Most commonly, it is understood as a patterned wool fabric closely associated with Scottish and Irish dress traditions. Characterized by its textured surface and twill weave, tweed first emerged in the Scottish Highlands during the nineteenth century. Originally developed as a durable cloth suited to a harsh rural climate, it remains widely used today for coats, jackets, suits, and other garments.

Credits: Well dressed dad. “Tweed jacket – How to buy vintage and secondhand”.

Since its appearance in the 1830s, however, the term tweed has gradually expanded in meaning. Rather than referring to a single textile with fixed characteristics, it has come to denote a broader “family” of woolen fabrics that share certain structural and aesthetic features.

An examination of historical sources – including the correspondence of merchants James Locke and Alexander Craig, as well as The New Statistical Account of Scotland – suggests that tweed did not emerge in isolation. Instead, it developed from earlier Scottish woolen traditions such as shepherds’ plaids, Highland “home stuffs,” and tweels. These textiles were typically medium-weight fabrics, woven in a twill structure from relatively coarse wool, and they laid the foundation for what would later become known as tweed.

Fun Fact:The most popular origin story of the word tweed involves Scottish cloth merchant James Locke. In the 1830s, while selling Scottish woolens to London’s fashionable elite from his shop on Regent Street, a small mistake supposedly made textile history. According to the tale, someone – perhaps a clerk, perhaps Locke himself – misread the Scottish word tweel (meaning twill) as tweed on an invoice from a Hawick manufacturer.

And just like that, a typo may have named one of the most iconic fabrics in British fashion.

What Is It Made Of?

Early tweeds of the 1830s were primarily woven from local Scottish Cheviot wool – a durable fiber well suited to the rugged landscape where the fabric originated. Around the same time, imported merino wool was also introduced, giving rise to a softer variety known as Saxony tweed. These two types – Cheviot and Saxony – have remained central to tweed production ever since.

Because tweed refers to a broad family of fabrics rather than a single fixed type, it has historically incorporated many different kinds of wool. Over time, manufacturers experimented with luxury fibers such as cashmere, silk, and mohair to enhance texture and appearance. By the mid-twentieth century, synthetic fibers like nylon were occasionally blended with wool to improve durability.

Still, for high-quality tweed, pure new wool remains the defining and most valued component.

Distinctive Features

One of tweed’s defining characteristics is that it has traditionally been a woolen cloth rather than a worsted one. In technical terms, this means the yarn is carded but not combed before spinning. As a result, woolen yarn retains a softer, slightly “hairy” texture, unlike the smoother and more uniform surface typical of worsted fabrics.

Design, color, and surface texture have always been central to tweed’s identity. Historically, these qualities linked it primarily to informal and country wear – at least until the mid-twentieth century, when its role began to expand.

The difference between carded and combed yarn. Credits: Pascuali. COMBED YARNS AND CARDED YARNS: WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE?

By the interwar period, a new direction emerged. Fabrics later popularized in women’s suits by Coco Chanel from the 1950s onward became widely described as tweed in fashion media. In Britain, these textiles are known as novelty tweeds, while in France they are called les tweeds fantaisie. Used exclusively for womenswear, they often incorporate decorative yarns such as bouclé, slub, knop, gimp, or loop. Typically woven in simple structures, these fabrics rely on textured and often colorful yarns to create rich visual and tactile effects.

Credits: ICON-ICON

Types of Tweed

Now for the most interesting part – the types of tweed. Though often grouped under one name, tweed includes a remarkable variety of fabrics, each with its own character and history.

Saxony
Made from fine merino wool, Saxony tweeds are smooth, soft, and densely woven. Some of the finest versions are almost indistinguishable from worsted cloth. Traditionally used for lightweight men’s suits, especially for summer wear, Saxony remains a classic suiting tweed.

Cheviot
Named after the Cheviot sheep breed, this type is more robust and springy to the touch. Cheviot tweeds have a slightly rougher texture and a more open weave, which allows for bolder patterns and richer color combinations. They became popular for men’s suiting in the late nineteenth century and are still widely produced today.

Harris Tweed

The most iconic variety of tweed is Harris Tweed, a fabric protected by law and deeply rooted in Scottish tradition. To be authentic, it must be handwoven by islanders in the Outer Hebrides from pure virgin wool that is dyed and spun locally. Its production is regulated by the Harris Tweed Authority, whose Orb trademark guarantees quality and origin.

Known for its rich colours, subtle flecks, and distinctive texture, Harris Tweed represents craftsmanship, heritage, and enduring authenticity.

Donegal Tweed
Originating in County Donegal, Ireland, this type is famous for its colorful flecks – small bits of contrasting fiber spun into the yarn. Traditionally woven in plain weave, Donegal tweed has a distinctive speckled appearance that has inspired countless imitations worldwide.

Shetland Tweed
Originally made from the soft wool of Shetland sheep, this tweed is lighter and finer in handle. Early versions often used undyed wool, relying on natural fleece colors for pattern. Today, the name is widely used, though not always for cloth made from true Shetland wool.

West of England Tweeds
Typically woven from merino wool, these tweeds are known for their refined finish and understated elegance. They sit stylistically somewhere between rugged Scottish tweeds and smoother English woolens.

The Different Types of Tweed Patterns

Think all tweed looks the same? Think again. Beneath that rugged, country reputation lies a playground of patterns, each with its own personality.

Twill
The foundation of most tweeds. Recognizable by its diagonal lines, twill is strong, flexible, and durable. Those angled ridges aren’t just decorative – they give the fabric resilience and structure, making it a timeless staple in both tailoring and country wear.

Herringbone
The classic zigzag. Formed by reversing the twill direction, herringbone creates a pattern that resembles a fish skeleton. It’s elegant yet rugged, and remains one of the most iconic tweed designs for jackets and coats.

Barleycorn
Textured and slightly playful, barleycorn features tiny speckled flecks that resemble scattered grains. The result is a softly mottled surface that feels relaxed, rustic, and visually rich without being overpowering.

