As a child, driving with my dad to Savile Row – the fancy Mayfair street known for bespoke menswear tailoring – was the norm for me.

And, at the time, I thought it was so boring.

I would sit in the car and wait while my dad, Lloyd Miller, a bespoke tailor and menswear and womenswear shop owner, perfected suits for his high-end clients. Dad felt it was a nice thing to be able to bring your daughter along to work – but for me, it just felt like going to Sainsbury’s with my mum.

But, after switching from a career in property to one in fashion, I’ve since realised how important those car rides were.

My father survived the London high street for over 40 years with multiple shops. He did business in Savile Row and, although he’s now retired, his name is still well known by several people I meet to this day. 

Dad was born in 1937 in a small town called Spalding in a parish in Jamaica called Clarendon. His dad was also a well-respected tailor, and my dad worked with him on weekends in his shop when he was young. 

Dad was excited when he came to London aged 17 in 1955, and he moved in with his elder brother Ronnie in Aldgate, who helped him pay the fare for the ship.

It cost about £75-£80 – today, that equates to around £1700 – and it took him three weeks to get here.

Dad was so excited to finally arrive.

Uncle Ronnie not only gave him somewhere to live, he also had a lovely group of friends who showed my dad around and the two brothers had a great time in those first few weeks – until they came to see how terrible the weather was.

And it wasn’t long before they realised the extent of the racism that was all too present in 1950s London, too. 

Dad joined the army around two years after he moved to London, aged 19, and he served for one-and-a-half years before moving to Stoke Newington.

He studied a course in Bespoke Tailoring at the London College of Fashion and he then settled in South West London, which is where my brother, my sister and myself grew up.

His first shop was on Garratt Lane in Wandsworth, which opened in the late sixties. I was then born in 1973.

Dad later opened shops in the area around Clapham Junction station. Clapham Junction had a different buzz back then – now, there are lots of restaurants and bars, but in those days it was a major shopping district. Dad’s other shops were in a prominent location on St John’s Hill, opposite the station, and Northcote Road, which is just around the corner. 

Dad started making a name for himself through word of mouth, having a shop on a local high street, and his shops attracted so many different kinds of people – a mixture of Black and English.

Lots of his customers were barristers and lawyers and once they worked with my dad, they told their colleagues, so Dad built up a network from there.

His friendly and approachable nature cemented his trustworthiness with his clients. Customers would come in looking for dress shirts if they were working in court, or outfits to dress up in for parties and clubs or a dance. 

A lady once asked for a suit to be made for her husband. Dad told her that he would need to come in to be measured, to which she replied her husband had passed away. 

The customer wanted her husband to be buried in a Lloyd Miller suit in his coffin. Dad had actually made a suit for the gentleman before, when he got married to the woman who was now requesting a new suit. Dad must have made some amazing suits if people wanted to be buried in them.

When I was around 13 or 14, I started working with my dad in the shop – but it felt more like a chore than a job!

Being a West Indian family, helping out was something I had to do on a Saturday. Assisting with the family business was something that was expected of children back then.

I would count stock, wipe the glass shelves and polish the display cabinets with Mr Sheen. I could see that Dad was very popular as the shop was always busy on Saturdays, but at the time, I couldn’t wait to finish for the day!

Dad’s clients included celebrities he still won’t reveal. He was allowed to use the fitting rooms owned by tailors in Savile Row because his clients located in Central London would specifically ask for him – and so they didn’t have to travel to his shop in Clapham Junction.

My dad was (and still is) very humble and took Savile Row in his stride. 

It was a big deal for a Black man to have a shop like Dad’s at the time and to own their own business, and it wasn’t without its challenges.

‘It was hard for a Black man in those days to make a start, but I did’, he told me the other day. He also felt the need to keep his future plans hidden, like when it came time to open new shops, just in case someone else would try and get the property before him.

But Dad loved being self-employed and being his own boss. He felt self-gratification and a sense of pride.

Work was everything to Dad – and at home, he was a traditional strict Jamaican parent. 

He would work late Monday to Friday, and on Friday evenings he would drive to Stratford in East London to get stock for the shop.

Sometimes, I would go with him. I remember sitting at the back of the car and it was always dark. It was a long drive.

At his location on St John’s Hill, where he had a menswear and a womenswear shop, he did tailoring in between both, in his workshop.

I still remember the burning smell of the tailoring iron in his workshop, and the fabric. If Dad had been at his cutting table, the smell would come from the iron when he was pressing fabrics.

If you went near the sewing machine, you could smell the oil; and I can still hear the sound it made. It’s the whole of my childhood – but I didn’t appreciate any of it until I started working as a personal stylist.

As a child, I wasn’t as close to him back then like I am now; but when Dad retired in 2010 and his last shop closed its doors, it brought our whole family closer together.

Dad relaxed, because there’s so much tension when owning a shop – and he and I grew closer as I sought business advice from him.

Now, Dad and I have lunch at least once a week and we speak almost everyday, and he’s an amazing granddad to all of his grandchildren including my sons, who are 15 and 28.

Dad had mixed feelings about letting go of the shop, but he never truly gave up on his passion – and continued tailoring from home.

He had his shop’s phone number diverted to his mobile number, so customers could still get in touch. He still had work to do, as far as he was concerned. 

It was never said by our parents that we had to take over any of the shops. I worked in the property industry for 15 years and was a property manager with my own business after having my youngest son. 

My career as a personal stylist came about after listening to an audiobook by Carrie Green, who referred to a book called E-Myth which asks how you want to be remembered at your funeral.

I didn’t want to be remembered as a Property Manager.

I’d always had an interest in fashion and I realised I was always the friend people would ask for styling advice.

I started my business in 2017; I wanted to help women through styling and coaching, because I know firsthand what it’s like having to build your confidence and how my clothes have helped me to do that.

With that in mind, I focused my efforts on helping women to increase their confidence through style.

My much-needed career switch all came about because of an innate flare I had for tailored clothes, which came from my dad.

And when I think about what my dad achieved, I feel so proud.

He’s still very humble and it’s us – his family – who shout about his achievements. 

Looking back at his legacy this Black History Month feels like a full circle moment.

As I carry on his legacy through my own work, I’m reminded that his journey wasn’t just about tailoring clothes – it was about stitching together communities, creating confidence, and leaving a lasting mark on the fabric of British society.

I strive to honour the resilience, artistry, and quiet strength of a generation that has helped shape British style and identity.

As told to Gregory Robinson

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