This story originally appeared on the Gents Cafe Newsletter. You can subscribe here.
Long before synthetic fibers and high-tech fabrics, there was a material born of the mountains, designed to withstand the biting winds and rolling mists of the Highlands while remaining entirely breathable.
For Paul Walker, this realization came first-hand while living on a remote Scottish farm: what began as a venture in the snowboarding scene quickly pivoted when locals began asking for rugged, practical garments. It was here that Paul discovered tweed was the “original performance fabric,” a revelation that would define the soul of his brand.
In this Brand Talks interview Paul, Founder and Designer of Walker Slater, reflects on those early Highland days and the bold decision to transform a heavy cloth into something “carelessly elegant” for the modern man.
Can you recall your earliest memory of being captivated by clothing — or perhaps the first time you noticed the character of a fabric like tweed?
My first real awareness of clothing started with an independent menswear shop in my hometown. It was a revelation; they sold pieces that were truly unique, far removed from what was generally available. I remember the feeling of saving up for something specific—that early passion for an item you just had to have.
Tweed, however, came into my life a bit later, and it was born out of necessity rather than fashion. In my early twenties, I moved to the Highlands of Scotland, north of Perth, to a farmhouse called Coull Farm. We were there because our friends were developing a snowboarding business, and we began making clothes that fit that lifestyle and the Scottish skiing scene. It was a competitive market and not particularly easy to break into.
What changed everything was the local community. People who worked outside in the mountains began asking us to make them practical garments for their jobs—specifically plus-fours made from tweed. Sometimes they would bring us the fabric themselves; other times, they asked us to source it. We quickly realized that tweed was the original performance fabric.
This demand not only paid the bills but sparked a deep, lasting interest in the material. At the time, we had another brand for our initial foray into clothing, but our company was always Walker Slater, named simply after the two of us, Walker and Slater. When we decided to pivot fully toward tweed, it felt only logical to stick with that name. It was the beginning of everything.
What changed everything was the local community. People who worked outside in the mountains began asking us to make them practical garments for their jobs—specifically plus-fours made from tweed.
Walker Slater was born from a serendipitous conversation in a Highland pub in the late 1980s. Can you share the story behind that moment, and what kind of future you imagined for the brand?
It’s a funny memory. The brand was really born from the realization that clothing could create a sense of community. I remember being in a place called Le Pub in the Alps and watching a friend sell shirts around the bar; everyone wanted one. It struck me then that clothing could be something for a specific community.
Initially, we were tied into the snowboarding scene with our friends who made boards. We moved to where the snow was in the UK to start making garments, but once we reached the Highlands, everything shifted. We discovered that people were far more interested in tweed than snowboarding. Our mission became making tweed relevant to our own tastes. In those days, that meant creating unstructured, casual jackets, which was a silhouette people hadn’t really seen in tweed before.
The vision was always to create clothing you could personally relate to; something different yet relevant to your lifestyle. I’ve always loved the formality of suiting, but I also have a deep connection to the outdoors. Tweed was the bridge between those two worlds. Bringing that rugged, outdoor fabric into the realm of tailoring felt like the most logical step toward becoming what we are today.
What drew you to this fabric in particular, and how have you worked to reframe its place in contemporary wardrobes without losing its soul?
It always comes back to the balance of quality and value. I’ve never been a fan of “designer” pieces; that feels like a different world to me. Instead, the goal is to produce a silhouette that makes you feel comfortable. For me, that is a slightly unstructured, relaxed fit that still retains enough formality for a serious occasion.
I call it “carelessly elegant”—the idea that you can put something on and almost forget about it because you feel so at home in it. Much of English suiting became too formal and overdone for my liking. The “Scottishness” of our style lies in its rugged soul and lack of rigid structure, which feels more real and connected to the landscape.
Your collections are often described as understated — elegant but never overly dressed. How do you define timeless style in your own terms, and what does “understated” mean to you when designing a piece?
To me, “understated” means removing the frivolous, stripping away any detail that isn’t absolutely necessary. However, there is a fine line; you have to keep the essential elements that make a garment work. If you strip too much away, like removing the vents from a jacket entirely, it becomes too plain, almost characterless.
I’ve always been inspired by the old Edinburgh style: a three-button jacket with a single vent, where the lapel rolls over the top button so it presents as a two-button. It’s a subtle, intelligent detail. That, to me, defines understated style. It’s as much about what a garment isn’t as what it is. The fabrics shouldn’t be too loud or brash; the colors and patterns need to harmonize and develop a depth over time.
