Yesterday started the same as most days: a strong coffee and the panic of what to wear. I had a hardcore day of meetings and calls ahead of me. I needed to feel in control. I reached into my wardrobe and pulled out one of my bespoke Edward Sexton jackets. Boom! I was instantly ready for whatever the day wanted to throw at me.
Everything, that is, apart from the news that Edward Sexton — the most important tailor of the 20th century, and my friend — had passed away aged 80. For those unfamiliar with Edward Sexton (shame on you) here’s a quick catch-up.
Born in Dagenham in 1942, young Edward left school and became a commis waiter at The Waldorf Hotel but, more interested in the elegantly dressed clientele, he pivoted into the sartorial world as an apprentice tailor. He began making a name for himself as a skilled cutter and by 1967 he was working at Donaldson, Williams and Ward, a fusty Savile Row establishment. It was here Edward met well-connected salesman Tommy Nutter; bored of buttoned-up business suits, the two started a side hustle creating outré outfits for private clients. Their signature look? Big shoulders, cinched-in waists, super wide lapels and even wider trousers.
“I was very influenced by the 30s and 40s,” Edward told me, “and I always loved Fred Astaire’s looks.” With funding from Cilla Black and Beatles manager Peter Brown, Edward and Tommy opened the doors to Nutters of Savile Row on Valentine’s Day 1969. The Row’s old guard didn’t know what hit them as Swinging London swarmed into Number 35a. Goodbye pinstripes; hello peacocks! That suit Mick Jagger got married in? Edward made that. Bianca’s too. Those far-out Elton John suits that inspired Harry Styles? Edward made those. And Harry’s. He dressed John and Yoko, Paul McCartney, Twiggy and Bowie. Jarvis Cocker. Bobby Gillespie… from a basement backroom, Edward systematically revolutionised menswear stitch by stitch, decade by decade.
The first suit Edward made for me was a three-piece based on one I’d seen Ringo Starr wearing in an old Nutters ad. The fitting at Edward’s studio — then located in Knightsbridge — was not the gentlemanly experience I was expecting: it felt more like being roughed up in an alley, as he tugged and ripped at the lapel, swearing like a sailor and jabbing away with a piece of chalk. Edward didn’t care if you were a rock star or a cabbie. He wasn’t into egos, vanity or arse-kissing. He didn’t need to be: he was the best in the business and he knew it. And by the time you tried on one of his creations, you knew it too.
I’m so pleased we got to share some special moments over the years. When Edward was 76 years old, I put him on the cover of the fashion magazine Perfect. He turned up on set, immaculate as always and shoot-ready. As he stood in front of the camera I could see him mouthing something to himself. Later I asked him what he was saying. “Sex and champagne, sex and champagne,” he replied; apparently Bowie had taught him this photogenic trick. (Give it a go, it sure beats saying “Cheeese”.)
At the recent opening of his new Savile Row flagship, I saw his Perfect cover displayed on the counter. That made me happy. I also had the honour of presenting Edward with the “Visionary” award at last year’s Walpole Luxury Awards. It was a beautiful evening with his wife and grandson there, and the Sexton team. I could tell he was moved, not that he’d ever let on. I wore the three-piece dinner suit he had made me for my wedding; “Still looks good on you,” he nodded with approval.
As he clutched his award, I asked if he could retire now; his reply is unprintable here but, suffice to say, Edward worked right up until the end. Standing side-by-side for our final photocall that night, I heard him mumbling Bowie’s mantra under his breath. Sex and champagne forever, Edward.
