The Quiet Work of Making Something Last

A master furrier preserves tradition through patience, precision, and garments built to LAST

Tucked into an unassuming corner of East Memphis, there is a shop where time behaves differently. Inside Holloway Furs, the hours are not measured by clocks so much as by cuts, seams, and decisions made slowly and with conviction. More often than not, Jim Holloway can be found standing over a cutting table, hands steady, eyes trained, doing what he has done for decades—long after most trades have surrendered to speed, scale, or spectacle.

For Holloway, day and night are secondary considerations. When you eat and breathe a craft completely, time yields to precision. Perfection, here, is not an abstract ideal; it is an expectation. As a master furrier, Holloway belongs to a dwindling lineage of artisans who committed their lives to creating garments that honor both material and maker: pieces that carry reverence for the animal while revealing its natural beauty through skilled hands.

Fur, in this context, is not fashion in the fleeting sense. It is material history—complex, demanding, and deeply physical. The work requires knowledge that cannot be rushed: how hides behave, how they age, how they respond to temperature, tension, and wear. It requires patience earned over decades, not seasons. There is no shortcut to mastery, and fewer and fewer are willing to walk the long road Holloway chose.

That reality has reshaped the industry. The next generation rarely steps forward to learn a trade that often takes a lifetime to truly understand. Holloway knows this; he also knows there was never another option for him. Some crafts choose their keepers early, and once chosen, there is no leaving without loss.

To work with Holloway is to enter into a conversation, not a transaction. Clients may begin by visiting the Memphis shop, browsing hundreds of pieces held in quiet reserve—coats, vests, hats, each with its own origin and story. Others sit across the table from Holloway himself, collaborating on a custom piece drawn from his extensive collection of furs, or bringing in a garment already rich with memory to be transformed and renewed. In either case, the process is intimate, deliberate, and deeply personal.

This winter, Holloway steps briefly beyond his East Memphis walls, bringing his work to the annual Dallas Safari Club show, held this year in Atlanta. Approach Booth 2543 and you’ll likely notice it before you see it: the hum of conversation, the familiar greetings, the steady line of attendees drawn not just to the garments but to the man behind them. Old friends linger. New ones stay longer than planned. Holloway’s presence is as magnetic as the pieces that surround him—an extension of the care and confidence stitched into every seam.

Yet for all the travel and recognition, the heart of the work remains anchored at home. The Memphis shop stands as a quiet counterpoint to a world increasingly defined by disposability. Here, garments are built to endure; they are meant to be worn, repaired, and passed down. To Holloway, craftsmanship still matters.

In an era obsessed with what’s next, Holloway Furs is devoted to what lasts. The work is slow by modern standards. That is precisely the point.

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