A$AP Rocky was “magnetized” by clothsurgeon’s sweatshirts

I’m chatting with Rav Matharu, founder and creative director of clothsurgeon, a week after he was shortlisted for the 2025 British Fashion Council X GQ Designer Fashion Fund. We’re seated in his spacious Savile Row store in front of a wall of books where one particular tome with a bright pink spine catches my eye. It’s not one that I—I’m embarrassed to admit this—would particularly associate with Matharu. “Yes, I love Sofia Coppola, and why not,” explains Matharu with a laugh, referring to the title Archive: Sophia Coppola. “For me, there is inspiration everywhere. The smallest of things can inform the palette of a collection, a certain silhouette, or a shape. Maybe my next shoot will be inspired by Coppola’s imagery!” he adds.

As if on cue, my mind flashes back to that iconic blink-and-you-miss-it moment from Coppola’s 2006 classic Marie Antoinette where a pair of dirty purple Converse shoes rest next to mountains of French patisserie, 18th-Century heels, and pools of satin ribbons to the beats of Bow Wow Wow’s electric ‘I Want Candy’. It is a cinematic moment suffused with youthful rebellion that echoes the same contradictions as clothsurgeon: the first luxury streetwear brand (run by a South Asian no less) to find an address on the historic Savile Row in London’s Mayfair district.

But unlike most brands that are born on runways, back rooms or factory floors, this one was conceived by Matharu on a cutting table with a scalpel in hand. In 2009, Matharu was in his second year at Leeds College of Art and Design after dropping out of London College of Fashion due to the cost of living. While others reached for shears, Matharu was perfecting a method of slicing curves into fabric with surgical precision using a scalpel blade. A chance remark from a tutor, likening his cutting technique to that of a surgeon, led Matharu to birth clothsurgeon, not yet as a label but as a blog. A digital mood board for his obsessions: Porsche 964s (something that is still on his bucket list), Persian carpets, Raf Simons, and of course, garments he dreamed of making himself

Fast forward to today, and clothsurgeon is no longer a whisper of an idea but a fully realised brand operating out of Savile Row—bang opposite the red-bricked townhouse on whose rooftop the Beatles performed their last concert in 1969. It’s where Matharu’s unique vision of bespoke streetwear lives: part sneakerhead DNA, part Savile Row discipline, all filtered through his own lived experience. The journey from blogspot to bespoke bomber jackets for Kendrick Lamar wasn’t linear, but it’s a story stitched with purpose.

Before fashion took centre stage, Matharu was living another dream—professional football. Playing for Leeds United until the age of 21, his early years were steeped in sport and streetwear: trackies, socks, trainers, logo-heavy gear. “I was always rooted in that world,” says the father of two. But as his tastes matured through art, music, and craft, the designer found himself obsessing over fabrication, cut, and construction. “I was drawn to the feeling you get from really well-made things,” he says. “And I wanted to give people that feeling too.”

Tailoring, he soon realised, didn’t have to mean starchy suits. “Why can’t a bespoke garment be a bomber jacket in cashmere made to your exact spec? That’s still craftsmanship. That’s still luxury.” The brand’s rise came in part thanks to a serendipitous encounter with A$AP Rocky in the early days. Then working at another label, Matharu had a rack of clothsurgeon pieces tucked away on the side. When Rocky noticed, “he was magnetized,” recalls Matharu. The rapper left with a lambskin-sleeved sweatshirt and wore it through his tour. “Within two weeks we were shipping globally, via Facebook and Instagram,” he says. “That moment gave us the push and revenue to launch properly.”

Over 13 years, clothsurgeon has built a reputation for high-end, deeply intentional streetwear that speaks to both craftsmanship and culture. Collaborations with Nike, Champion, and Coca-Cola have followed. There was a project with Coca-Cola using actual museum pieces; another involved creating tour outfits for artists like FKA Twigs out of repurposed Nike gear. Sustainability, though often a buzzword, is built into the brand’s DNA. Production is in-house, stock is minimal, and most pieces are made to order. “Reconstruction is a big part of our practice,” he says, referencing garments made from deadstock Nike pieces, vintage Prada bags, even a 1920s umbrella. “We’re always trying to create something new from something that already had a life.”

The brand today lives at the intersection of streetwear’s emotional power and tailoring’s discipline. Think silk-lined chore jackets made with distressed Loro Piana cottons, or boxy silhouettes crafted from wool suiting, finished with basted stitches intentionally left visible. “We’ve had finance guys wear that to the boardroom,” Matharu laughs, pointing at one of the creations from his summer edit that hang from the palms of his skeletal hand-mannequins—almost like a sacred offering. “It’s a statement—but it’s also beautifully made. That’s the point.”

When he’s not crafting razor-sharp silhouettes, Matharu is quietly documenting the world through the lens of a film camera. “It’s point and shoot,” he says, “one shot, one chance.” From bumping into Tilda Swinton to past hangouts with Kendrick and J Cole, he’s slowly building an unintentional, unfiltered visual archive. Unlike the precision of his tailoring, photography is his space for instinct and imperfection. “You wait, develop, and discover,” he says. One day, I suggest, unasked, it might even become a coffee-table book—portraits, moments, and stories captured in grainy honesty. Matharu responds with his characteristic quiet smile.

And as regards the future of menswear, how does he view this supposed “business casual” pivot in the age of recession? “We’ve always made pieces that live in-between. A luxury bomber in navy cashmere works in a meeting or a museum. A softly structured double-breasted suit with wide-leg trousers—that’s freedom, not formality.”

At clothsurgeon, tailoring is being recontextualised. And the resulting community is a product of care, consistency, and culture.