I. A Thread from the Past

If last week’s dispatch on the ancient Silk Road traced the origin of global luxury, then consider this the footnote hidden behind a tailor’s curtain in the backstreets of Shanghai — a modern metropolis where the echoes of old-world craftsmanship are still faintly heard, if you know where to listen.

I’ve just returned from Shanghai, still slightly jet-lagged, but alert enough to report that while the skyline screams modernity, down a side alley in Jing’an, I walked past a shoemaker’s stairwell marked only with a hand-painted character. No neon. No Instagram geotag. Just the soft sound of a mallet on leather coming from above. A reminder: the best things often live beneath the noise.

This week, I want to introduce you to the Shanghai that doesn’t make headlines — not the mega-factories or fashion week afterparties, but the ateliers tucked behind noodle shops, the workshops hidden on fourth-floor walk-ups. It’s here that legacy tailors, leatherworkers, woodcarvers, and shoemakers still practice their craft with quiet pride.

At Arc & Iveagh, we chose our Southeast China workshop not out of convenience, but conviction. Because craftsmanship knows no borders — but it does leave clues, if you’re paying attention.

II. A Tale of Two Shanghais | Cosmopolitan Past, Industrial Present

I checked into the Fairmont Peace Hotel expecting old-world elegance — maybe a polished bellhop, a good martini, a decent view of the Bund. What I didn’t expect was to feel, quite literally, the weight of history in the floors beneath me. The Sassoon House, as it was originally known, isn’t just another gilded landmark — it’s a cornerstone of Shanghai’s golden age, where the great and the glamorous waltzed through art deco hallways under the watchful eye of Sir Victor Sassoon himself.

The room keys still click like they were made in 1929. The jazz band still plays with that slight air of mischief, as if they remember when international tailors and cobblers kept private salons upstairs and socialites commissioned qipaos that could stop traffic on Nanjing Road. It’s no wonder the building’s getting a Raffles revival by 2027 — one of the few brands that still does timeless elegance right. Read the report

But just outside the revolving doors, a different Shanghai barrels forward — neon signs, mega malls, and the endless churn of fast fashion. Since the 1980s, the artisan heartbeat of the city has been muffled by scale. Factories multiplied. Small workshops disappeared. But not all of them.

Some never left. Some went quiet. And some, remarkably, still work the same way they did when the Sassoons threw parties for visiting royals — invisible to most, but unmistakable to those who care to look closely.

III. Crafting the Suit in Old Shanghai

Long before Shanghai became the city of mega malls and electric skylines, it was a sartorial sanctuary — the tailoring capital of East Asia. From the 1920s through the ’40s, the city’s ateliers quietly rivaled Savile Row, with Chinese tailors who had trained under British and Italian masters blending Eastern sensibility with Western structure. The result? An elegant, hybrid school of suiting where fit was king, cloth was sacred, and every commission was personal.

The qipao may have stolen the spotlight in those golden years — its hourglass silhouette capturing the mystery of Shanghai’s socialites — but it was the men’s tailoring houses that defined the quiet power in the room. Think hand-cut tweeds, razor-sharp lapels, and suits tailored for the diplomats, tycoons, and jazz-club regulars who haunted The Bund after dusk.

Today, that culture hasn’t vanished — it’s just retreated. Modern Shanghai’s best tailors work above noodle shops or in converted apartments, where bolts of English wool and Chinese cashmere are still measured against the body, not the bottom line. These ateliers survive through word of mouth and sheer craftsmanship.

For Arc & Iveagh, this is the spiritual kinship — a reverence for silhouette, drape, fabric provenance. Our outerwear isn’t made to impress the algorithm. It’s made to outlive it. In these backstreet workshops of Shanghai, that same philosophy still exists — stitched quietly behind closed doors.

IV. Shoemaker's Alley: A Step in Silence

Shoemaking in Shanghai once rivaled its tailoring culture — a quieter, steadier craft that lived in the shadows of suits and silk. Before mass production flooded the market, local cobblers carved bespoke lasts by hand and stitched soles with the kind of care you’d expect from a violin maker. And though the golden era of Shanghai shoemaking has largely faded, a few stalwarts remain — if you know where to knock.

Jim & Jun, tucked behind a discreet facade in Jing’an, is run by Gordon Wang, a master of the hand-welted shoe. No signage. No Instagram shop. Just a small team using traditional British techniques — Goodyear and hand-welted — but with unmistakable Chinese precision. It’s the kind of place where tools are arranged like heirlooms and leather is selected like wine.

A few blocks away, Oct. Tenth carries the same ethos — younger in age, but cut from the same hide. Their shoes are made to be worn hard, aged well, and repaired forever.

These aren’t retail stores — they’re sanctuaries of process. Just a few craftsmen. No noise. All focus. At Arc & Iveagh, that level of intent resonates deeply — because in the end, elegance is in the effort no one sees.

