All language subtitles for Inside.the.Factory.S08E03.Jeans.1080p.iP.WEB-DL.AAC2.0.H.264-VTM_track3_[eng]1

Jeans.

They're a staple of any wardrobe,

from the classic straight leg...

..to your baggy skater look.

You're unlikely to find anyone
that doesn't own at least one pair.

In fact, in the UK, the average
person owns seven pairs of jeans,

and across the globe we spend
a staggering £95 billion

on this tried-and-tested
tailoring every year.

And while jeans are famous
worldwide...

..we've come to an artisan factory
in Wales,

where every pair is made to order.

Mate, there is so much going on!

Where do you start?

I'm Gregg Wallace.

You have your two front legs.

What do you mean, two front legs?
What am I, a horse?

And this week, I'm visiting two
separate factories,

in search of the secrets behind
our favourite fashion item.

That's why our jeans are lighter
on the inside.

There you go.

I'm Cherry Healey...

Off she goes!

..and I'll be exploring
the incredible technology...

Whiskers? Mm-mm.
Jeans have whiskers?

..that makes new genes look old.

It's like witchcraft.

And historian Ruth Goodman...

Oh, my goodness! Welcome.

..is investigating
denim's surprising origins.

And then who was Jacob Davis?

If it wasn't for him, we wouldn't
be wearing jeans like today.

To produce the jeans we love,

the workers in this factory

use an incredible 3,500 stitches,

making every pair.

Welcome to Inside the Factory.

I'm starting my jeans journey
in the ancient town of Cardigan,

on the banks of the River Teifi,

which was once home to one of the
UK's largest jeans manufacturers.

In the 1960s, the factory employed
10% of the town's inhabitants,

and thrived for nearly 40 years,

before it closed in 2002.

But just ten years later...

..a new jeans workshop
opened its doors.

This is the Hiut factory
in Cardigan,

the only jeans factory
in the whole of Wales.

Here, a team of master craftspeople

lovingly create 10,000 pairs

of handmade jeans every year.

Today, we're following production

of one of their best selling
men's pairs -

the Hack, in organic denim.

The factory uses 18,000 square metres

of premium denim every year.

So before I start making my jeans
here in Wales,

I need to head to one of its
suppliers,

to find out how denim is made.

And that means a 750 mile hop

to northern Italy.

On the outskirts of Milan,

known as one of the fashion capitals

of the world,

is the Candiani Mill.

Each year, they produce 20 million

square metres of denim fabric.

Enough to make 13 million

pairs of jeans.

Let's go and make some denim.

And it all starts at intake,

with the delivery of denim's
key ingredient...

..cotton.

Factory owner Alberto Candiani
is checking in today's shipment.

Alberto. Gregg, good to meet you.

Pleasure. Good to meet you.

That's cotton, right?

Where is it from?

Well, this one in particular

comes from Ivory Coast,

but we do source cotton
all over the world.

Do you know how many jeans
you can get from each bale?

From each bale,
you get about 350 pairs of jeans,

meaning you have roughly
35,000 jeans on that load.

I would love to see the process.

What is the first step?

Well, we need the forklift
to unload these, so let's go. Yeah.

The first step
is getting it off the truck.

As the first of our cotton bales
is unloaded....

..production of our jeans begins.

Cotton is the world's most-used
natural fibre,

with around 25 million tonnes
produced each year.

But it's not without
its controversy.

I've heard that cotton has quite a
negative effect on the environment.

Is that true?

No, that's not necessarily true.

I mean, cotton is known as a thirsty
plant, but it's not always the case.

And we love to work with special
cottons, like regenerative cotton,

for instance, which comes from
regenerative farming practices.

Regenerative farming uses crop
rotation and reduced usage of water

and pesticides to promote soil
health and biodiversity, ensuring

the land remains healthy enough
to grow the crop year after year.

More and more cotton producers
are turning

to this eco-friendly approach.

So what do you need,
then, for denim?

We're looking at the length
of the fibre,

we're looking at the strength
of the fibre, and we're also looking

at the colour of the fibre.

It's all white. It's not.

It could be more or less white,
and the whiter, the better.

Why do you want it whiter?

It represents better quality,

and it's actually easier to dye.

Ah, OK. All right.

This warehouse contains enough
cotton to produce around 500,000

pairs of jeans.

But where did this design
classic originate?

Ruth is on the trail.

The American West,

famous for its cowboys

kitted out in Stetsons and denim.

But I'm not in California.

I'm in Horsham, in West Sussex,
at the Deadwood Western Town.

Nowadays, blue jeans
may well be synonymous

with rockers, bikers, hipsters,

but it was places like this

in the 19th century

that truly gave rise
to this everyday item.

Helping me to trace
this incredible journey

is jeans historian, Mohsin Sajid.

So, Mohsin, does the story
of denim begin in America?

Well, actually, the story of denim,
or "de Nimes",

probably most likely starts
in Europe, in Italy and France.

There's lots of historical reference
with weaving that comes from France

and our Italian friends.

