In tailoring, we don’t just call them scissors—we call them shears. And for good reason. They’re not just tools; they’re an extension of the tailor’s hand, a quiet partner in every cut, every curve, every commission. Over the years, I’ve built a small but mighty collection, each pair with its own personality and purpose.

Let’s start with the heavyweights.

My 13-inch cutting shears, affectionately known as big bolts, are side-bent tailoring shears made in Sheffield—not far from where I’m from. There’s a certain poetry in that. Sheffield steel runs in the blood of British industry, and these shears carry that legacy. They’re big, bold, and unapologetically robust—ideal for slicing through thick cloth with precision and power. You feel them in your arm after a long day’s work, but that weight becomes part of the rhythm. Part of the craft.

Then come my 11-inch paper shears. Sleeker, slightly lighter, but still serious. These are the size we used at Huntsman during my training, so they’re etched in muscle memory. While some tailors use them for fabric too, I’ve always used them for patterns—card, paper, drafting. A quieter task, but no less essential.

Next up: the 8-inch shears. Smallest of the three, but don’t let their size fool you. These are my go-to for tailoring details—think pocket construction, delicate trimming, creating bastes. When the drama of the cutting table settles and the finesse begins, these step in. Precise, nimble, reliable.

But it doesn’t end there.

My 12-inch Japanese Kai shears are the newest addition to the team. I reach for these when I’m working with lighter cloths—silk, fine wool, shirtings. They glide through fabric like they already know where you’re going. Compared to the Sheffield steel, they’re practically featherlight. Depending on the cloth, I switch between them—letting feel lead function.

Then there are the unsung heroes: the thread snips. Small, sharp, efficient. These live by my machine and do their job without fuss—nipping threads quickly, cleanly, keeping everything neat.

My pinking shears—from Mundial—are old friends. You can actually see where I once melted the handle with an iron. They’ve seen their fair share of studio mishaps, but they still cut a clean zig-zag line to finish raw edges and reduce bulk. A bit battered, but still brilliant.

And finally, the most meaningful pair of all: the black shears that belonged to my grandma. Passed down to me by my auntie, with a handwritten note I’ve kept ever since. My grandma worked as a seamstress for Double Two, a shirt manufacturer in Wakefield. These shears are a piece of that legacy. A thread running from her hands to mine.

Each pair tells a story—not just of cloth and craft, but of heritage, memory, and the quiet rituals of making. In a world that’s constantly speeding up, there’s something grounding about tools that endure. That age with you. That carry history in their blades.

And honestly? There’s nothing quite like the sound of a good pair of shears slicing through cloth.
It’s the sound of something beginning.

Tools of the Trade: Shears

Tools of the Trade: Needles

Signed by the Maker