We chose the characters dude & the duchess as an analogy summing up the essence of the brand. The two are opposites caught up in a passionate romance. The dude is grungy, alternative and anti-establishment, while the Duchess, elegant, polished and sophisticated. Together they incorporate the practical with finesse, the rough with the refined and oft times, play off each other in embracing their differences.

Meticulous attention to detail, exquisite craftsmanship and exclusive fabric is what springs to mind when we think of well-tailored shirts for men and women. Forget dress codes, conformity and imposed styles; as shirt specialists, we believe that the character behind our shirts lies in its details.

Each style is created with thought and consideration through the choice of fabric and the plan of colours. Be it adjustments to the placket, cuffs, collar or yoke, a sense of counter-culture humour is interpreted through each shirt.

While the Dude shirts have elements of dandyism, refined cutting and streamlined silhouettes resonate in the Duchess line. Tops and dresses are made from delicate materials, expressing fluidity in every turn.

1: a man extremely fastidious in dress and manner: dandy
2: a city dweller unfamiliar with a life constrained by rules.
3: fellow, guy- sometimes used informally as a term of address "hey dude, what's up!"

Spending most of his time in front of life-sized canvasses, the Dude escapes into the night with his saxophone to a Jazz bar a few blocks from his loft. There he and swirls a glass of Merlot D'ante in one hand while puffing on a Cuban cigar as he waits for his turn to perform. The Dude is hard to miss, his presence almost demanding as he leans casually against a leather sofa in a crinkled white top with an absent button, a slight rip on the shoulder seams and a loosely tied bow around the collar of his neck. That was before the Duchess graced him with her presence. Many things have changed since that fateful night when the Dude locked eyes with the Duchess, thus beginning their affaire-de-couer. Artistic, casual and savvy, the Dude has a pre-existing ruggedness that, try as she may, the Duchess can't get rid off. But beneath an otherwise deceiving exterior, he holds her delicate hand wherever they go, knowing he'd do anything for her, hopelessly infatuated with his enchanting Duchess.

1. The wife or widow of a duke.
2. A woman holding title to a Duchy in her own right.

As quickly as they fell madly in love, she moves her lavish belongings, into the Dude's humble abode where they glitter and charm the carelessly painted white walls and ridged wooden flooring. With every creak of her feet against the timber planks, she cleans his disarranged loft and within a week, creates a chic rustic domicile she calls home.

As the Dude painted and molded his sculptures, she stitched up his old shirts with fabrics from her own blouses, sewed missing buttons and added a touch of color (aside from accidental spills of paint) to his otherwise modest wardrobe.

Fully aware of the Dude's simple nature, the Duchess often sneaks a few quirky elements of flowered print fabrics, hidden pockets and misplaced stitching in subtle places on his shirts. She thinks he doesn't notice by his silent agreement.

The Duchess occasionally takes a step back to look at the wardrobe she now shares with the Dude. Her simple, delicate and yet sophisticated clothing's now adorned with silk and charming hand sewn buttons, hangs neatly by the Dude's shirts. Some folded, some clinging off hooks by the wall. She would happily put on one of his revived crisp white shirts to go down the road to pick up a baguette, back in time to hear the Dude's saxophone greet her from the doorstep.

"No one quite knows her age, still elegantly beautiful, and at odds with the Establishment because she is hooked up with a man who sculpts nudes by day, and plays the saxophone by night. Some say since the Duke died, she found a way to escape shooting pigeons and tending to the rose garden by falling madly in love with an artist. He's holed up in a converted upper floor shop lot in Westbourne Grove, a flat stripped bare with open spaces so that he can work on his sculptures – bits of cornices and moldings still clinging to a glorious past. That was before she moved in. Odd pieces of aristocracy, that have seen better days in the country manor, dot the room now...a chair here, a table there. An armoire for silks is now neatly filled with his shirts; an exquisite cigar box that had the best Cubans is now filled with his cufflinks and whatnots. The vestibule has her things hanging on makeshift coat racks, shelves in the cloakroom stacked with more clothes.

She's less concerned with throwing stately dinners that make it to the front covers now. She will happily put on one of his crisp white shirts to go down the road to pick up a baguette. A pair of sunglasses does the trick. But occasionally, she still gets a few bulbs going off on her. Her days are filled with simple joys. A cup of coffee, and not tea. No servants, but the Rumba. Nights are sometimes at the jazz club with him. Carelessly with a cigarette in one hand, and a silk skirt cut off from a ball gown worn once to some fancy royal birthday party.

He's in his usual smart but slightly louche way of wearing a shirt. Perhaps it is Saville Row but no one is quite sure; they don't usually wear it this way. He doesn't care. Tonight, he's going to dedicate her, a song. She looks so beautiful."