Houndstooth
Bold and graphic, houndstooth is built from jagged, four-pointed shapes in high-contrast colors. Traditionally black and white, it makes a confident statement while still maintaining tweed’s durability and structure.

Overcheck
Overcheck adds a layer of personality. It begins with a base pattern such as twill or herringbone and overlays fine contrasting lines in colors like red, blue, or orange. Historically seen in estate tweeds, these lines sometimes reflected family or house colors, blending individuality with practicality.

Prince of Wales Check
Refined and aristocratic, Prince of Wales tweed features a large-scale check pattern often composed of smaller overchecks within it. Popularized by Edward VIII when he was Prince of Wales, the pattern bridges country heritage and urban sophistication. It feels structured, polished, and unmistakably classic – a tweed fit for both estates and city streets.

These are some of the most recognizable tweed patterns the foundations of its visual language. But the world of tweed doesn’t stop here. Across regions, mills, and decades, countless variations, hybrids, and reinterpretations continue to evolve, proving that this heritage fabric is far more diverse than it first appears.

A Fabric That Never Goes Out of Style

Tweed has travelled a long way: from windswept landscapes to fashion week front rows. What began as a practical wool cloth designed to withstand the elements has become a textile that effortlessly weaves together heritage and high fashion.

It’s textured, it’s tactile, it tells a story. It can be quiet luxury in a perfectly cut blazer or bold drama in an oversized check. Tweed speaks with confidence and perhaps that’s its secret: it threads tradition into modernity, season after season.

In a world that is rethinking production and rediscovering value, deadstock tweed feels especially relevant. Rare runs, archival patterns, forgotten colorways fabrics with a past, ready for a future collection.

If you’re ready to weave a little history into your next design, explore our curated selection of tweeds HERE.

How to Source Fabrics Offline

Offline sourcing requires preparation, especially when sourcing abroad.

Prepare in Advance

• Research and contact suppliers before traveling

• If it’s your first time sourcing in a specific country, work with a local sourcing agent

If you already have experience, send your brief to selected suppliers before arrival and book appointments.

This step saves time and prevents wasted visits to suppliers who do not carry what you need.

Offline Fabric Sourcing: Practical Tips

• Clear brief: fabric type, composition, weight, MOQ, target price

• Confirm stock availability and sampling in advance

• Book appointments

• Plan buffer time and label all samples

• Check supplier working hours and local holidays

You don’t have time to wander around looking for something that isn’t there.

Final Thoughts on Fabric Sourcing

Learning how to source fabrics properly is a process.
Preparation, clarity, and respect for suppliers define long-term success.

The better your brief and communication, the stronger your sourcing system becomes.

It wasn’t until recently that fashion brands went crazy about deadstock fabrics, to the point where even end consumers know the term.

Even though deadstock has existed for decades, with some brands using it for 15–20 years, it used to be a well-kept secret. Until recently.

Looking back, we can trace this shift to the pandemic,that’s when deadstock fabrics started being mentioned everywhere, with new articles popping up weekly. I remember that around 2021–22 it turned into madness. Hundreds of emails from “emerging designers.”
In wholesale B2B, that’s not normal. On a good week, 5–10 requests is already a great result.

Deadstock fabrics became an entry point to start without huge investments, and as a bonus, an easy way to call yourself a “sustainable brand.”
Is it, though?

From independent labels to global luxury houses, many brands choose Italian deadstock fabrics.

On any given week, designers and sourcing teams from major fashion brands can be found in Prato, a city internationally recognized as the world’s highest concentration of luxury deadstock suppliers and textile manufacturers, with over 7,000 companies operating within the textile industry.

For many brands, Prato is not just a city but it’s a strategic sourcing destination.

And CONSTRVCTOR is located right at the heart of it.

One Place for All Your Deadstock Sourcing Needs

• Access to 20+ trusted deadstock suppliers in one city
• Direct relationships with Italian mills and manufacturers
• Expertise in volume sourcing, quality control, and technical verification

If you’re planning a sourcing trip to Prato or looking to optimize your deadstock strategy, it’s time to start the conversation.

Contact CONSTRVCTOR to get all the information you need.

Fabric Shops (Retail / Wholesale)

Best for:
Small brands, ateliers, experimental collections, sampling

Availability:
Typically 1–50 meters

Pricing:
Retail prices

Sourcing tip:
Building long-term relationships with fabric shops is essential. Many shops offer discounts to regular clients, and some can even order fabrics for you directly from their suppliers at better prices than standard retail. For early-stage brands, fabric shops remain one of the easiest entry points into fabric sourcing.

Wholesalers and Distributors

(including deadstock suppliers and jobbers)

Best for:
Small to mid-size fashion brands

Availability:
Usually 1–300 meters, depending on fabric type and color
MOQ applies

Pricing:
Wholesale prices

Sourcing tip:
Ask about stock programs and fabric continuity. Many wholesalers carry the same fabrics season after season, which makes reorders and scaling much easier.
This typically does not apply to deadstock suppliers and jobbers, where availability is often limited.

Fabric Sourcing Agencies and Consultants

(that’s us)

Best for:
Small to large brands that value time, access, and efficiency
Founders without an in-house sourcing team

Availability:
Low to high volumes, depending on the sourcing route
MOQ applies

Pricing:
Service fee + fabric cost

Sourcing tip:
Sourcing agencies provide fast access to suppliers, saving weeks, months, or even years of research and relationship-building. They help brands avoid costly mistakes, access better suppliers, and navigate deadstock, wholesale, and mill sourcing more efficiently.

Online Fabric Sourcing Platforms

(resale, deadstock, wholesale)

Best for:
Sampling, early-stage brands, fast sourcing

Availability:
From 1 to 1,000 meters, depending on the platform
Sold by meter, yardage, or full rolls

Pricing:
Low to mid-range
High for luxury or rare materials

Sourcing tip:
Use online platforms for testing and small-scale production. Always order swatches and conduct fabric tests before sending materials to a manufacturer.
Online sourcing rarely works well for long-term relationships unless the platform has an offline presence, in that case, build direct connections with them

Textile Trade Shows

Best for:
Growing to established brands
Long-term sourcing and R&D (research and development)

Availability:
Mostly production-based fabrics
Average MOQ: 150–300 meters

Pricing:
Low to high, depending on MOQ, development, origin, materials

Sourcing tip:
Trade shows are intense for exhibitors. Go with a clear brief: target prices, quantities, and use cases. Trade shows are ideal for building relationships at scale and planning future collections.
Take notes, collect business cards, avoid over-ordering swatches, and always ask if suppliers offer stock service, you can sometimes order as little as one roll.

