My dad has a photo of himself from 1978. He’s standing against his Ford Cortina wearing a brown suit with lapels so wide he could have achieved low-attack flight with them. It’s a Marks & Spencer suit.
I know this because he tells me every so often. “Best suit I ever had, that. Marks & Sparks. Had it mad years.
Wore it to your christening, your brother’s wedding and three funerals. Still fit me after ten years.” This is Britain’s M&S tailoring heritage: dependable.
Steady.
The trouser equivalent of a Ford Mondeo. Never going to excite or set the world alight, but solid as a rock. The kind of suit your dad would approve of wearing.
The kind of suit that earns you those three magic words from maiden aunts throughout the nation: “Don’t you look smart.” But… is it any good? That was the question haunting me as I stood half-naked in the changing rooms of the Manchester Arndale Centre branch of Marks and Spencer wearing a pair of socks and evaluating my options. Last Tuesday afternoon I set about what I laughingly referred to as ‘The Marks and Spencer Suit Challenge.’ The idea was simple: Britain’s stalwart high street retailer of reliable underwear, average tunics, and middle class ready meals obviously sell suits.
Lots of them. But can they compare to higher end offerings? To ones that cost two, three, four times the price?
Most M&S suits fall into the £150-£300 price bracket. Can they hold their own? Is British brand perceived middle-of-the-roadiness somehow embodied in the cut of their suits?
I’d been mulling it over for a few weeks, actually. When you spend as much time at Sartorial Him going on about the wonders of bespoke tailoring and £3,000+ Italian handmade suits, it’s easy to forget that most men don’t spend that kind of money on clothing. They don’t need to.
They just need stuff that fits, looks decent and doesn’t fall apart after three wears. So. M&S.
Master of the bog-standard male British wardrobe. The brand that approximately 78% of you bought your first ‘proper’ suit from. Me.
In my socks and boxers about to try on £840 worth of their finest. Here we go. Contestant number 1.
M&S’s basic option. The “Regular Fit Suit” in navy, price £149. In terms of M&S range taxonomy I’m going low-end first, middle then their poshest option.
Jacket two. Let’s have a look. Initial thoughts: bleh.
Kind of glad I tried one on though. It’s … there. It exists.
As a suit. The fabric is polyester. It brings me horribly fond memories of school trousers and trousers I wore for interviews fresh out of uni.
Let’s be clear: it’s not bad. It’s not massively staining gray like some shockingly poor suits you can get. The colour’s alright, general neck-and-dot-chart-type shape will fit most men’s body shapes without insulting them too much.
I try it on… Ok. If we’re being honest with ourselves here: it’s a bit rubbish.
The shoulders have been padded slightly but there’s zero shape because it’s not canvassed. You know when you can see a slight sheen on the fabric under the harsh changing room lighting and know it’s 100% polyester? Yeah.
That. It’s budget. Feels like a budget suit and looks like a budget suit.
But you know what? It doesn’t look terrible. Pulling it off in the mirror, I can honestly say if I saw someone wearing this to a wedding I wouldn’t bat an eyelid.
It’s fine. Again: functional background music levels of suit. But fine.
Most of that ‘budget’ feeling comes from the trousers. Obvious signs of cost-cutting: they’re light, they’re unlined. Waistband’s a bit basic.
And when you walk, they swoosh. They make that ever-so-slight swooshing sound that synthetically made fabrics do when you walk. As for the rise: it’s fairly standard, neither the tragically low-rise nightmare of the early noughties nor the high-waisted stylishness that’s popular these days.
It’s just… average. Which, again: fine. They do what they’re meant to: clothe your legs and give you somewhere to put your trousers up.
Onto contestant number two. £299 “Tailored Fit Italian Wool Suit.” Are we detecting a theme yet here? Quality improvement time. Honestly: from the packet it looks and feels a lot better than the basic suit.
Wool. It’s stretchy too, which can only be a good thing. Same deal as last time though: jacket off, onto the hanger.
OK Mr Madam. Wow. What a difference.
Where do I start? The fabric looks and feels better. It’s wool.
It’s soft. It actually feels nice. And there’s been enough attention to detail with the cut that it’s actually a bit more tailored in shape.
It’s been slimmed slightly at the waist and has a bit more of a career assassin vibe going on with the shoulders. So far so bloody marvellous. I put it on…
Whoa. Immediate difference. Once again: the jacket is partially canvassed.
There’s shape. My collar isn’t instantly trying to bow away from my chest. It actually feels… good.
It fits. The lining is a nice twill too, rather than that horrible slippery synthetics most budget suits try and get away with. Trousers are lined to the knee, which already makes them hang better.
These have side adjusters rather than belt loops – which is a nice touch at this price. The rise is also slightly more modern, resting comfortably at my waist where it should. They feel more comfortable when I do my little ‘checking yourself out whilst pretending you’re not’ shuffle too.
My word. At this price point I’m actually really impressed. Full marks to M&S for this suit.
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Next… CONTESTANT NUMBER THREE: SAVILE ROW INSPIRED LUXURY SUIT WITH ALL THE TRIMMINGS £399. Ok. A quick disclaimer: I know nothing about Savile Row tailoring other than a) it’s expensive, b) McQueens did that documentary about it on BBC4 last year and c) Ozwald Boateng lives there.
But based on pure packet analysis, there’s something about this suit that looks like its blending notes from one-part highstreet budget with three-parts top shelf cocktail. Fabric feels lovely. It’s 100% wool with a nice subtle herringbone pattern going on too.
