Walk down any high street in Britain or across a council estate in the early 2000s, and chances are you’d spot that bold block lettering: LONSDALE. For some, it meant boxing. For others, it meant attitude. For many, it meant both.

Born in the Ring

Lonsdale’s roots are planted firmly in British boxing. Founded in 1960 by former professional fighter Bernard Hart, the brand took its name from Lord Lonsdale, a key figure in the sport’s history. Hart opened the first Lonsdale shop on Beak Street in Soho — a stone’s throw from Carnaby Street’s fashion revolution — and it quickly became a boxing landmark.

Legends like Muhammad Ali, Sugar Ray Leonard, and Henry Cooper wore Lonsdale. By the ‘70s, the brand had become synonymous with British boxing: reliable, unpretentious, and tough as nails.

The Street Uniform

By the late ‘80s and early ‘90s, Lonsdale made the leap from gyms to the streets. As working-class youth culture evolved, so did its dress codes. Skinheads, punks, and casuals were no strangers to mixing sportswear into their look. The clean lines and bold logo made Lonsdale an easy match with Harrington jackets, braces, jeans, and boots.

A black Lonsdale sweatshirt under a Crombie? Sharp. A zip-up hoodie with rolled-up jeans and loafers? Equally sharp. It wasn’t fashion for fashion’s sake. It was gear you could wear to the pub, the terrace, or a gig – and not worry about scuffing it up.

It wasn’t fashion for fashion’s sake. It was gear you could wear to the pub, the terrace, or a gig – and not worry about scuffing it up

Lonsdale-jongeren

In the Netherlands, Lonsdale’s appeal surged in the late ‘90s and early 2000s. Skinheads, punks, and working-class youth embraced the brand not only for its tough look and British roots, but also for the sense of subcultural identity it carried. Lonsdale stores appeared in cities like Amsterdam, Rotterdam, and Eindhoven, and it wasn’t uncommon to see entire crews kitted out in bomber jackets, Lonsdale sweatshirts, and boots.

But the growing popularity wasn’t without its problems. By the mid-2000s, Dutch media and authorities began referring to so-called “Lonsdale-jongeren” — a term coined to describe groups of far-right youth associated with the brand. According to the AIVD, the Dutch national intelligence and security agency, these groups were involved in violent clashes, particularly with immigrant youth in towns like Venray.

Gabbers

The brand didn’t stop at skins and punks, though. Around the same time, Lonsdale was also picked up by the gabber scene — the hardcore techno subculture that exploded out of Rotterdam in the ‘90s. Young gabbers, often sporting shaved heads, tracksuits, and Nike Air Max, began mixing in Lonsdale gear during the early 2000s. The blocky logo, aggressive aesthetic, and street-level feel fit the scene’s energy perfectly.

Lonsdale became a staple in gabber fashion — worn at illegal raves, hardcore parties, and in daily life. It wasn’t political; it was about attitude, identity, and rebellion against the mainstream. But as with the skinhead scene, that visual overlap brought unwanted media attention.

Lonsdale became a staple in gabber fashion – worn at illegal raves, hardcore parties, and in daily life.

In a 2005 report, the AIVD labelled them a “potential threat to the democratic legal order.” The key concern was how some youths used the brand’s logo to send coded messages. When worn under an open jacket, only the letters NSDA would remain visible — a not-so-subtle nod to Hitler’s NSDAP.

Miconceptions

In Germany, the brand had come under fire after it was noted that when partially zipped under a jacket, the letters “NSDA” could be made visible – a reference to the Nazi party (NSDAP). Though this was more a coincidence than a marketing tactic, the brand took the accusations seriously.

Lonsdale responded with a campaign titled “Lonsdale Loves All Colours”, supporting anti-racist and multi-ethnic youth programs. They made it clear: they didn’t want the brand hijacked. Shops known to cater to far-right clientele were cut off, and the brand backed projects celebrating diversity in sport and youth culture.

Despite this, the stigma lingered in some circles — particularly among those who never set foot in the subcultures they were criticising.

From icon to artifact

In recent years, Lonsdale’s profile has faded. The rise of fast fashion and sportswear giants pushed it out of the spotlight. But for those who came up wearing it — on the terraces, in the pit, or at a squat party — the name still carries weight.

You still see it. A worn tee at a punk festival. A crisp logo peeking out from a Harrington collar. It might not scream trend now, but for some of us, it never needed to. Lonsdale was never about trying to impress. It was honest gear. From Soho’s boxing shops to squat raves in Rotterdam, it’s left its mark. The branding might be simple, but the legacy isn’t.

Sources: Kafka | De Volkskrant