Fabric Mills

Best for:
Established brands
Consistent collections and long-term sourcing strategies

Availability:
Made-to-order fabrics
Occasional stock programs available

Pricing:
Low to high, depending on materials

MOQs:
High MOQs in most cases

Sourcing tip:
Fabric mills operate on planning and volume. Be clear about end use, quantities, colors, and timelines. The more detailed your brief, the more reliable the result.
Each mill has its own terms — never assume, always ask.
There are also smaller mills that work with lower MOQs and continuous stock service.

Final Notes on Fabric Sourcing in 2026

Choose suppliers based on your actual volumes, not aspirations.
Learn the process and progress step by step.

Build relationships.
Suppliers are second only to your parents in importance — treat them accordingly.

Educate yourself on terms, MOQs, and timelines before reaching out.
Prepare a clear, detailed sourcing brief.

If your first request leaves suppliers with unanswered questions, something went wrong.

Learn the process.
Respect the people.
Everything else will follow

Nestled at the foothills of the Italian Alps in the Piedmont region, Biella is more than a picturesque alpine town, it is the historic center of Italy’s wool manufacturing and fine-textile heritage. Its rise as a leading geographic hub of wool production in Northern Italy is inseparable from the unique characteristics of its landscape. The terrain is steep and uneven, with thin, rocky soils that historically hindered large-scale agriculture. What the land could not offer in fields, the mountains compensated for in water: an abundant and highly accessible network of alpine rivers and streamsdescending from alpine snowmelt.

These waterways flow over non-calcareous, non-limestone geological formations, resulting in naturally soft, low-mineral water ideal for wool processing and textile finishing. This composition is exceptionally well-suited for scouring raw fleece, dyeing fibers, and finishing delicate textiles without harsh chemical adjustment, a technical advantage that Biella’s early textile artisans and wool craftsmen understood intuitively. Over centuries, these hydrological conditions became an essential driver of regional textile specialization, turning the region’s rivers into the lifeblood of an increasingly sophisticated wool-processing industry.

Photo Credit

Time has only reinforced this heritage. Today, Biella’s centuries-old mastery of craftsmanship is internationally recognized: in 2019, the city was designated a UNESCO Creative City for Crafts & Folk Art, confirming its status as a global benchmark for textile excellence and artisanal innovation.

(For the history lovers (and curious ones), let’s take a gentle step back in time. One of the earliest mentions of the city appears in a document from 826, referring to the settlement as Bugella – “in villa que dicitur Bugella.” Over the centuries, this name softens and shifts into Biella, the version we know today. One scholarly hypothesis even reads the name as a geographical rivalry: Bu-cella, the “city above,” in contrast to Ver-cellae, “the city below.” A charming linguistic wink hidden in medieval ink.)

From Threads to Tradition

Although Biella’s history reaches back to prehistoric times, its real momentum started in the Middle Ages, the moment when textiles quietly, then confidently, took over the city’s identity. And let’s be honest: once Biella found its craft, it didn’t let go.

By 1245, the town had already produced a communal codex, a kind of early rulebook proving that Biella wasn’t just another alpine settlement, it was organized, ambitious, and ready to structure its economy with purpose. Not long after, new statute collections began introducing regulations for artisanal groups. Translation: craftsmanship wasn’t a side activity anymore; it was becoming part of the city’s official DNA.

Historians often point to a set of weaving ordinances (statuta textorum), dated roughly to 1310. The document isn’t perfectly preserved, but it still tells us something tempting: even back then, weaving in Biella wasn’t a casual craft: it was already a profession with its own rules and expectations, long before industrialization arrived.

Guilds and the Expansion of Craft

Favorable geographic and economic conditions encouraged wool production to expand beyond the family or household. Between 1275 and 1419, Biella’s various craft guilds (arti) adopted their definitive statutes, formalizing commercial practices and relations with neighbouring communities. Textile activity at this time was divided into three main branches:

• Tailoring — focused on garment production.
• Weaving — involving the systematic interlacing of warp and weft on hand-operated or early mechanical looms.
• Drapery — concerned with heavier fabrics used for men’s clothing, jackets, and coats.

Credits: Vitale Barberis Canonico

From the seventeenth century onward, surviving records allow historians to trace not only the growth of Biella’s wool production but also the evolution of the families behind it. One of the most emblematic lineages is the one later known as Vitale Barberis Canonico, whose story threads directly into the region’s textile identity.

In Northern Italy, the surname Barbero was once so widespread that an entire settlement (Barbero) took its name from the families who lived there. Over time, the relationship reversed: families began adopting derived names like Barberis, literally “of Barbero,” to mark their origin. Some scholars even suggest that the name resonated with the family’s long-standing association with craftsmanship and “men of the cloth,” though in this case, history would give the phrase a much more literal twist.

Archival references from 1663 mention Ajmo Barbero, supplier of grey twill (saia grisa), in a municipal payment record. Later genealogical research and local textile histories identify his lineage as one of the branches that eventually adopted the Barberis surname.

a document traditionally cited as evidence of Ajmo Barbero’s sale of grey twill

This same lineage would, generations later, establish the wool mill now renowned as Vitale Barberis Canonico, today one of Biella’s most influential and enduring textile houses. Their history, beginning with Ajmo Barbero’s seventeenth-century cloth trade and shaped through centuries of adaptation, faith, and craftsmanship mirrors the trajectory of Biella itself: from humble workshops to world-defining excellence in wool.