As you get older and spend more time designing, you find yourself revisiting patterns you’ve used before, like a classic herringbone. But the perspective changes. You aren’t just looking at the pattern anymore; you are obsessing over the refinement of the silhouette, and that’s where you can truly make a difference.
Can you walk us through the process of designing a new piece of clothing for your collection, maybe just starting from something that is already working, but that you decide to refine?
Design often starts with a personal need. I ask myself: “What do I want to wear? How do I want it to feel?” There is a great deal of experimentation involved. Sometimes you wear a piece and realize it isn’t quite right; perhaps the collar needs stiffening or a seam needs adjusting. There are always improvements to be made without necessitating a complete overhaul.
Each season begins with a palette of the colors and textures I’m drawn to. I look at the fabrics and try to assemble them into a collection that appeals to different facets of our audience. However, my greatest satisfaction comes from the “rediscovery” side of the business. Occasionally, I’ll visit an old country house and see someone wearing a piece of ours from fifteen years ago. They’ll tell me it’s their favorite garment, and I’ll have almost forgotten I designed it. I think a certain degree of forgetfulness is healthy; it allows you to let go of the past and move toward the next thing, only to return to those core feelings years later when the timing feels right again.
In business, I am fortunate to work with Claire Pentony. She studied fine art and the Italian Renaissance, and she has been instrumental in developing our womenswear. Before her involvement, I think our ladies’ pieces were almost a caricature of tweed, but she has styled them to be elegant and wearable without feeling like a costume. She takes the fabrics I select and gives them a relevance that has made womenswear a vital part of Walker Slater. It’s that blend of different perspectives that gives the brand its soul.
Occasionally, I’ll visit an old country house and see someone wearing a piece of ours from fifteen years ago. They’ll tell me it’s their favorite garment, and I’ll have almost forgotten I designed it.
How does the community you’ve built around Walker Slater influence this process?
The feedback is essential, and I hear it most clearly from the people running our stores. I’m heading down to our London locations this week, and it’s incredibly rewarding to see the shops busy and the customers engaged. Being on the “back end” of the business can sometimes make you feel detached, so getting that direct feedback on what people love or don’t love is fundamental.
There are many people now who have strong opinions on what Walker Slater should or shouldn’t do. Sometimes their insights are spot on; other times, I’m genuinely surprised because their perspective is so different from my own. But that is the key: people take our clothes and make them their own. As a designer, you have to be comfortable with losing that sense of ownership. Once a piece leaves the shop, its story belongs to the wearer.
Craftsmanship, sustainability and integrity seem to sit at the heart of Walker Slater — from your commitment to natural fibres and timeless design, to living wages and long-standing relationships with weavers and tailors. How do these values shape both the way you create and the way you lead?
Whether it’s with the people who work for us or our suppliers, I’m always looking for a relationship that is a “two-way door.” With our employees, it’s about making their lives better by offering flexibility and finding ways to make their work more rewarding. With our weavers and tailors, we aren’t looking for one-off transactions; we want ongoing partnerships. We have built our business by sticking with the same partners over decades, and that loyalty extends to our wholesale customers as well. We are there for each other.
When it comes to materials, our mission is centered on natural fibers. We’ve moved away from polyester almost entirely—I’d say we are now 98% natural fibers. Beyond the materials themselves, integrity means knowing exactly who you are working with. You cannot work with a factory you’ve never visited. A major part of my job is traveling to see the reality of how our garments are produced and by whom. I would be deeply upset if I discovered something was wrong in our supply chain; ensuring its health is perhaps my most important responsibility.
I believe our purpose is to create clothing that is significantly different from the high street, offering something with genuine identity and heritage. We want to provide value to people who appreciate style and quality but aren’t necessarily chasing “designer” labels.
Scotland produces world-class tweed, and it’s a fabric that I believe belongs in everyone’s wardrobe. Our goal is to take that incredible material and dress people well for the meaningful events in their lives. Ultimately, though, the purpose is also about the community within the company. I care deeply about the people in this business; seeing them lead fulfilling lives because of the work we do together is what keeps me going.
If you had to tell the story of Walker Slater through three of your most iconic garments, which ones would you choose — and what part of the journey does each represent?