So I've heard a sort of,
like, story

saying that denim itself means
"de Nimes" -

from Nimes, which is in France...
Correct.

..that "jeans" is also another
corruption

of a European... Genoa.

Is this true? Absolutely correct.

So all of these tailors went over
to America and they took

all that knowledge with them.

In the mid-19th century,

America was a land of opportunity,

and the famous gold rushes

saw thousands of fortune hunters

make their way west.

But mining was a hard and dirty job

that required some robust workwear.

So, what have we got here?

This is an 1840s full-front garment.

They don't look anything like jeans,
do they? No, no, they were workwear.

They were made for putting on top
of another garment.

By the end of 1848,

300,000 people

had flocked to California,

all in need of clothes
that could cope with the stresses

and strains of mining.

So they were closely followed
by opportunistic business owners

who took advantage of the abundant
supply of cotton already grown

across the country to cash in.

There was one in particular called
Jacob Davis, a Latvian-born Jewish

immigrant tailor, and he was making
garments for all the gold

and silver miners.

The thing is, people were filling
up their pockets with tools

and rocks, and the fabric
wasn't as strong as it is now,

so, of course, it would tear away.

Jacob Davis came up with the idea
of riveting garments

for the very first time.

If it wasn't for him, we wouldn't
be wearing jeans like today.

A rivet is simply a permanent
mechanical fastener.

By hammering them into the points
of strain like the pocket seams,

the jeans became stronger.

The invention
was a trouser game-changer.

But nobody's ever heard of Jacob
Davis. I know. Absolutely right.

But he had the really genius idea,
and he knew it was

a really great idea. And he knew
other people would want to copy it.

So Jacob Davis had the idea
to patent the points of strain,

the actual rivet itself,
but he didn't have enough money

for the actual patents,

so he went to the guy that he was
getting the actual fabric from.

So who is this chap? Levi Strauss.

Levi Strauss ran a successful
gold rush supply business

in San Francisco,

so, crucially, he had the money
for the patent that Davis needed

for his improved jeans.

So Jacob Davis goes to his supplier

and says, "Let's do this together."

He was just a humble little tailor.

It was a lot of money
back then to patent anything,

but he knew it was an ingenious
idea, so they both went

in it together. And for some reason,

one name has come through history

and the other name hasn't.

The patent was granted on the
20th of May 1873,

and Levi Strauss jeans were born.

But how did they go from humble
workwear to the iconic clothing

worn by princes and presidents,
rockers and rappers?

Mohsin's home is a shrine
to the history of jeans,

with a collection
of more than 3,000 pairs.

- Oh, my goodness.
- SHE LAUGHS

Welcome. It's fantastic.

HE CHUCKLES

So when does this transition happen
from workwear

into what has to be called
fashionwear?

It was roughly in the '30s
period where you start seeing it

in vogue now.

At the time, the dude ranch craze
saw city-dwellers visit

the Wild West for a taste
of the cowboy lifestyle,

and jeans were the go-to garment.

After World War II,

denim was embraced by Hollywood

as a garment of rebellion.

So these important films
that featured these Hollywood

celebrities, from Marlon Brando
to James Dean to Marilyn Monroe,

they influenced a lot of what
people should be wearing,

and they were considered
the coolest of the cool.

This expression of counterculture

was cemented by the hippie movement

of the late 1960s,

and jeans became
a mainstream fashion favourite.

So we've got a continental European
fabric development that goes

over to America,
that becomes reinforced workwear,

that then becomes fashionwear,

and then right around the globe.

That's the funny thing about it.

If you look at any jean at all,
it relates back

to this 1920s model.

So they've barely changed
in over a century,

but it's not Levi Strauss
we should be thanking,

but Jacob Davis.

6,000 miles from America's
Wild West...

MUSIC: La Donna e Mobile
by Giuseppe Verdi

Brilliant.

..I'm at the mill in Italy.

My cotton bales are transported
across the factory by conveyor.

Now it's all about getting
the cotton ready to be woven

into denim fit for a pair of jeans.

Whoa!

What is this?

These are the blocker machines.

What? Blockers.

This is where we make our cotton.

The cotton comes from different
farms across the world,

so to create a consistent blend,
these ingenious machines move back

and forth along the line, plucking
a layer from the top of each bale.

The plucked fibres are then mixed
together in giant metal chambers...

..before passing into a carder,
where a system of combs untangle

and align the fibres

into 3cm-wide spaghetti-like strands
called slivers.

The slivers are loaded into barrels,

and then it's on to the vast
main factory floor.

MUSIC: Grand March (Aida)
by Giuseppe Verdi

Wow! What is this?

Look at this!

Mate, there is so much going on.

Where do you start?

Pretty cool, right?

That is really cool.

In this enormous room,

132 barrels contain
9,000m-long slivers,

which are loaded into 22 intriguing
contraptions called drawing frames.

Six slivers are fed into
each machine,

which further blend
and untangle the cotton

to create one massive super sliver.

Lovely!

Go on, talk me through this,
cos that looks great!