Industrialization and the Mechanical-Textile Revolution

By the late eighteenth century, Biella already hosted more than 250 wool-working enterprises. The true transformation began in the early nineteenth century with the introduction of the mechanical loom, which triggered a gradual but profound technological and organisational shift. Purpose-built factories emerged, creating a new industrial architecture that contrasted sharply with the smaller artisan workshops of previous centuries.

During the 1880s and 1890s, large multi-storey mills accommodated either specific stages of production, sequences of processes, or in the most advanced cases a fully integrated textile cycle from raw fiber to finished fabric. Supporting industries also flourished: mechanical workshops manufactured and repaired textile machinery, while factories produced leather belts, carding-machine sleeves, and other components essential for mechanized operations.

Credits: Google Arts&Culture

Despite the focus on wool, Biella’s economy was diverse. Knitwear workshops and felt-hat factories (especially in Biella and Andorno) played an important role and achieved commercial success in the latter half of the century. Entrepreneurs demonstrated both vision and courage, investing in mechanical innovation despite resistance from traditional traditional wool craftsmen concerned about unfair competition. A key figure in this transformation was Pietro Sella, whose leadership helped propel Biella into the modern industrial era.

Weaving a Worldwide Reputation

The nineteenth-century mechanical-textile revolution established the foundations for Biella’s modern prominence in wool and fine textiles. By combining natural advantages: pure Alpine water, hilly pastures, and skilled artisans with industrial innovation, Biella transitioned from a regional craft center into a globally recognized hub. The tradition of family-run mills, specialized production, and continuous innovation continues to define the region’s textile identity today.

Vitale Barberis Canonico – one of the world’s oldest continuously operating wool mills (with roots traced to 1663), celebrated for refined worsted fabrics, meticulous finishing, and a heritage that shaped Biella’s global reputation for textile excellence.

Ermenegildo Zegna – world-famous for fine wool fabrics and suit textiles, combining high-quality merino wool with innovation in weaving.

Fratelli Tallia di Delfino – renowned for hand-finished, bespoke tailoring fabrics and superior wool cloths.

Reda – a major industrial wool mill, producing worsted and suit fabrics, reflecting Biella’s evolution from artisan workshops to mechanized production.

Piacenza 1733 – specializing in premium cashmere and wool, maintaining centuries-old craft traditions.

Credits: Google Arts&Culture

Modern-day houses continue the tradition, combining innovation with centuries of savoir-faire:

Drago — producing high-quality wool fabrics for suits and jackets, hand-crafted with contemporary techniques.

Tollegno 1900 (Filatura Tollegno) — spinning and weaving wool yarns and fabrics, from worsted to lightweight, for modern tailoring and industrial applications.

Fratelli Tallia di Delfino — not only historic but also actively innovating today, maintaining a balance of hand-finished fabrics and modern textile production.

Lanificio Cerruti 1881 — blending classic woolen textiles with contemporary demands.

Lanificio Subalpino — producing premium worsted and specialty wool fabrics, representing the ongoing evolution of Biella’s textile sector.

Botto Giuseppe & Figli — a historic Biella wool mill founded in 1876, producing fine wool, cashmere, and silk fabrics through fully vertical manufacturing

Lanificio di Pray — a Biella-area mill known for high-quality carded wool fabrics, especially jackets and overcoats.

Trabaldo Togna 1840 — a heritage mill specializing in ultra-fine and stretch wool fabrics, blending tradition with modern textile innovation.

Ferla — a Biellese mill creating distinctive textured and luxury wool fabrics, known for innovative blends and contemporary design.

Marlane (BMT Group) — a modern producer of premium worsted fabrics for tailoring, part of BMT/Marzotto’s Biella-based textile network.

Together, these historic and contemporary houses illustrate the full spectrum of Biella’s textile identity: from centuries-old family ateliers to cutting-edge luxury and industrial producers, all united by the same natural advantages and relentless commitment to excellence. Biella proves that its textile legacy isn’t just history, it’s a living craft that keeps evolving, thread by thread.

Text: Catherine Serduke

The studio is run by Daniel Mangualde and Camila Romano, two makers who treat clothing like an extension of the wearer: something to not only compliment the body, but extend functionality and purpose.

Co-founders: Daniel Mangualde and Camila Romano

Cabra’s universe rests on a simple kind of honesty. Natural fibers, unhurried work, and a belief that craft should still mean something. Their garments carry the weight and warmth of human touch. They feel grounded and tactile, like objects with memory. Cabra calls itself a studio for functional clothing, shaped by ethical production, natural materials, and longevity.

Nothing flashy and nothing loud. Just a quiet assurance and the kind of careful work that speaks for itself.

It makes perfect sense that denim sits at the heart of all this. So it was only logical that during our Denim Week at CONSTRVCTOR we went to talk to Daniel and Camilla about denim and ask what it means to them. 

1. Why denim? What was the moment you realized this material would be the foundation of Cabra? Was there a personal story or object like a pair of jeans, a fabric, an encounter that created your connection to denim?

– For me, it started with function. The first thing I ever tried to sew was a heavy-duty cycling bag, something built to survive real use. That shaped the way I think about clothing. When I started making garments, the softer fabrics didn’t match the way I move or the kind of pieces I wanted to create. I needed a material that could live with me: on the bike, in the workshop, in the day-to-day. That naturally led me to workwear, and denim sits right at the centre of that world. Few fabrics offer the same mix of durability, ageing, and personality. That’s why denim became the backbone of Cabra.

2. Cabra could’ve worked with any textile. Why choose one of the most demanding, expensive, and slow materials in the industry like japanese raw denim?

– We work with a range of natural fibres like wool, hemp, canvas and cotton. Anything honest, organic, and well-made is always on our radar. But Japanese selvedge denim stands out because it brings together everything we look for in a fabric. Some mills in Japan still weave denim the way it was done in the early days: slow, precise, on old shuttle looms that give the cloth its structure, depth, and selvedge edge. It’s demanding, expensive, and time-consuming, but it has a level of integrity that’s hard to resist. If you’re trying to make your best craft, you look for materials built with the same care. That’s what makes a piece age in the best way and worth putting your money into.