I would start with the Edward jacket. It represented a pivotal transition for us, moving from British-made to Portuguese-made tailoring, but executed in a quintessentially Scottish way. It had a sharp formality with its high notch lapels, slim fit, and high armholes, yet it wasn’t stiff. By using lightweight tweeds with real movement and drape, we moved the fabric away from the heavy, “thorn-proof” tweeds of the Highlands. Those heavier fabrics were meant for crawling through heather and bushes; while I respect that heritage, I wanted to show that tweed could be something much more refined. The Edward remains a cornerstone of what we do today.
The second would be the Martin jacket. This was a real eye-opener, particularly when we opened in London. It’s a younger, more contemporary version of our tailoring, shorter in the jacket and even more fitted. Seeing a younger crowd become genuinely excited about tweed through that silhouette was a significant moment for the brand.
Finally, the Emma jacket represents our foray into womenswear. It’s an asymmetrical piece inspired by my sister, Emma, who was an eventer. It draws on the elegant, functional lines of a riding jacket. Each in its own way, these three pieces really capture the journey of taking a traditional fabric and making it relevant for different people and lifestyles. Since then, we’ve developed many unstructured and casual designs, but you always have a special connection to the ones that started it all.
You’ve described Walker Slater as a brand rooted in discovery — a place where people find ‘something beautiful and unique.’ In a world saturated with options, what do you think makes a garment feel like a true gem?
The tricky thing about a “true gem” is that you often don’t really know you have one until you’ve worn it. A great buyer can spot certain markers of quality immediately, evaluating the density of the weave, the softness of the drape, or the choice of horn buttons and high-end trims. Those technical details are essential, but they are only the beginning.
The real test is how a garment makes you hold yourself. Does it improve your posture? Does it make you feel comfortable enough to move naturally? Sometimes, you buy something and love it instantly, but you tire of it just as quickly. Other times, you aren’t quite sure about a piece when you first put it on, but the more you wear it, the more it becomes your favorite. A garment evolves alongside you; it becomes tied to the nights you had while wearing it and the places it has been.
Generally, I find that the best Walker Slater pieces are the ones you like more the more you wear them. It brings me back to that gentleman in the country house with his ten-year-old unstructured coat. He was a man who understood smart dressing from his time in the military, yet this old, worn coat was his prized possession. Ultimately, a gem is something that serves a specific purpose in your life, whether you’re heading out into the Highlands or trying to feel “cool” in a city with its own distinct look, like Milan or Paris. You need pieces that can transition through all those different areas of your life.
The real test is how a garment makes you hold yourself. Does it improve your posture? Does it make you feel comfortable enough to move naturally?
Beyond tailoring, what are your main passions — and in what ways do they quietly echo through the clothes you create?
As I get older, I find myself returning to the things I loved when I was younger. Art is a significant part of my life; I collect paintings and I enjoy painting myself. My great-grandfather was a well-known landscape artist, so I grew up with an appreciation for color and texture, which funnily enough is essentially what tweed is. While I lacked the gene for portraiture, I’ve always been captivated by landscapes and the way light interacts with the environment.
This connection to the landscape extends to my love for being outdoors, particularly salmon fishing in Scotland or Iceland. There is a famous quote that says you never fish the same river twice, because the river is always changing and so are you. For me, fishing is a form of meditation, a way to slow down and truly absorb the environment. I also practice Qigong for both my physical and mental health.
My background is actually in history and philosophy. I originally wanted to be a painter, but after traveling alone through India at eighteen, I decided to pursue a joint degree in Scotland. Philosophy taught me about the fascinating duality between the mind and the body. I’ve realized that you need physical engagement to get the mind working properly. This echoes in my clothing; I’ve always designed pieces that you can be physical in. I can’t stand feeling restricted or constrained by what I’m wearing.
After more than three decades, what still excites you about this journey — creatively, personally, or in the life of the brand?
I believe in the old adage that if you aren’t moving forward, you’re moving backward. You have to keep the momentum, but you must do so while staying anchored to the values that give the business its meaning. Without those values, you lose your purpose.
I don’t aspire for Walker Slater to be the “biggest thing on the block.” We aren’t a micro-company, but we aren’t a corporate giant either, and I’m comfortable in that space. My excitement comes from watching the brand grow organically. I don’t want to force growth; I want to see every aspect of the business develop naturally alongside the clothing.
It remains a family business at its core, in the sense that care, continuity, and shared responsibility still shape how decisions are made. The company has grown steadily over the years, but the emphasis has always been on craftsmanship, honesty in materials, and the relationships built with the people who wear our clothes. That sense of dedication, both to the work itself and to the people around it, is something I value deeply. My goal is simply to continue creating garments that people relate to, offering real value that keeps them coming back.