So, we finally manage
to make that messy cotton

very fine, very smooth.

Here, the fibres are parallel,

they're clean.

They're almost ready to be spun.

All the fibres are perfectly straight

and they're all perfectly aligned.

It's really hard to accept
that this soft, silky thing

will become hardwearing denim.

It will be, I promise.

The super-soft cotton now
passes through 25m-long roving

machines, which apply tension
and a twist, making

it stronger and thinner.

Finally, the cotton is ready
to be spun into yarn

in the spinning department.

And what another incredible room.

This factory just gets busier and
stranger the more you go into it!

The factory has 25 of these enormous
36m-long machines,

which are simultaneously spinning
6,000 individual spools of yarn.

Incredible! Incredible.

Alberto, teach me, what is happening?

So this is the ring spinning.

Finally, we're spinning our yarns.

What is spinning, please?

So, spinning is pulling the cotton

and twisting the cotton again

to give more strength to the yarn.

At the same time, the cotton goes
through those cylinders,

and right there we decide
how thick we want the yarn to be.

Inside those cylinders,

is it like turning on or off a tap,

it's either coming through thicker
or it's coming through thinner?

Absolutely.

Each strand of yarn passes through
these cylinders,

known as a slubber.

The rotation speed of the cylinders
is constantly changing

to create fluctuations

in the thickness of the yarn,

so they're effectively
engineering flaws.

Why would you want
imperfection in the yarn?

To make it special,
to make it unique, in a way.

Because, otherwise,
you would have a very flat yarn

that has no character.

We call those imperfections
ring character, and you can see it

in the jeans you're wearing.

This process of altering the width
of each individual strand

gives finished denim a distinctive,
uneven feel and irregular texture.

The yarn is many times thicker
than what's used to make fine cotton

shirts.

Along with the tight weave,

this gives denim
its heavy-duty, stiff feel.

I understand the process,
but I'm looking at the scale of it.

There is literally
row upon row upon row.

How much yarn are you spinning
every day?

It's about 1,300,000km of yarns.

Every day? Every day.

Extraordinary.

17 hours and 45 minutes
after the start

of our denim production,

the yarn is loaded onto a frame,

which winds 4,480 individual lengths

onto enormous 2m-wide cylinders
called beams,

ready to receive
a splash of indigo blue.

Three-quarters of the denim produced
in this factory

is dyed this deep, rich blue colour.

But when did we start using indigo?

Ruth is exploring
its ancient history.

Nowadays, modern clothing
manufacturers use synthetic dyes

to colour their yarn,
but turn back the clock

and things were rather more organic.

This rather ordinary-looking plant
is truly amazing.

This is an indigo plant,

and without it, the world of fashion

would be a whole lot duller.

I've come to the magnificent Palm
House at Kew Gardens in London...

..where I'm meeting indigo
historian Jenny Balfour-Paul.

So, how old is indigo?

JENNY CHUCKLES

Well, the oldest textile dye
with indigo is 6,200 years old.

6,000? Not bad, is it?

SHE LAUGHS

And where was that?

In Peru, actually,
the coast of Peru.

We've also got
Egyptian mummy cloths.

Then you've got Chinese textiles,
5,000 years.

It's a long, old story.
It IS a long story...

It may be the oldest natural dye
in the world.

You find it in different plant
species right across the globe,

there will be a plant that will
provide you with indigo.

Isn't that incredible?
That is quite incredible. Yes.

In the UK, indigo dye was processed
from the leaves of a native European

wild flower called woad,
which was used to dye woollen

clothing until the end
of the 16th century.

But it was comparatively weak next
to more tropical plant species

such as Indigofera tinctoria,
or true indigo.

Cos there's 30 times
more indigo content

in indigo that's extracted
from the leaves

in tropical places
than there is in the woad leaves.

30 times stronger.

Tropical indigo was imported
to Europe, but at first

it wasn't used for colouring fabric.

It was far too expensive.

It wasn't considered a dye, it was
considered a paint and a pigment.

It was just used to paint
tombs and things, and make-up.

And it was coming in overland
from India in a lump that looked

like a stone.

There's a pivotal moment in 1498
when Vasco da Gama discovers

how to go by sea to India.

The Portuguese explorer
Vasco da Gama's voyage

was the first successful sea voyage

from Europe to Asia,

and it transformed trade

between the two continents.

Suddenly spices could come in.

And actually when the Portuguese got
access by sea to India,

the first thing they brought in
was indigo, not pepper,

it was the most-important thing.

Suddenly, a concentrated,
strong indigo.

Here at Kew, they keep examples
of the more potent tropical indigo,

which began to be used
for dyeing clothes in Europe,

and its weaker cousin, woad.

Right. that was the traditional
northern stuff, the woad... Yes.

..and this is the new tropical...

Yes, coming in.

So, this new dye can do everything
that the old product could do?

Absolutely. But a bit better.

This is extracted from the leaf.

So, instead of having a whole leaf
compost here with some indigo in it,

this is actually pulling

the pigment out of the leaf,

so think how concentrated that is.