3. What does Japanese denim mean to you personally? How many mills did you work with and what’s your number one producer to go to? Do you use any other fabrics besides it? Why do you think japanese denim is a cult?
   
   

   – For me, Japanese denim feels exceptional. The texture, the colour, the way it’s woven, it all has a personality you don’t find everywhere. When something is made with that level of care, it naturally gains a cult reputation. I’ve only worked with fabrics from two mills, so I don’t have a definitive favourite yet. But I’m very happy with Japan Blue textiles. They reproduce traditional denim beautifully, like the low-tension selvedge I’m using now, and they also offer things like sashiko and duck canvas that really stand out. That said, we don’t rely only on Japanese selvedge. We work with Brazilian and Italian selvedge, waxed canvas from Scotland, and pure wool from the UK, each one chosen because it fits the way we like to make clothes.

4.We’re at Constrvctor feel that Japanese denim is becoming a trend, going beyond its usual following. In your view, what’s misunderstood about Japanese denim by brands that use it only as a selling point?

– It’s natural that the industry wants to be seen using Japanese denim, it grabs attention. But there’s a clear difference between a brand that uses it as a trend and one that understands the craft behind it. Japanese denim isn’t special because of the origin: it’s the process, the mills, the intention. And if a brand can’t connect the material to the way they make things, the story behind it, then it becomes more of a marketing label than a real commitment.

Editor’s note: By the way, if you haven’t read our deep dive on Japanese denim yet, now is a good moment. We explore the mills and methods behind the fabric Daniel is describing.

5. You use old sewing machines. Why choose 50–70-year-old machines over modern industrial equipment?

– The tightness of the stitch, the mechanics, the way these old machines work without any modern technology, that’s what draws me in. They’re beautiful objects, built to last, and there’s something satisfying about giving a second life to tools the industry is discarding. When I first started looking for machines in Brazil, these were the ones nobody cared about, which also made them more accessible. But beyond that, they simply do the job the way I need.

6. What can a vintage sewing machine do that a modern machine simply cannot?

– Nothing really, but the old mechanics sometimes create small quirks in the stitch or in the way the garment ages. (or maybe that’s just legend, lol). What matters to me is using tools that are old and still running, that resistance keeps me close to the craft.

 

7. What’s the biggest challenge in maintaining and operating these old machines? How do you deal with the problems?

– The biggest challenge is the learning curve. The mechanics are simple, but it takes time to understand their particularities, and sometimes you lose a whole day figuring something out. The few mechanics who still know these machines are now retiring, but they become friends, and I try to learn as much as I can from them. And of course, there’s the noise and the smell of oil, but you get used to both. If you respect how the machine wants to work, it rarely gives you trouble. They’re old, but they’re reliable.

8. “Slow-made” is often romanticized. What does slowness mean in your production?

– Slowness means being aware of how things are made, who benefits from the process, and the quality of life we can get and offer. Me and Camila spend a good amount of time trying to understand this balance. It doesn’t mean that, as a brand, we need to do everything slowly, but slow enough to take proper care of every part involved. That’s where the value is.

9. How long does it actually take to create a pair of Cabra jeans? And how many can you create per month?

– It depends on the type of jeans. A custom pair takes about six hours, since I need to adjust the pattern, cut, sew, and add unique details. For a standard model, with one cutting session and the same machine setup, I can make two to three pairs in eight hours, working almost like a small assembly line. I’ve never dedicated a whole month just to jeans, but following one model and one workflow, I could make around 30 pairs on my own. Not that I’m sure I’d want to.

10. What’s the emotional value of a garment made slowly? Can you feel it? Can your customer?

– I can definitely feel it. When I make a garment slowly, I’m putting real attention and effort into every step. It’s not perfect, handmade pieces never are, and those small peculiarities are exactly what give it character. Most of our clients value that. Beyond the details, there’s also the experience: visiting the workshop, seeing where and how things are made, or at least knowing who’s behind the piece. I think there’s a real satisfaction in wearing something that supports this kind of work and this kind of business. It creates a connection you just don’t get from fast production.

11. What kind of people come to you for denim? What are they looking for: authenticity, quality, identity?

– There are the denim nerds, of course, the ones who already know the craft and are deep in the niche. But right now, most of my clients are people looking for something outstanding and closer to the maker. They want to know where their clothes come from, who’s making them, and they love the idea of customising something that’s usually not customisable at all.

12. Do you think raw denim culture is growing, or is it becoming more niche and refined?

– I don’t see raw denim becoming a mainstream thing. It’s naturally a smaller crowd. The people who choose it appreciate the process, the durability, and knowing who’s behind the work. And to be honest, it’s not the easiest thing to wear. It’s stiff, it needs extra care and patience, and it’s more expensive, so it attracts people who genuinely want that experience. The wider industry will always borrow elements from it, and that’s fine. But handmade and mass-produced pieces serve different purposes, and there’s room for both.

Editor’s note: If you want to see how raw denim is actually washed and get some practical tips from people who know what they’re doing, check it out [here].

13. If you could collaborate with any Japanese mill or craftsperson, who would it be and why?

– I don’t have a specific name, mainly because we haven’t met many of them in person yet. We’d love to travel to Japan and get to know the people behind the work, that matters more to us than the marketing. That said, we’re very curious about the mills behind Samurai Jeans. They create some uniquely interesting materials.

14. What do you wish people understood about Cabra that is always missed?

– People often think Cabra is only about denim. Denim is a big part of what we do, but we’re really driven by workwear, functional clothing, made for real workers and real needs. We love creating pieces for teams, for specific jobs, for people who actually use their clothes as tools. That part of the brand often gets missed, but it’s at the heart of what we do.

Some labels chase trends like they’re afraid to miss the party. Cabra slips in quietly, finds a seat in your wardrobe, and ends up staying longer than anyone expected. Their clothes behave less like objects and more like companions, the kind you accidentally grow fond of because they simply fit your life too well.