V. Leather, Memory, & the Man in the Back Room

Tucked away in a quiet lane off Huashan Road in Jing’an, Birdman Leatherware Workshop is a sanctuary for those who appreciate the art of leathercraft. Operating on an appointment-only basis, this second-floor studio offers a hands-on experience where clients can craft their own leather goods—from wallets to purses—under the guidance of skilled artisans.

Stepping into Birdman, one is greeted by the rich aroma of tanned hide and the sight of tools meticulously arranged, each bearing the patina of years of use. The artisans here draw inspiration from traditional Chinese saddlecraft, translating age-old techniques into contemporary designs that resonate with modern sensibilities.

At Arc & Iveagh, we share this reverence for craftsmanship. Our use of premium materials, such as the French goat suede in our blouson jacket, reflects a commitment to both quality and tradition. Future collections will continue to explore this intersection of heritage and modernity, honoring the meticulous processes that define true artisanship.

In a world increasingly dominated by mass production, places like Birdman serve as a poignant reminder of the value of the handmade. They echo our belief that every stitch, every cut, and every detail tells a story worth preserving.

VI. Sacred Timber: Jesuit Craft & Contemporary Woodwork

In the heart of Shanghai’s Xujiahui district stands the Tushanwan Museum, a testament to a unique fusion of Eastern and Western craftsmanship. Established in 1864 by Jesuit missionaries, the Tushanwan Orphanage was more than a refuge; it was a pioneering institution where orphaned boys were trained in various arts, including woodcarving, painting, and metalwork. Under the guidance of artisans like Brother Aloysius Beck, students produced works that garnered international acclaim, such as intricately carved pailou gates showcased at world expositions.

Today, the museum preserves this legacy, housing masterpieces that reflect a harmonious blend of Chinese motifs and European techniques. The craftsmanship displayed here resonates with Arc & Iveagh’s commitment to quality and tradition. Just as the Jesuits emphasized meticulous training and attention to detail, we at Arc & Iveagh value the stories woven into every stitch and seam.

While the Tushanwan workshops have ceased operations, their spirit endures in modern ateliers that continue to honor traditional methods. These hidden enclaves, much like our own approach to design, prioritize authenticity over mass production, ensuring that each creation is both timeless and meaningful.

VII. The Tension Behind the Label

Let’s be clear: I didn’t come into this venture wide-eyed or naïve. When we began vetting manufacturing partners for Arc & Iveagh, the checklist was non-negotiable — world-class craftsmanship, ethically run, obsessively detail-oriented, and capable of telling a story through the product itself. We looked at storied houses in Italy and Portugal, ateliers in Turkey and South America. There’s no shortage of heritage there — but something was missing.

We wanted more than just “Made in Europe.” We wanted soul. We wanted each stitch to reflect the culture and history of the regions inspiring our collections — whether it’s Harris Tweed from the Outer Hebrides or waxed cotton from the famed Halley Stevensons for homage to British hunting culture. And we needed a partner who wouldn’t compromise that vision for scale or speed.

We found that partner — not in Florence or Porto — but in Southeast China.

I visited the factory myself. Walked the floors. Met the team. Touched the samples. What I found wasn’t just capability — it was reverence. Artisans who take pride in pressing a lapel by hand, in sewing in linings with invisible threadwork, in treating every jacket as a one-off commission. They didn’t pitch us with glossy decks. They let the craftsmanship speak.

In Shanghai, just like in our factory, that’s the tension we embrace: mass vs. mastery. Most people don’t know that “Made in China” can mean centuries of heritage, passed down not on websites, but across workbenches. We’re here to help change that perception — not with slogans, but with stories you can wear.

Because in the end, excellence isn’t about geography. It’s about intention.

VIII. A New Kind of Label

The truth is, these workshops aren’t hiding — they’re just not shouting. No influencer campaigns. No flashy storefronts. Just a worn stairwell, the scent of steamed dumplings wafting nearby, and the soft rhythm of a craftsman at work behind a half-closed door.

“Made in China” doesn’t mean soulless. Not if you know where to find the soul.

At Arc & Iveagh, our partners in Southeast China are cut from that same cloth — quiet, obsessive masters of their trade who care far more about hand-finishing a collar properly than posting about it. They’re the kind of people who don’t just make garments. They build heirlooms.

We believe provenance matters. But so does humility. And sometimes, the finest things are not in Paris showrooms or Tuscan villas — they’re stitched together in places the world forgot to glamorize.

So look closer. Rethink the label. Because in a world obsessed with image, there’s something daring — even rebellious — about choosing quality over convenience.

And that, in the end, is exactly what we’re here to make: not just clothing, but proof that excellence can be found in the quietest corners.