As well as tropical indigo,

the new trade routes from the East
were also bringing in cotton.

And for the wealthy, this
fashionable fabric quickly replaced

traditional woollen clothing.

The woad in the medieval times
was perfect for the wool,

but it's not good enough
to dye cottons.

Because cotton needs
a much stronger dye? It does.

In a process that can take
several days,

indigo usually needs to be reduced
in an alkaline solution,

but today,

we're using a revolutionary
new organic pre-reduced dye.

Incredibly, Jenny has samples
of indigo

dating back to the 17th century.

So where did this sample come from?

A Spanish galleon called
the Concepcion,

and it sank in a storm off
what's now the Dominican Republic.

Half the cargo was dyes.

This is actually some of it?

Yes. This has been at the bottom
of the sea for nearly 400 years?

Since 1641.

And look at the colours I got.

That could be jeans today.

Quite extraordinary.

And today's ancient dyeing
experiment

has been just as successful.

So, what is it, do you think,
that is so special about blue?

We're surrounded by blue.

We're the blue planet,

the sky is blue,
the water is reflected blue.

So the miracle of actually capturing

the blue of the sky and our planet

in a dye which would then
dye clothing all over the world

was absolutely miraculous.

MUSIC: Grand March (Aida)
by Giuseppe Verdi

Back in Italy, I'm ready to give
my cotton some colour, too.

We're over 19 hours into production,

and my yarn has gone through five

intricate processes, been spun
onto a huge cylinder called a beam,

and is finally heading
to the dye house.

Inside this huge room, 17,000km
of freshly spun cotton yarn

is dyed the iconic indigo blue
every hour.

Guiding me through
the process is Simon Giuliani.

This is exciting.
Simon, all right? Hi, Gregg.

Is this is where you dye the denim?
That's correct.

This whole machine here
is what we use to dye our yarns

that classic indigo colour.

Hang on, hang on.

Not all the way to the bottom
of the warehouse?

All the way to the bottom.

The length of the yarn within
the machine is over 500m.

Crikey. Let me show you
how it works.

Before the yarn can be dyed blue,

it's plunged into a tank
called a box,

containing an organic sulphur dye,

which gives it a base grey hue.

Then it's sent into the first
of a series of boxes to transform it

into the rich indigo colour.

But hang on a minute,
there appears to be a problem.

That's green. You know that, right?

That is bright green.

I know. This is pretty funny,
but the first step when the yarn

comes out of the bath, it is green.

But then when indigo gets in touch
with oxygen, it starts to oxidise,

and that's when it turns blue.

It comes out bright green,
and in a matter of minutes,

it turns bright blue?
That's right, that's correct.

That's quite a neat magic trick.

So, what is colouring it, exactly?

We're using a synthetic indigo dye,
which is the exact copy

of a natural indigo dye.

We're not using natural indigo dye

for the simple reason that for one
dyeing lot that we're doing here,

we would require
ten football fields of Indigofera,

which is the plant
that gives you the indigo.

Synthetic indigo was first created
in 1878, and by the start

of the 20th century, it had largely
replaced natural dye altogether.

So, the fun thing is actually
that indigo and cotton,

they don't like each other
for the simple fact

that the indigo molecule
is too big to penetrate the fibre.

So, what it does, it just dirties
the fibre superficially.

The molecular composition of indigo
means it forms a coating

on the outside of the cotton

that can rub off over time.

So, when you wear your jeans,
within time,

that indigo chips off,

the white of the yarn comes out,

and that creates those natural fades

along your jeans.

I think that's really cool,

because a lot of things are built
and designed to look

as new as possible
for as long as possible.

But you're actually designing
something to age,

to age in its own way.

Yeah, that's the beauty of denim.

Our yarn now passes through
six more 700L boxes of indigo dye,

which builds the colour in layers,

becoming more and more intense.

Next, the yarn passes through
a water bath,

where ultrasound technology
produces shock waves

to remove excess dye.

The fast and efficient process
saves 52,000,000L of water

per year compared to conventional
manufacturing methods.

After just seven minutes,
our yarn emerges.

So, Gregg, here we go,

this is our final indigo
blue dyed yarn.

That is obviously the colour
of a brand-new pair of jeans,

right? That's exact.

So, where is it now going,
these yarns?

So we're collecting all these yarns
on a beam down here on a big roll.

We have 4,480 yarns here,

and for each yarn we collect
2.9km on that roll.

So if we multiply the length we
collect times the number of yarns,

we have almost 13,000km
of yarn on one roll.

13,000 on each row? That's right.

How long does it take you
to fill up a roll?

It takes an hour and a half,
more or less.

And daily, we call off

between 14 and 16 roles
per production line.

With four production lines running,

that means this one factory produces

a staggering 800,000km,

or half a million miles,

of indigo yarn per day,

enough for 55,000 pairs of jeans.

From the dyeing room,

the blue yarn is transported

across the factory to weaving.

MACHINES WHIR AND CLANK

What is this?