So that’s Cabra. The brand you casually mention to friends when you want to sound like you know things. The one that doesn’t scream for attention because it doesn’t need to. It simply exists long enough to outlive most of the trends on your feed.

Visit Cabra’s Store

Cabra’s Instagram

And since we’re in full Denim Week mode, think of this interview as the second chapter. The first one is our deep dive into Japanese denim. If you missed it, now’s a good time to fix that.

Credits:

Words: Catherine Serduke

Questions: Masha Gudova

Photos: Cabra Store

It began as cloth for miners, but ended up being clothing for the world.
From mines to magazines, from workwear to runway, few fabrics have traveled so far without losing their soul. Worn, frayed, and reborn with every generation, denim remains stitched into the very DNA of modern style.

And nowhere has this blue canvas been studied, perfected, and revered quite like in Japan (but let’s not get ahead of ourselves). 

Let’s unbutton history and stitch these milestones together, from first weave to modern blue.

Nîmes, Genoa… or Somewhere In Between?

If you ask a historian, denim’s story might begin in Nîmes, France, a quiet town of master weavers and dyers in the late 17th century. Here, artisans experimented with cotton and wool, producing a fabric strong enough to endure daily labor yet fine enough to export. They called it serge de Nîmes (literally “serge from Nîmes”) a tightly woven twill with diagonal ribs celebrated for its durability and its graceful softening over time.

But wait…across the Mediterranean, in the bustling port of Genoa, Italian sailors and dockworkers had their own sturdy cotton fabric, locally known as Genes. Cheap and tough, it was perfect for hauling ropes and barrels. 

OLD MAP OF Nîmes

Old map of Genoa. 

(Fun fact English merchants had a knack for putting their stamp on everything, including the name, and thus, Genes became the world-famous jeans.)

So where did denim really come from? Scholars still argue. Was it the French serge, the Italian Genes, or a little bit of both converging across the waves? The exact origin may be debated, and maybe that’s how legends should be: a little mysterious, a little eternal.

By the mid-nineteenth century, durable blue work fabrics from Europe had arrived in America. These fabrics, often between 8 and 14 ounces per square yard, were stronger than typical cotton and perfect for workwear. Miners during the Gold Rush, farmers tending the plains, and railroad laborers needed trousers that could survive months of hard wear.

Among those supplying this demand was Levi Strauss, a Bavarian merchant in San Francisco who sold fabric, tools, and supplies to prospectors. Tailor Jacob Davis noticed a recurring problem: pockets ripped, seams split, and trousers simply couldn’t keep up with the work. After several experiments, he reinforced the weak points with tiny copper rivets at pocket corners and the base of the button fly. This simple addition dramatically increased the durability of work trousers, transforming them from ordinary pants into a garment built to last.

In 1873 (California), Strauss and Davis filed a patent for the riveted work pant, officially creating the blue jean. Miners, farmers, and railroad men quickly adopted them, appreciating not only their toughness but also their comfort and practicality. By the turn of the century, Levi Strauss & Co. had elevated these riveted trousers from functional workwear to an American symbol of resilience and quiet style. Decades later, denim would cross another ocean. The fabric that had conquered the American frontier was about to meet a new audience: a generation in Japan curious, resourceful, and eager to explore modern ideas. What started as imported clothing would spark fascination, study, and eventually mastery, laying the foundation for Japan’s own legendary denim culture.

First Levi Strauss & Co. jeans

Workers wearing jeans.

From California to Kojima: When the Blue Went East

When the guns of World War II went quiet in 1945, Japan opened its doors to a flood of Western influenceя, and no, not by force this time, but through fascination.
American soldiers stationed across the country during the Allied occupation (1945–1952) brought with them the everyday symbols of a distant, seemingly untouchable modern world: jazz on the radio, Coca-Cola in glass bottles, and blue jeans that looked ready to endure anything.

At first, denim was just another curiosity of the occupation era. But something about it resonated deeply. The Japanese had always admired materials that change beautifully with time: the subtle sheen of aged lacquerware, the fading of indigo on old yukata, the philosophy of wabi-sabi, which finds grace in impermanence. Denim had arrived, still foreign and unfamiliar, yet already hinting at the quiet stories it would carry with each wear 

By the early 1950s, jeans appeared on Japanese streets as prized imports from U.S. military PX stores and black-market traders. Each pair told stories of another world, one of freedom, youth, and self-expression. Western films and rock’n’roll amplified that appeal. Marlon Brando in The Wild One, James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause, and Elvis Presley on stage made denim a visual shorthand for independence.

Marlon Brando in The Wild One (1953).

Сredits © Columbia Pictures Corporation

James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause

The media soon noticed the cultural shift. In postwar Japan, newspapers coined the term “Taiyōzoku”, or Sun Tribe, to describe a new generation of affluent, rebellious youth embracing American music, cars, and jeans as symbols of self-determination. What older generations saw as recklessness, the Taiyōzoku saw as liberation. Denim became their badge of identity, everyday armor for a new social freedom.

Sensing this growing appetite, Tetsuo Oishi, son of the founder of Oishi Trading Co., began importing up to 30,000 (!) Levi’s 501s per month from the United States. These jeans, worn and faded from real American lives, were sold in Tokyo’s Ameyoko market, where they quickly turned into a real obsession among students and young workers.

The surge of imported Levi’s inspired a new vision: denim that fused the durability of American workwear with the finesse of Japanese craftsmanship. In Kojima, a small coastal town in Okayama Prefecture known for its cotton and workwear production, local manufacturers began to study American jeans with scientific precision. Maruo Clothing Company, the forerunner of Big John, was among the first to deconstruct Levi’s 501s to understand how they were built:  every rivet, stitch, and ounce of denim mattered. Easier said than done. Still eight prototypes later, bingo — the perfect structure and fit was finally theirs. In 1965, Maruo released Canton jeans, crafted from American fabric from Canton Textile Mills. A success, for sure. Yet something lingered…can you guess what? Denim of their own, woven and dyed on home soil.

