Whatever Happened to pigskin and politesse? Craft, courtesy, and the changing world
There was a time when I carried a hand-stitched pigskin briefcase. Solid. Beautiful. Made with care. It wasn’t a fashion statement; it was simply what a professional carried — part of the uniform of purpose, precision, and pride in what one did.
But when was the last time you saw a briefcase? Not a laptop bag or a backpack, but a briefcase — made by human hands, polished to a soft glow, built to last a lifetime.
In many ways, that briefcase is a perfect metaphor for what feels, to me at least, like a bygone age.
The disappearance of craft
I don’t want to sound like Colonel Blimp or an old codger railing at the modern world. After all, I wouldn’t be married if not for Facebook. Modern medicine has saved my life more than once. And I marvel at the wonder of instant communication — that I can have a conversation, in real time, with someone on the other side of the world.
I’m not against progress. Far from it.
But I do miss the world where things were made thoughtfully. Where time, care, and skill went into the objects around us — and where those objects, in turn, shaped our habits and our values.
The hand-stitched briefcase. The leather shoes that were meant to be repaired, not replaced. The dinner suit that lasted decades, not seasons.
These weren’t things reserved for the super-rich. They were part of ordinary, aspirational life. Now, craftsmanship seems to have retreated behind glass in Bond Street, affordable only to the privileged few.
The courtesies that came with it
And it wasn’t just what we owned. It was how we behaved.
A time when you held the door for someone as a matter of course. When you wrote a thank-you letter. When an introduction came with a handshake, eye contact, and a genuine interest in the person in front of you.
Simple courtesies. Not grand gestures. But they set a tone — a respect for others, a respect for oneself.
Now, increasingly, we rush. We abbreviate. We reduce everything to a tweet or a video intro. We communicate in soundbites. Our social interactions are often more about broadcasting than listening.
What we’ve gained, what we’ve lost
Of course, much about today’s world is extraordinary.
We can send a man to the moon with technology that now fits in a phone. We can FaceTime family across continents. We can share ideas instantly, discover new music in seconds, learn from cultures and voices we’d never otherwise hear.
These are remarkable gains.
But at the same time, we’ve made everything so quick, so cheap, so easy that effort feels optional.
We’ve trained ourselves to expect speed over substance, convenience over care. We eat junk because it’s easy. We buy junk because it’s cheap. We throw away rather than mend because there’s always more to be had — more, faster, for less.
And in doing so, we’ve lost something of value: the pride of doing things well, the pleasure of living with things that are made well, the sense that effort matters.
Travel by Bluebell, not budget airline
Nowhere do I feel this more keenly than when I travel.
I think of the Bluebell Railway, and how a day on that steam line evokes a more civilised age. You buy a ticket that’s a proper, heavy card. You sit in a carriage designed for comfort, not just capacity. The world slows down, and you look out the window at the countryside rolling by, as if time itself is taking a breath.
Or the Black Bull dining carriage — the most comfortable meal I’ve ever had on rails. You weren’t just fed; you were welcomed, served, and treated as a guest.
Compare that with modern air or rail travel. Functional. Utilitarian. Get them on, get them off. Cram them in. Strip out the charm, the style, the pleasure.
It’s not that I begrudge mass travel — it’s wonderful that more people can see the world. But somewhere along the way, the experience has been stripped of everything but the basics. And basics, I think, aren’t enough for the human spirit.
The language of care
Even our language seems to have followed suit. The richness of vocabulary, the turn of phrase, the little niceties that oil the wheels of conversation — too often replaced by hurried, transactional speech. By slogans. By statements designed for impact, not dialogue.
Of course, not always. There are plenty of people out there still writing, speaking, and thinking beautifully. But our culture at large doesn’t seem to celebrate that as much as it once did.
Not reactionary, just reflective
Please don’t mistake me. I don’t want to go back to a world where opportunity was limited, where technology didn’t exist, where health care was rudimentary.
I love that the world is more connected. I love that knowledge is accessible, that medical science can do wonders, that I can video call my family in seconds.
But I think we can hold two thoughts at once: that modernity is marvellous, and that in rushing toward it, we’ve left behind some things worth keeping.
Why it matters
Because when we lose the habit of craft, we lose the habit of care. And when we lose the habit of care, everything becomes disposable — not just things, but experiences, interactions, even relationships.
The world of hand-stitched briefcases wasn’t just about the briefcase. It was about the mindset that went with it: to make well, to choose well, to care for what you have, and to take pride in what you do.
A call for thoughtfulness
So no, I’m not nostalgic for the past as a whole. But I do think we could learn from it.
We could bring back some of the craft, the care, the courtesies — not out of nostalgia, but because they add richness to life.
We could remember that the things we choose, the words we use, the way we travel, the way we live — all of it reflects what we value.
We could choose to value substance over speed, effort over ease, care over convenience.
Because, in the end, that’s not old-fashioned. That’s simply human.
A few final words
Let’s not abandon modernity — it’s given us too much. But let’s not abandon civility, craft, and care either. They still matter. Perhaps more than ever.