The noise! This is where we weave.

The noise of this place!

Look at that!

Are they all the same machine
doing the same job?

Same job, different article,

different quality, different colour.

This vast weaving room is one
of three in the factory

and contains 112 specialist machines

known as projectile looms.

Here we go!

And look, that is denim!

That is definitely denim!

The yarns that we have dyed
previously,

we call them the warp,

and they're coming from the beam
right into the loom.

And we combine them here
with a white weft that's coming

from over there and gets
shot across the loom.

So, basically,
the concept of weaving

is to open up the blue yarns,

shoot the white weft across,

and then invert the direction

and keep doing that.

So this is how we weave the fabric.

Denim uses a 3x1 twill weave.

As the white weft yarn
shoots across the loom,

it travels underneath three blue
warp threads, then over the top

of one blue thread
in a repeating pattern,

providing a distinctive feature.

So, on the back side, we have more

white yarns, and on the front side,

we have more blue yarns.

That's why our jeans are lighter
on the inside?

There you go. That's exactly it.

21m of denim fabric
rolls off each loom every hour.

From weaving, it's then sent to the
factory's finishing department,

where it passes through machines
which smooth and stabilise

the fabric, and stretch it to
prevent twisting when it's sewn

into a pair of jeans.

Is this finally it,
is this our finished denim?

This is finally the finished denim
that can now be turned into jeans.

Thank you. It was a pleasure.
Thank you, Gregg.

And I've still got a pair
of jeans to make. That's right.

Nearly one day and six hours
since production began, our denim

receives a final quality check.

It's cut into 150m lengths

and sent...

♪ I will sing the wondrous story...

..to the jeans factory
in West Wales.

♪ How he left his home in glory

♪ For the cross of Calvary... ♪

There we are, back in Wales.

ROCK MUSIC PLAYS

Right, let's see what they're doing
with my denim.

One of the most important jobs
in the factory is that of the master

garment cutter, who uses skill
and precision to cut out the pieces

of premium denim for our jeans.

So, I'm heading to the cutting room

to meet Claudio Belotti.

Morning, fellas.

Here we are, I recognise that.

That's a beautiful, beautiful thing.

So, why have you got six
of the sheets?

This is an order for six garments

out of this particular size.

I see. What we have here
is the actual pattern

for one pair of jeans,

which we place on top.

And then we cut six plies,

so you end up with six garments.

So, all of these patterns
here, they're all

a part of the jeans? Correct.

You have your two front legs.

What do you mean, "Two front legs"?
What am I, a horse?

What do you mean, "Two front legs"?

LAUGHS: Your two back legs.

No way! So do you actually call them
front legs?

We call them legs in the business,
yeah. So you've got two front legs,

two back legs?
We've got two front legs/panels.

I now know why it's taking up
so much material,

you're making them for a pony!

CLAUDIO LAUGHS

Right, enough horsing around.

Have you laid out this cloth
in any particular way?

You have to lay out the actual
pattern a particular way,

because on a piece of fabric, you
have a warp and a weft direction.

I know that. The warp is down
the fabric, down the piece.

The weft is across the piece.

Why would it matter if we turned it
the other way around

and against the grain, if you like?

Cos what would happen if you cut it
in the wrong direction,

when you washed the garments,
it would twist... Really?

..round your body.
Yeah. Really? Yes.

We're making the classic
five-pocket jean, which has changed

very little in more than 120 years.

It's a complex three-dimensional
jigsaw made up of 16 denim pieces,

including four leg sections

and two back pockets,

plus hardware,

including seven rivets.

Would you like to have a go?

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, I'd love to.
A safety glove.

Yeah, I'd like a complete
safety suit, please,

if that's all right!

If I get this wrong, I'm potentially
messing up

six pairs of jeans, right?
You would be, yes.

Right, here goes.

Argh!

Argh! No, you're doing well,
you're following the line.

Now, this is where
it gets interesting.

You've got to go round the bend?
That's right.

Whoa! Keep turning. Use your wrist.

That is terrible, mate!

LAUGHS: That is terrible, look!

I guess being a garment cutter
just isn't in my "genes".

Better let the expert
finish up here.

Claudio uses a straight knife,

run by an electric motor at 3,000rpm

to raise and lower
a razor-sharp blade,

which can cut up to 60 layers

of denim at a time.

What got you into the industry?
How did you...?

Well, I left school at 15,
and Cardigan used to have a factory

that was the biggest
jeans manufacturer in the UK,

which was producing
about 36,000 jeans a week

out of one factory.

I wonder, why Cardigan?

There was a small factory here
already, and the business expanded,

and this particular site

grew with the business.

So, that's the last piece.

Claudio, this has been enlightening,
my friend.

And really nice chatting
to a master... Thank you very much.

A master cutter. A pleasure.

It took over 24 hours
to make the denim,

but Claudio's just cut the 96 pieces

for my six pairs of jeans

in ten minutes.

Over the course of a year, Claudio
and his team

will cut out 160,000

of these individual jigsaw pieces,

with the fly alone requiring
three separate bits of material.