So, the success inspired the next step: producing denim at home. In 1972, Kurabo Mills wove Japan’s first domestic denim fabric, known as KD-8. This milestone signaled a shift from imitation to innovation. Instead of relying on high-speed projectile looms used in the U.S., Japanese mills revived the older Toyoda shuttle looms (yes, you’ve heard it right, the mechanical ancestors of today’s Toyota). These slower machines wove fabric with greater density and left a clean self-finished edge known as selvedge (hold tight, we’ll get to that in a few lines), a technical detail that became the benchmark of quality.

Around the same time, small mills across Okayama and Hiroshima (including Kuroki, Kaihara, and Nihon Menpu) began refining every stage of production: spinning, dyeing, weaving, and finishing. Each factory specialized in a particular technique, creating a network of expertise that elevated Japanese denim to global recognition.

Toyoda shuttle loom

Twill weave

At its foundation, denim is a cotton twill, a diagonal weave that’s as functional as it is beautiful. Two yarns meet on the loom: the warp, stretched tight and dyed in indigo, and the weft, left in its natural off-white shade. Together, they form that signature diagonal grain, a pattern that’s both sturdy and flexible.

Let us mention that this visual poetry is built on physics. The twill structure, most often a 3/1 weave, distributes stress diagonally across the fabric, allowing denim to flex with the body while maintaining remarkable strength. That diagonal tension makes denim nearly indestructible (actually the very reason it graduated from humble work cloth to the backbone of modern apparel).

For the record, not all twills are the same. A 2/1 weave is lighter and softer, often used for shirts and summer jackets, while the classic 3/1 twill creates the dense, durable structure found in traditional jeans. A 2/2 balanced twill feels smoother to the touch, commonly seen in chinos or suiting fabrics. Then there’s the broken twill, an intentional disruption of the diagonal pattern introduced to reduce twisting in the legs, a clever solution pioneered in Western denim during the mid-20th century.

Every strand does its part: the warp gives the strength, the weft brings the softness, and the twill keeps the fabric moving with the wearer. That’s why a good pair of jeans doesn’t just last. It’s growing old with its wearer.

Photographs: Getty Images; Collage: Gabe Conte

The Weight of the Cloth

Denim’s weight is measured in ounces per square yard, from the soft, easygoing 10–12 oz. fabrics to the stiff, serious stuff that molds to your body over time. Each crease on the thigh, each fade at the knee, even the shadow of your wallet in the back pocket tells a story. Raw denim enthusiasts call it “breaking in,” but really, it’s a collaboration: you move, the fabric responds, and over months (or years), a pair of jeans becomes uniquely yours.

(Fun fact: The 14 oz. “American-style” denim that Japan later perfected didn’t exist in Japanese mills before the 1960s, lighter fabrics were the norm until local artisans studied and adapted heavier American twill.)

Raw Denim: The Unwritten Story

If selvedge is about purity of craft, raw denim is about purity of character. It’s denim in its most honest state: unwashed, untreated, untouched. The fabric leaves the loom stiff, deep in color, and rich in indigo. Most jeans on the market today are pre-washed, stonewashed, or sandblasted to achieve an artificial fade and softness. Raw denim skips all of that. It begins as a blank canvas, waiting for life to mark it naturally.

The magic of raw denim lies in its transformation. Over weeks and months of wear, the fabric softens and shapes to its owner’s movements: every fold, pocket fade, and whisker pattern forming a personal topography of daily life. No two pairs ever age alike. Some enthusiasts wear their jeans daily for six months or more before the first wash, allowing the creases to set deeply and the contrast to bloom. The result is something close to art: a visual diary made of cotton and indigo (and that’s exactly why devotees will pay any price, each pair is a story, a history of your life stitched into fabric.)

Non-washed jeans

The Indigo Alchemy: From Ancient Dye to Modern Craft

Let’s rewind to where it all began,  long before denim became a cultural icon, before the first rivet was fastened or the first fade appeared.

INDIGO DYE

Natural indigo has a history older than any fashion cycle and broader than any border. Across ancient civilizations (from the dye pits of India and Egypt to the indigo farms of China) this pigment was revered as both a color and a symbol. In Japan, it became something sacred. Known as ai-zome, or indigo dyeing, it was the color of victory, purity, and endurance. Samurai warriors dyed the inner linings of their yoroi armor with indigo, believing it could ward off infection and misfortune. Farmers wrapped their hands and feet in indigo cloth for strength, monks wore it as a shade of humility. Over centuries, this blue seeped into the very fabric of Japanese life, from the rice fields to the tatami rooms, until it became part of the country’s identity.

(Fashion Fact: Natural indigo contains antibacterial compounds, making it gentle on the skin and ideal for daily wear, a property known since the age of samurai.)

But indigo was never just a color. It was, and still is a philosophy.
Unlike synthetic dyes that chase uniformity, natural indigo embraces irregularity. Every dip in the dye bath leaves a trace of chance; no two threads ever absorb pigment in the same way. What some call imperfection, Japanese artisans call kokoro, the soul of the work.

Indigo

Over time, this philosophy met modern craft through the evolution of dyeing itself. Today, there are several distinct ways denim gets its color:

• Rope Dyeing, the most prized and traditional technique, used by heritage mills like Kuroki and Kurabo, involves twisting hundreds of cotton yarns into thick ropes and dipping them repeatedly into indigo vats. Each quick immersion oxidizes on air before the next dip, creating a rich surface blue while leaving the core of the yarn white. This is what gives denim its signature fade, the story that reveals itself with every wear.
• Slasher Dyeing, developed for speed and volume, passes flat sheets of yarn through multiple dye baths in one continuous motion. The result is smoother, more uniform color, ideal for industrial production, though it lacks the tonal depth of rope-dyed denim.
• Natural vs. Synthetic Indigo marks another frontier. While synthetic indigo, invented in the late 19th century, dominates global denim for its precision and efficiency, Japanese mills still honor the ancient fermentation vats of ai-zome, where natural indigo plants (Polygonum tinctorium) are slowly reduced into liquid dye. The process is long, unpredictable, and deeply human, which is exactly why it endures.

And that brings us to Kuroki, one of the rare places where this ancient art still lives and breathes through fabric.

