merino jumpers around the £35-40 mark represent seriously good value. Their underwear and socks remain unbeatable for everyday reliability—I’ve been wearing the same style of M&S boxer briefs for about a decade, and I refuse to change because they just work. Sometimes boring is beautiful.
The real secret with M&S is to completely ignore how they style things in their marketing and on mannequins, which often feels like it’s been directed by someone whose last cultural reference was an episode of Last of the Summer Wine. Instead, just focus on the individual pieces. That sensible-looking navy merino jumper will look completely different worn your way than it does paired with those strange elasticated trousers they inexplicably keep trying to push on us all.
Uniqlo deserves a mention here, though it’s technically a Japanese brand. Their UK high street presence is strong enough that I’m counting it, especially as they’ve been consistent champions of proper basics at fair prices. Their Supima cotton t-shirts (around £15) have a substantial weight to them that you’d typically find at twice the price elsewhere. The merino jumpers (£35-40) are genuinely good, though slightly lighter weight than traditional British knitwear. And their Oxford shirts, particularly from the U collection overseen by Christophe Lemaire, are genuinely comparable to ones I’ve paid three times as much for.
The real standout at Uniqlo, though, is their outerwear. Their wool-blend coats hover around the £130 mark and look like they should cost three times that. I’ve got a navy mac from them that I bought five years ago that still looks box-fresh despite being worn through multiple British winters (and we all know what that means—constant, soul-destroying drizzle that somehow penetrates clothing at a molecular level).
If we’re talking affordable tailoring, Moss Bros has quietly been upping their game. Now, let’s be clear—we’re not talking Savile Row quality here. But their wool and wool-blend suits in the £200-300 range are properly constructed, with decent canvassing and stitching that doesn’t immediately give up the ghost if you’re caught in unexpected rain. Their pure wool options around the £249 mark, in particular, offer a level of quality that’s increasingly hard to find at that price point. The cuts tend toward the more classic end of the spectrum, which means they’ll still look good when slimmer or more relaxed fits inevitably swing back into fashion.
For slightly more casual options, look to Community Clothing, founded by Patrick Grant of E. Tautz and Great British Sewing Bee fame. It’s a brilliant concept—using slack time in British factories to create no-nonsense wardrobe staples while supporting UK manufacturing. Their £25 t-shirts are made from heavyweight 220gsm cotton that feels like something from an era before planned obsolescence was a business strategy. The sweatshirts (around £45-50) are proper old-school gym gear, the kind you might have found in school PE kits in the 70s—dense, durable loopback cotton that gets better with age rather than disintegrating.
While we’re on the subject of British-made, Private White V.C. deserves recognition, though it sits at the higher end of the high street price-wise. Based in Manchester (my home turf, so I’m biased), they make outrageously good outerwear in the last remaining clothing factory in the city. Their waxed cotton jackets start around £450, which isn’t cheap, but you’re getting Savile Row levels of construction and materials that will outlive your interest in wearing them. They’re one of the few brands where I genuinely believe their “buy once, buy well” philosophy, rather than seeing it as a convenient justification for eye-watering prices.
A bit more under the radar is Albam, which straddles the line between high street and premium with most items in the £60-150 range. Their workwear-inspired pieces are made to properly robust standards—I’ve had one of their chore jackets for years, and it stubbornly refuses to show any signs of wear despite being my go-to for everything from countryside walks to moving furniture. The cotton they use has a satisfying density to it, and the stitching is visibly more substantial than most high street offerings.
On the slightly more fashion-forward side, I’ve been impressed with Folk in recent years. Not cheap, with t-shirts around the £45 mark and shirts closer to £120, but the quality justifies the investment if your budget stretches that far. Their pieces have just enough design interest to lift them above basic basics, without veering into try-hard territory that’ll look dated in six months.
And I can’t write about quality high street menswear without mentioning Arket, H&M’s more grown-up, quality-focused sibling. Their heavyweight t-shirts (£17) are legitimately good—cut from substantial cotton with neat, durable stitching. The merino knitwear (around £85) is comparable to pieces I’ve paid significantly more for elsewhere. Their outerwear, particularly the wool overcoats, offers a level of quality that feels at odds with the price tags (around £175-225).
Look, I’m not claiming any of these options compare to proper luxury-tier gear. If you’ve experienced the cloud-like embrace of a £300 John Smedley jumper or the structural perfection of a Sunspel t-shirt, these high street versions won’t quite hit the same notes. But that’s not the point. What these brands offer is a genuine middle ground—clothes that are made properly, will last more than a single season, and don’t require remortgaging your flat.
The tragedy is that we’ve collectively lowered our expectations so much that finding basics that simply don’t fall apart feels like a win. My dad still has t-shirts from the 90s that look better than ones I bought last year. That’s not rose-tinted nostalgia—it’s a genuine downward shift in what we expect from our clothes.
So yes, Jamie’s partly right—the landscape has changed, and finding proper quality on the high street takes more effort than it once did. But he’s wrong to declare the middle ground dead. These brands, and others like them, are proof that you can still find genuine quality at reasonable prices if you know where to look.
I suspect I’ll still be wearing that navy John Lewis jumper for another few years yet. And when it finally gives up the ghost, at least I know where to find its replacement. Even if I’ll probably still try on fifteen alternatives before admitting that the first one I picked up was right all along.
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