The jeans I'm helping to fashion

feature a classic button fly.

But some of the trousers
they make here have zips.

Cherry's finding out
how this everyday fastener is made.

Invented in the USA
more than a century ago,

today, zips can be found
in almost every home on the planet.

Zips are a game-changer
that we rely on every single day.

From my coat

to my bag,

this simple device is used

to quickly and securely close,

well, pretty much anything.

Just two companies, based in China
and Japan, control more than half

the world's zipper supply.

But there is a factory that produces
them right here in the UK.

To find out how,

I'm heading to Zipex in Leicester,

where they make zips of all sizes,

from 4cm for trousers

to a whopping 65m

for banners and flags.

Today, managing director
Neil Cockerill is showing me

how they make 15cm-long

plastic zips for workwear.

How on earth do you begin
to make a zip?

This is a C2 polymer.

- It looks like pudding rice.
- THEY LAUGH

What is a C2 polymer?

It's a plastic bead.

It melts into
the injection moulding,

and that will form the teeth
for the zips.

So you call those
individual plastic components teeth?

Teeth.

For my batch of 500 zips,

I'm adding just 20g of black pellets

to one kilo of white

to make the perfect grey teeth.

Feel like I'm making a cake.

The beads get a good mix.

And now all I need to do

is "zip" up this ladder.

Pour that into that hopper. Perfect!

Next, into the other end

of the injection-moulding machine,

we carefully thread a 1,800m-long
piece of nylon edging,

known as tape,

that will form the outside
of the zips.

All right. In there...
Through the gap.

..through the gap.

Underneath the sensor.

Oh, it's a bit...

Underneath the lifting arm... Oh!

THEY LAUGH

..through the gap
and over the rollers.

Oh, God, it's so fiddly!

Neil, if it took this long normally,

would you be out of business?

No, but you'd be sacked.

THEY LAUGH

All right.

The injection-moulding machine
is filled with plastic

and laced with the tape.

Let's make some teeth!

MACHINE WHIRS

Nozzle down.

Nozzle is going down.

Full auto, and start.

Off she goes!

The mixed beads are melted
at 200 degrees Celsius

and injected into the mould
at 123 kilos of force

per square centimetre.

This bonds them to the nylon,

forming 45 5m-long plastic teeth

along a 15cm section of tape.

So, that's the beginning of a zip?

Oh, brilliant, look at that!

How has that machine got these
teeny, tiny, little plastic teeth

onto this material?

Well, I can show you.

OK. There we go.

I see. OK, so you've got
the fabric along here.

Molten plastic fills up all the
individual teeth, top and bottom.

And then it pops out,

and you've got this!

That's correct.

At the moment, I can't connect them,

so, obviously, this is not yet
a working zip?

No, no, it needs a slider.

The zinc alloy slider is attached
by hand by skilled workers

like Sarah Martin.

You align your top slots up.
Like this? Yeah.

So, I'm lining them up
so each little tooth

can grab on to the other tooth?
Yeah.

Oh, come on!

Ah, look, they've all found
someone to dance with.

Oh! Just pull it up.

That is beautiful, look at that.

And then just push the slider off
with your thumb, and that's it.

The zip batch is still joined
together on one 1,800m-long tape,

so it's trimmed to lengths
of exactly 15cm.

Ooh!

Finally, using the same
injection-moulding process

as the teeth, a bottom stop is added

to prevent the slider coming off,

and my zip is done.

There we go.

The finished zips
are quality-checked

and packaged up, ready to be sewn
into all sorts of clothing.

I have learnt so much today.

I've learnt about sliders,

pullers, teeth, bottom stops.

But did you also know
that the reason it's called a zip

is because of this...

ZIPPING SOUND

..zip?

Back in Wales...

..I've got my six cut-out
pairs of jeans,

and I'm heading to the assembly line,

the beating heart of the factory...

..where a team of highly skilled
specialist sewers

work on different stages
of the process.

The first step of our jeans jigsaw

is to attach the two yoke panels

to the back.

With 20 years, and more than
10,000 hours of experience,

Amanda Humphrey is what's
known as a grand master,

so who better to show me
how our jeans are made?

Right, are you going to show me
how to attach this yoke? Yes.

This twin-needle chain-stitch
machine uses needles side by side

to produce a series
of looped stitches

that form a chain-like pattern.

At full speed, it can sew
3,500 stitches every minute.

Right, go on, talk me through it.

So, you put the fabric up to the
fold, squeeze that one in.

So the yoke goes under... And this
one will go down to meet it.

And that goes almost under it?

Yeah, you slide them up
to the needle.

Foot down.

Amanda uses a foot pedal
to control the machine...

Lift your foot. ..and, like a car's

accelerator, the harder she presses,

the faster it goes.

Keep your finger on the fold,

and that one over the top.

Good grief.

Do you want a go?

OK, I wouldn't mind having a go.

Obviously, I'm not going to be
very quick.

The idea here is to attach the yoke

to the top of the leg panel

in one nice, clean motion.