Hidden among the green hills and rice fields of Okayama Prefecture, the Kuroki mill continues Japan’s devotion to craftsmanship with quiet precision. This region is blessed with spring water so pure it becomes the secret ingredient in every dye bath. That same clarity allows Kuroki to achieve astonishing consistency from one batch to the next, a remarkable feat when working with something as volatile as indigo.

At Kuroki, rope dyeing meets philosophy. Every thread is treated like a living thing, dipped, aired, and dyed again until it reaches the right tone. The aim is not uniformity, but balance. Slight variations between yarns give the final denim a kind of musical harmony: depth, vibration, and warmth that industrial dyeing simply can’t replicate.

Kuroki’s guiding principles echo the Japanese idea of coexistence with nature:
Use what the earth gives. Respect what it takes. Create what will last.

As one of Japan’s few start-to-finish denim makers, Kuroki controls every stage of the process: from dyeing to weaving to finishing. The mill uses organic and BCI cotton, valuing not only the quality of fiber but the ethics behind it. Their goal is harmony, between technology and tradition, between human hands and natural materials. The result is denim that feels alive: dense yet soft, structured yet breathing, refined and…human.

Alpacas are adorable and social creatures from the Andes mountains. However, these animals are much more than their playful personalities. Just like llamas and sheep, alpacas have a thick coat that can be sheared off and spun into fibers. There are many reasons Why Alpaca yarns are considered top-tier. For one, their fur is hypoallergenic, allowing it to be worn by nearly everyone. They are also incredibly warm – some of their fibers being six times warmer than their llama counterparts. High-quality alpaca fibers are also water-resistant, making them an excellent choice for a variety of climates and temperatures.

They also come in an extremely wide range of natural color varieties, with 16 official colors and 6 “unofficial” color ways, ranging from off-white, to grey, beige, and true black. These colors are a true testament to the wonder of nature, with just how even and striking the hues can be. Grey can lean on metallic silver and beige can come off rose gold. This also means that when the fibers are mixed like paints, truly endless color variants are available. Dyeing alpaca wool is also a possibility, and while we love colorful options, we gravitate towards the artistry of the natural shade mixing.

The process of collecting the fleece happens, on average, once a year. They are sheared down in late spring to compensate for the summer heat that follows. The raw fur is then cleaned and sorted by texture, color, and quality. It is then spun and finished to retain certain properties like shine, texture, etc.

Alpacas come in two main types: Suri and Huacaya.

Suri have long, dreadlock-like fleece, while Huacaya look like plush teddy bears. About 90% of all alpacas are Huacaya and only 10% are Suri.

Photo credit: Azerbaijan Travel 

These breeds also come with a “coolness hierarchy” :

1. Huacaya
2. Suri
3. Baby Suri
4. Royal Baby Suri

(the fleece of a royal Suri baby is 19 microns; similar to merino, but alpaca is six times warmer than sheep’s wool, hypoallergenic, and keeps you warm even when wet).

A majority of the stock we have is Suri and Baby Suri.

While it’s harder to come by, the quality is unmatched.

Browse through our selection of alpaca wools here.

Yayoi Kusama, artist

The Birth of Intricate Patterns

Before the Industrial Revolution, fabric production was a domestic craft: uneven, human, and slow. The idea of a perfectly round, evenly spaced dot didn’t exist yet. Printing and weaving techniques couldn’t deliver that kind of precision. Circular motifs appeared distorted and often evoked discomfort, reminding people of skin diseases like measles and pox.

By the mid-18th century, as textile mills began opening in Europe, new machinery changed everything. Mechanized looms and later the sewing machine (patented in 1791) made repetition and accuracy part of textile language. The dot went from something unsettling to something decorative, entirely thanks to technology.

The Name with Rhythm

The word polka arrived from Bohemia in the 1830s with a dance that spread across Europe almost overnight. The rhythm caught on, and soon so did the branding. “Polka pudding,” “polka hats,” and eventually, polka dots. Before that, similar patterns were called Dotted Swiss — a delicate cotton tulle with raised dots used for dresses and veils.

The polka name stuck because it sold. It suggested movement, modernity, and a European novelty that textile merchants quickly commercialized.

Dotted Swiss

In Print

The first written mention of “polka dots” appeared in Godey’s Lady’s Book (Philadelphia, 1857):

“Scarf of muslin, for light summer wear, surrounded by a scalloped edge, embroidered in rows of round polka dots.”

The pattern was officially part of 19th-century fashion vocabulary: light, feminine, and reproducible.

Norma Smallwood

A Public Moment

By the 1920s, polka dots returned through photography and swimwear. In 1926, Norma Smallwood, the first Native American Miss America, posed in a polka dot swimsuit, a striking image for its time. The photo captured the print’s shift from domestic decoration to a symbol of confidence and visibility.

Courtesy of Disney

An Icon in Motion

Walt Disney’s Minnie Mouse didn’t start in polka dots. Her 1928 debut outfit was plain, but by the early 1940s, animation advances made repeating patterns possible on screen. Minnie’s red and white skirt became an instantly recognizable graphic, a clean and cheerful version of the industrial print that had once been feared for its imperfections.

Polka Dot Man, DC Comics

The Graphic Era

In the 1960s, polka dots appeared everywhere from couture to comic books. DC Comics’ Polka-Dot Man (1962) turned the motif into a visual weapon, literally throwing detachable dots as tools of destruction. Around the same time, Yayoi Kusama was using the same geometry to question repetition, obsession, and the idea of self-erasure in art. Two extremes of the same language: one absurd, one existential.

The Look

“I don’t think there is ever a wrong time for polka dots,” said Marc Jacobs, and fashion history agrees. From Christian Dior’s 1954 “New Look” silhouettes to Marilyn Monroe’s sun dresses and Kate Middleton’s printed coats, the dot continues to signal precision and optimism.

Marc Jacobs in Polka dot suit

Marilyn Monroe

Dior Couture by: Patrick Demarchelier (Photographer)

Junya Watanabe ss2026