H & F Haberdashery & Fabric

Picture this: you walk into a normal shop. You expect sensible things, like spools of thread. Instead, you’ve stumbled into H & F Haberdashery & Fabric, a glorious fever dream from 1928 that still refuses to wake up.

This place isn’t just a store; it’s a time capsule with a Viking attitude. H & F stands for Hogg & Fisher, and legend has it they once sold actual wool from sheep that roamed the Scottish Highlands. I’m not saying the wool was magical, but I am saying locals swore their sweaters could predict rain.

You think a “haberdashery” sells only hats? Wrong. That’s like saying a “library” sells only librarians. H & F stocks buttons that look like they came from a Victorian ghost’s funeral coat. They have ribbons long enough to tie a giraffe to a lamppost, and zippers that sound like a swarm of angry bees when you pull them.

Here’s the killer fact: Greta Garbo once bought silk here. I’m not making that up. Hollywood’s most reclusive star waltzed in, touched the velvet, and left without saying a word. Employees still talk about it like it was a religious experience.

The fabric section is a danger zone. You walk in for one yard of cotton, and you leave with seventeen yards of tweed, a swatch of paisley that looks like a psychedelic dream, and a sudden urge to quilt a throne. They have denim so tough you could upholster a tank with it.

Haberdashery By Dawn Heese For Marcus Fabrics | The Quilted Boutique

Don’t get me started on the notions aisle. It’s a labyrinth of thimbles, needle threaders, and sewing machines that predate electricity. An old sign on the wall reads: “We sell thread by the mile. No returns if you trip over it.” I’ve seen customers get lost in there for hours.

The staff are another species entirely. They’re fabric whisperers—wizened wizards who can tell you the thread count of a cloth just by rubbing it between their fingers. One clerk once told me, “This cotton was grown by a farmer in Alabama who names his cows after presidents.” I believed her.

Here’s the surprising part: H & F survived the Great Depression, two world wars, and the rise of online shopping. How? Because you can’t feel polyester through a screen. People crave the tactile chaos. It’s a sanctuary for anyone who still likes to touch things before buying them.

Chichester BID Haberdashery & Fabric - Chichester BID

They also have a hidden basement. I swear. It’s where they keep the “vintage stock”—curtains from the 1940s that smell faintly of mothballs and old money. I once found a button shaped like a teapot down there. I bought it. I have no regrets.

So why write about a store that sells thread and tweed? Because in a world of fast fashion and same-day delivery, H & F is a rebel. It’s loud, dusty, and joyfully slow. You don’t just shop there; you survive an adventure.

Go ahead. Walk in for a zipper. Leave with a bolt of velvet, a story about Greta Garbo, and a newfound respect for buttons. Your phone will die, but your soul will be perfectly hemmed. Just don’t ask the staff for the Wi-Fi password. They’ll look at you like you asked to borrow their pet unicorn.