Now sew.

Oh! Oh! Oh, I'm getting this.

Whoa! Whoa! Out.

Perfect.

Yeah, I think you might be
humouring me there, Amanda.

I don't actually think
I can do this.

LAUGHS: It's all right!

So, that doesn't even fit the panel.

What do you mean?
That looks all right to me.

It's supposed to fit the panel.

Oh, I see. It's...

HE LAUGHS

Here's one I did earlier.

HE LAUGHS

Let me ask you this.
Everybody wears jeans, right?

Yeah. Do you look at people's jeans?

Sometimes, yeah.

What do you look at?

What particularly draws your eye?

Er, back pockets.

So, hang on, you're out there
looking at people's bottoms,

but really you're looking
at their back pockets?

Yeah, that's my excuse.

GREGG LAUGHS

Speaking of which, that's exactly
what our jeans are missing,

the back pockets.

OK, so we mark the pockets up.

Position them.

Then we lock-stitch the top,

back-stitch it.

The use of golden-coloured thread
for denim is attributed

to Levi Strauss, who, it's thought,
originally matched it

to the copper-coloured rivets
on his jeans.

But, unlike the early thread,
the stuff Amanda's using

has a special polyester core
to give it extra strength.

There we are. From different bits
of material to the backs

of the jeans. There you go.

I should fit in that
nice and snug, I think. Definitely.

With the back of my jeans complete,

it's time to start on the front...

..a 27-stage process!

On one sewing station,

the pockets are added

to the front leg panels.

And on another, a very important part
of any jeans,

the fly,

which is being expertly crafted
by factory manager, Elin Evans.

There's three plackets that go
on to form your fly area.

What's it called?
Plackets. Plackets?

Yes. We mark them up,

so there's three buttonholes.

Pass us one.

So, you bring down the lever

and you press the button.

Oh, wow!

The stitch on these
is called a keyhole buttonhole.

You can see why it's called
a keyhole, can't you?

This clever machine first sews
the shape of the keyhole

using a zigzag stitch.

Only then does it cut out the hole.

Why do you put the stitching in first
before the hole?

Why not put the hole in and then
stitch around the hole?

We do the stitching first because
if the stitching is not correct,

then you can unpick it
to make it correct,

but if you put the hole first,
then you can't repair it.

If you stick a hole in the wrong
place, you can't un-hole it? No.

One day, six hours and 34 minutes
into production...

..our jeans
are really coming together.

Next, the fly is attached,

and then the two front leg panels

are sewn together.

So, Gregg, I've got you
the front panel finished.

Beautiful stuff.

So we've got the back,

and now the job is to put
the two panels together,

the front and the back, to start
forming a full pair of jeans.

Come on, then!

To prevent the denim from fraying,

the inside of the leg panels
are sewn together

with five separate threads

using an overlock stitch,

a combination of a chain stitch
and a zigzag.

Simultaneously,
this overlocker machine

trims the edge of the material

to remove any loose threads.

Next, it's over to Sandra

to join the outside edges.

Is that it? All yours.

And there we have an inside out...

..but a complete set of trousers,
right? Yep.

Who would have ever imagined

so much went into making
a pair of jeans?

With the sewing done,

it's time for some hardware.

A specialist machine is used

to attach one 17mm copper button...

..two 14mm copper buttons...

..and one enamel button

with the company's logo.

Then it's time for perhaps
the most-iconic feature

of any pair of jeans,

the rivets, and ours has seven - six
on the front and one on the back.

The man in charge of attaching
them is Mat Heneker.

So you make holes first
before you push the rivets through?

Yeah, because the rivets might bend

if they go through thicker fabric.

Cos you've got two bits
of denim overlapping,

plus double double stitch.

The original purpose of these rivets

in the 19th century was to reinforce

the jeans in areas
susceptible to ripping.

Thanks to modern stitching
techniques, rivets are no longer

structurally integral,

but remain as a defining feature

of almost all jeans.

So, they're all done now.

Ready to go.

Job well done.

The jeans we're making here
are pretty much

leaving this factory au naturel.

But many of the jeans
we buy in the UK are what's known

as distressed - stonewashed,
ripped, or faded.

Cherry's finding out how a perfectly
good pair of jeans are, erm...

..ruined.

No matter how fashionably
worn and torn your new jeans are,

they almost all start the same way -

immaculate and deep blue.

So, how do you get from this,

a pristine pair, to this,

a pair that looks like it's had
lots of trendy wear and tear?

To find out how new environmentally
friendly methods

are distressing denim,
known as finishing,

I've come to denim manufacturer,
ISKO...

Ivan, let's make some jeans. Yeah.

..to meet Head of Research and
Development, Ivan Manzaneda.

So, how do we get from these jeans

that are fresh, brand-new,

to something that looks like this -
vintage-y,

the kind of jeans my mum hates,

without having to wear them
for 20 years?

Well, the first step,

we digitalise the garment.

Starting on a computer, designer
Jack Gould creates a digital image

of brand-new jeans,
which he overlays with the features

of a vintage pair.