You can obviously expect a bit more heft to the cloth at this price point. It feels like it’ll hold a crease rather than falling into a sad, schlumpy heap by the end of the day. Slippery McSliperton jacket goes on… Well.
Fuck me. If we’re being honest here, as soon as I lifted the jacket out of the carrier and saw that glorious wool I knew we were in slightly different territory. Just from holding it I can tell this thing’s fully canvassed.
Ripped shoulders. Details like dual vents, proper sleeve buttons (not quite Surgeon’s Cuffs but who’s honestly grading on that sort of nonsense?) and pick stitching on the lapels. Wearing it…
Well holy crap. As you may have guessed by now, this is where M&S step it up to eleven. Jacket goes on and… woah.
This Mother. Holy… Hang on: full review sentiment analysis process commencing. Taking it in…
Wow. This actually might be really good. When I feel around my chest I can actually feel the canvassing stitching through the fabric on the chest and lapels.
Suit feels like it’s got moulded to my shape, rather than trying to coshed me with brutish 19th century Savile Row tailoring methods. It looks great too. Even in the harsh unforgiving lighting of the M&S menswear fitting rooms, this thing gives off serious quality vibes.
The trousers… Oh yeah. Nice lining.
Curtained waistband. Better rise. It’s… going on.
The full monty. Ok. So.
Take a seat Mendoza. We need to talk. Am I shocked that this suits exists?
To an extent, yes. Am I wildly surprised that it doesn’t magically transform me into GQ Cover Male? Also yes.
But does it look and feel better than you’d expect it to at this price point? Absolutely. Yes it bloody does.
It’s almost neck and neck with the mid-tier suit in terms of quality. The difference being, this suits feels like it’s tried harder. Felted into your body rather than sat around hoping you’ll like it.
Now comes the difficult part. Taking these beauties home and wearing them in the wild. Spoiler alert: I did.
Both the middle tier and ‘luxury’ suit came home with me. Turns out when you’re doing suits challenges you CAN expense underwear because, well, dry cleaning bills. At least that’s what I told my editor when she nearly had a heart attack at the idea of me ordering THREE suits from Marks and Spencer.
I left the basic suit at the till, mainly because the more I thought about it, the more I didn’t want to wear polyester. Past me hates future me right now but hey. You’re over 30 now Past George, you should know better than to wear mens jackets made primarily from a substance that was used to get you to sit quietly in primary school.
Over the next few weeks I wore these bad boys to a handful of occasions. The mid tier wool suit: two work meetings, a book launch and dinner I ended up staining with red wine because hey. Journalism.
REAL RESPONSIBILITIES HERE. The luxury suit got taken out to play the most: wedding, men’s gossiping at work informal drinks gathering, and introducing my girlfriend to her parents (her parents being intensely mid so I was pretty sure that was a suit-based make-or-break scenario). How did they fair IRL?
Better than you’d think. The mid tier wool suit proved surprisingly hard wearing. Traveled without too much creasing, shrugged back into shape after being crumpled over a chair during meetings, and didn’t even look too pissed off when I got wine down it after work and took it to the cleaners whose eyes I will never meet again but who clearly judged me when I walked in with a covered in red wine garment.
The luxury suit was a real winner for me. One of the best-dressed guys at the wedding wore Thom Sweeney, and another guy wearing ‘nice’ was rocking Paul Smith. I should have panicked.
But I didn’t. My M&S number slayed the room. When I told people it was M&S I was met with nodding faces of “Oh yeah?
Huh.” when I expected eye rolls and someone quietly mentioning my lack of fashion sense to the nearby waiter who could then stealthily dispose of me. Even my girlfriend’s father – social media cynic that he may be – asked where I got it from. Marks and Spencer, I said.
He nodded wisely. “Ah. Good. Practical.
Bit of designer can be wasted on people sometimes.” Said man who I’d literally met half an hour ago had decided he liked my suit. Life achievement unlocked. So there we have it.
The results of Operation Monocle Nestegg, otherwise known as trying M&S suits. Here are my thoughts if you’ve stayed with me this far: – The budget suit is as budget as it’s going to get. It’s not terrible, it’ll do what it says on the tin and you’ll probs pass a workplace Christmas party in it but if suits are a regular fixture in your wardrobe get yourself to at least Tier 2. – Tier 2 is fantastic value for money.
The step up from budget is HUGE. If you’re going to buy a suit from M&S make it this one. – Tier 3 is lovely. You can see where they are going with it.
It doesn’t feel like an £150 suit with extra trimmings. It honestly isn’t far off some of the £400-£500 suits I’ve owned. But… Does it beat the more expensive suits?
Nope. It’s cut isn’t as tailored as you’ll find. The fabric, while lovely doesn’t quite have the luxurious ‘I could stroke this all day’ feeling some higher end suits exude.
And, let’s be real. It just won’t hold the same clout as say…something from Huntsman.
But does it need to?
For the vast majority of people that won’t even notice. They’ll notice a suit that fits, looks like they know what they’re doing and isn’t going to bankrupt them. And M&S can provide that.
Especially at the top end of their range. Would I be sprinting into M&S asking for their latest tailored creations before every menswear fashion week show in sight? Nope.
Will I be wearing one to the front row of Alexis Ming’s launch party next month? Doubt it. But then I’m also not spending said show week wearing the same suits as everyone else James Mullís suggests I buy on Instagram.
What I WILL be doing is wearing these as and when I need to buy new suits. Because the sad truth is, life’s mainly made up of weddings, job interviews, and parents evenings and on those occasion M&S have nailed it.
