‘‘all we did was buy one yard and a half of cloth and then take it to the tailor and he made the trousers. Or if you want a suit, he tell you have much you would need to buy and then you would take it to him" (Young, 2016)
Image of my father's jacket (front and back) from the personal collection of Hope Bolden, taken by students from Middlesex University, as part of the digitising my collection project (2025)
My Father’s Suit: Three Pieces, One Jamaican Story
My father, Barrington Young, born in Jamaica in 1929, was a central figure in my PhD research and beyond. His history and experiences inspired me to think about Jamaica as an important fashion location. His photographs provided crucial evidence, allowing me to dispel doubts about whether Jamaica had a fashion history worth exploring. (I have written about my father’s relationship with clothing and the influence West Indian colonial citizens who arrived in Britain after 1948 had on British fashion, elsewhere if you are interested in reading more).
When I first began my research, I faced significant challenges in locating garments made in Jamaica during the period of my research (1950–1970). One of the first pieces I collected for my archive was a three-piece suit owned by my father. I took it from his wardrobe shortly after he passed away in 2017. I was drawn to this particular suit not only because it was bespoke—specifically tailored for him—but also because I did not recall ever seeing him wear it.
As soon as I removed the trousers from their hanger, it became clear why the suit had remained unworn for so many years. The waist of the trousers measured only 29 inches, reflecting my father’s younger, slimmer self. Astonishingly, despite years spent untouched in his wardrobe, the suit still carried a faint trace of his cologne.
While I was unable to ask my father why he kept the suit. Clearly, it was too precious for him to discard. Perhaps it evoked special memories or represented a significant connection to Jamaica, his homeland. I searched through his extensive collection of photographs hoping to find an image of him wearing it but sadly found none. Though he frequently wore suits, they all shared similar colours and styles, making this particular suit’s absence from photos even more intriguing.
The suit itself is typically English in style, featuring padded shoulders and flap pockets. Its navy-blue colour aligns perfectly with the suits my father preferred. The jacket is noticeably heavy, likely due to either its woollen-blend fabric or perhaps the full canvas interlining. Despite its age, the fabric, which feels slightly rough, appears almost new. In conversations we had, my father explained that Scottish tweed was his preferred choice when he lived back home in Jamaica. Therefore, whatever the fabric it is likely this suit was crafted from the highest-quality fabric he could afford at the time.
When looking through his wardrobe after his passing, his collection of ties hanging neatly on the left immediately reminded me of one specific knitted brown-and-tan tie—a tie I had often seen in his photographs, purchased in Jamaica, but which had since disappeared. Beneath the ties, several pairs of shoes sat neatly arranged, featuring shades of black, brown, navy blue, and tan in leather or suede. Indeed, after his death, I found over fifteen pairs of shoes carefully stored in his bedroom. Many pairs were still unworn in their original boxes, likely bought for special occasions that never arrived. My father had a distinct system for storing his shoes: special-occasion pairs remained upstairs in his bedroom, protected within their original boxes, while everyday shoes were kept downstairs for regular use.
My father’s clothing choices during the week differed significantly from those worn at home. Most weekdays were spent in his British Rail navy-blue uniform. (I have a number of his British Rail hats in my collection, which were part of his uniform and document his rise through the ranks.) Upon returning home, he would quickly change into his yaad clothes—usually plain trousers paired with a shirt, layered beneath plain or patterned jumpers. These comfortable clothes were suitable for hours spent in our cellar, where he maintained his miniature train collection—a hobby he passionately pursued, endlessly building and rebuilding layouts while watching his trains move around the tracks.
Close inspection of the suit reveals subtle yet telling signs of wear. For instance, the waistcoat’s lining shows stretching from repeated use, indicating it had been put on and taken off many times. Wear and tear like this is meaningful for researchers like me, as it provides tangible evidence of my father’s lived experiences. I was surprised by the emotions the suit evoked—the faint smell and visible marks stirred a deep sense of loss, not only for my father’s physical absence but also for the countless personal stories and experiences that will forever remain unknown to me.
Other small signs of use include noticeably frayed stitching around the trouser pockets—more worn on the left side, as my father was left-handed—and several small moth holes in the left trouser leg, alongside a dark-brown stain on the jacket. Interestingly, the trouser leg is noticeably narrower than the wide-legged trousers seen in earlier photographs, signalling a gradual evolution in my father’s personal style. The suit itself is constructed from seven distinct fabrics, each carefully chosen for the main body, jacket and sleeve linings, waistcoat, underside of the collar, and the twelve pockets. The predominant fabric is dark navy blue with a thin woven white stripe. While the body lining and waistcoat share a similarly dark hue, the waistcoat lining and jacket sleeves feature contrasting cream-coloured fabrics, a colour echoed within the trouser pockets. The trousers also include buttons for braces, never used by my father, and a rear cinch for waist adjustment. The waistcoat fastens with seven buttons, the jacket with just two. The waistcoat’s rear cinch is secured by a metal buckle with a distinctive blue sheen. On the right side of this cinch is an unexplained small hand-stitched detail in white thread, whose purpose remains unclear.
The meticulous construction of this suit reflects not only the skill and attention of the tailor but also my father’s own deep understanding of tailoring and garment construction. Throughout fittings, he would have approved colours, fabrics, and various construction elements. Such detailed discussions and decisions were crucial because, as my father explained, ready-made clothing was simply not fashionable in Jamaica. Tailors in Jamaica combined skilled craftsmanship with detailed knowledge of both global fashion trends and local Jamaican tastes.
My father’s tailor, Holness, was widely respected in his local community in Kingston. According to my father he would describe what he wanted, Holness would advise him on how much fabric was required, and my father would then purchase the material from a shop on King Street—Kingston’s fashion district. While I do not know for certain whether this particular suit was made by Holness, it was very likely crafted by a Jamaican tailor. Because after arriving in England, my father continued seek out Jamaican tailors, finding one in Manchester, which allowed him to maintain the practices that he had established during his time in Jamaica.
Although my father passed away before we could speak in depth about his interactions with Holness, it seems clear that their relationship would have been collaborative. My father had specific tastes and expectations, and Holness had the practical expertise to advise on possibilities and limitations. They would have discussed fabrics, styles, and how materials would move and fit. Jamaican tailors needed comprehensive knowledge of both global fashion trends and their clients’ personal preferences to ensure each garment was stylish yet uniquely individual. This suit, regardless of its exact maker, is a testament to that legacy.
Personal narratives like these are essential for piecing together the often undocumented histories of Caribbean fashion, enriching our understanding of the region’s distinctive style traditions and the stories they hold.