What makes corduroy distinctive is the way it is built. A base cloth is woven in the usual manner from warp and weft threads, but extra weft yarns are added that float over groups of warp threads in long loops. These floats are what eventually become the ridges, known as wales.

Once the cloth is woven, the floats are cut by circular blades or guided knives, which slice precisely down the centre of each row. This leaves two tufts of cut yarn standing upright where each loop once lay. The fabric is then brushed to lift and separate the fibres, singed to remove stray fuzz, and often washed or finished to soften the hand. The pile is cotton as well, which gives corduroy its dense, almost velvety feel and its ability to take rich, saturated dye.

The width of the ridges is described by the wale count, the number of ridges per inch. Pinwale corduroy, at sixteen or more wales, is fine and drapes lightly, close to a ribbed velvet. The classic mid-range of around eleven to fourteen suits trousers and jackets. Wide-wale and jumbo cord, with only a handful of ridges per inch, is bold, chunky and unmistakably casual. Finer cord reads smart, broader cord reads rugged, and the choice shapes how a garment behaves.

Through the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries corduroy remained largely the cloth of work, though it slowly crept into country life. English sportsmen wore it for shooting and hacking, and the fabric turned up in hunting jackets and breeches. Its association with practical, no-nonsense dressing never quite left.

Texture has also become central to modern menswear. After years of flat, minimal, often synthetic basics, many men are looking for clothing with visible character, and corduroy delivers depth and tactility that photographs and feels well. Its muted colors and gentle sheen fit naturally into the "quiet luxury" aesthetic, where quality of material matters more than logos.

The move toward comfort following the pandemic years helped too. Corduroy is soft, warm and forgiving, and a good pair of cords wears more easily than stiff chinos or raw denim. At the same time, the heritage and vintage movement has encouraged younger shoppers to rediscover fabrics with a past. For a generation raised on fast fashion, a durable natural-fibre cloth that improves with age carries real appeal, and it chimes with growing interest in buying fewer, better things.

The way corduroy is worn has changed as well. Where it was once the preserve of the professor, the modern wearer cuts the look more loosely. Wide-leg and relaxed-fit cords nod to 1990s skate and workwear influences, while slimmer, pleated styles feel closer to classic tailoring. Corduroy overshirts, chore coats and casual jackets have introduced it to men who would never have considered a cord suit. Designers now also play with color, pairing traditional browns and navies with pale creams, forest greens and even brighter shades.

The fabric's journey, from the mill towns of Lancashire to the racks of today's most stylish menswear labels, is in many ways a lesson in resilience. Corduroy has been the fabric of labor, learning, rebellion and, now, comfortable good taste. It endures because it works: it is warm, tough, tactile and endlessly adaptable. Whatever the trend cycle does next, its ridges seem likely to remain a familiar texture, and a welcome one, whenever the weather turns cold.