OK, so I can see here
that there's this crease,

from when someone's bent over,

they've scrunched up their legs.

What are these called?

Those are the whiskers.
Whiskers? Mm-hm.

Jeans have whiskers? Like a cat.

The traditional way to create
whiskers is to remove the indigo dye

from the surface
by sanding the jeans by hand,

a technique called abrasion,

or by the use of harsh chemicals.

Here, they use technology

to recreate the same effect.

So, once we've got that really
unique pattern, what happens next?

We take the pattern,
we go to the laser.

You have a laser? Let's go and see
the laser, definitely!

Using a laser on jeans
seems more James Bond

than Bond Street.

So, we take the pattern,
we put it in the laser computer.

And that means the laser
knows exactly where to go.

Amazing. It's like a map. Yeah.

OK. Are you ready, Ivan?

I'm ready.

Let's laser something.

Three, two, one.

Oh, my goodness!

It's like witchcraft.

What is going on?

It's smoking.

And it's completely changed colour.

A 450w laser heats the indigo dye

in the fabric
to 600 degrees Celsius,

evaporating it
in a process called sublimation,

revealing the undyed cotton beneath.

The effects of years of wear

are created in seconds.

It's just like that, it's done!

Done.

That was incredible!

I can see they've got whiskers now.
Yeah.

They definitely look more vintage-y,
more lived-in,

but they're not quite there yet.

Next, I'm creating texture

on my jeans with the help

of Head of Development,
Melissa Clement.

So, what are these
amazing machines doing?

They look like
enormous washing machines.

They are here
to replicate a stonewash.

So, traditionally, how you would get
the stonewashed marbled-effect jeans

is we would actually use stones.

So, they would be pumice stones...

So, stonewashed jeans are made
by washing them with stones?

Yes. How do you get
stonewashed effect without stones?

We use a non-hazardous chemical.

It reacts with our indigo and it
creates a high and low effect.

So it's got more texture,

it looks a bit salt and pepper,
which is an industry term.

But salt and pepper look
to your jeans.

To create the salt and pepper
stonewashed texture,

my jeans tumble in the machine
for 15 minutes

while the top-secret chemical
goes to work.

This system requires just 20%
of the water

used by the traditional
pumice stone method.

So, I get to look cool
without hurting the environment?

With less impact on the environment.
That's what I'm looking for.

Finally, to give my jeans
maximum distress,

they're getting what's called
an authentic vintage finish.

Traditionally, this would have been
achieved by washing them

over and over,
a huge waste of water.

In the new, improved method,

they're tumbled for just a few
minutes in a gas called ozone.

I'm opening the hatch,
in they go. Yep. Right.

OK, ready. Can I press it? Yeah.

Ozone is a gas
composed of three oxygen molecules.

It's best-known for being found

in the Earth's stratosphere,

where it filters the sun's
ultraviolet radiation,

but inside this machine, it's used
to break down

the molecular bonds
of the indigo dye,

bleaching the denim.

You have absolutely nailed it.

You've got the stonewash effect,
you've got the whiskers,

and this lovely fading, which makes
it look like I've had these jeans

for 20 years.

Perfectly aged brand-new
vintage jeans in just four hours.

And I can see this technology
really catching on, because...

It turns out you can laser,
well, pretty much anything.

In Wales, my untreated raw denim
jeans are finished...

Cracking job.

..so I'm heading
to the dispatch department.

Jack Gilham is the man in charge
of making sure your handcrafted jeans

arrive safe and secure.

I wanted to ask you this, right,
because I know the mill we visited

is trying to reduce
its impact on the environment,

what about you guys? So, one of the
most-important things we do here

is we have repairs for life scheme,
so it's free repairs for life.

We can do any repairs
at all on them.

We've had knees splitting open,
buttons popping off, anything.

And that just helps prolong
the life of the jeans,

stops them from ending up
in landfill and things like that.

My finished jeans are packaged

and sewn shut to remove the need

for plastic tape,

and they're ready to go.

OK, great. Yep, just put them
in the trolley here for me, please.

And then if you just wheel them out
to the front, to dispatch,

and we can get them on their way.

Brilliant! Thank you, Jack!

One day, seven hours and 32 minutes
since we started to process

the cotton in Italy,

we finally have finished jeans.

From the factory in Cardigan,

they "zip" to customers

right across the UK...

..and adorn denim lovers

as far away as the USA and Japan.

Many of us wear a pair of jeans
every single day,

but I've never given a thought
to where they start out,

or the craftsmanship

that goes into
such an iconic piece of clothing.

And what an incredible journey -

from cottonfields all over the globe

to a denim mill in Italy

and an artisan jeans factory
in Wales.

Amazing to think that from
simple workwear,

they became one of the most popular
items of clothing

in the whole world.

The factory has come a long way

from its first early assembly lines.

But how do we get from there to here?

Explore the history,
and the future,

of the factory
on an interactive timeline.

Go to...

..and follow the links
to The Open University.