The All-Inclusive Shoe & Boot Thread

How does it feel to wear old furniture wood on my feet? It feels FANTASTIC!!!
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The Shooman said:
I got my new camera, but it is so complicated that it will take time to learn.
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Agree, good photography will take practice. Both in the technical skill and creating a vision in how you want to present your 'collection'.
I'd start by finding a few nice backgrounds that you can use consistently. That will work wonders, in helping you present the details of the shoes.
Angles are and lighting are also important. I'd look to Seiji McCarthy for inspiration.

 
Sammy Ambrose said:
That's more of a 'Dirty Daddy' look, Shooey. Or maybe 'Dingy Daddy'. Stick those dirty cap-toes in the middle of your shoe circle and hear the screams as your shiny shoes try to escape to avoid infection.
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Yeah l know. Those buried shoos definitely look `dirty daddy' and don't represent how they really look. That monk above kind of looks o.k, but still blurry. The camera has hundreds or thousands of functions and is like rocket science to me because l am an old school big daddy, not a high tech science daddy.
 
sirloin said:
Agree, good photography will take practice. Both in the technical skill and creating a vision in how you want to present your 'collection'.
I'd start by finding a few nice backgrounds that you can use consistently. That will work wonders, in helping you present the details of the shoes.
Angles are and lighting are also important. I'd look to Seiji McCarthy for inspiration.

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Yeah, l am thinking about building a small set that looks really nice and photographing my shoos. Also about making some videos. If l am going to take photos, at least make them look really nice.
 
The thing about videos is you need to make them interesting. Talking about details of shoes is boring, so stories need to be told instead. The only man who can get away with talking about shoe details is shoesnob.

What l am shocked about is all the blokes into shoos these days. They all have lots of pairs and they are all good shoes. Is the internet getting these people into shoos? All l know is that these blokes are all HOOKED. One bloke made a comment once, "I don't know what you see in shoos, it is only a piece of leather".

I've been into shoos not long after l got out of nappies, no kidding. Been hooked all my life. Got photos of where l would pick up shoos amazed by how beautiful they were at about 3 years old, but l have been told l was into shoos even before the age of 3. As a little kid of about 4 or 5 all l wanted to do was own all the good pairs.
 
Managed to get these photos of my cognac Lattanzi. Notice the subtle differences in the patina. One thing though...the AI auto photos are not good enough. Time to become advanced now and learn how to manually dial in photos for brilliant perfection. These will do for now.

These photos are still not a good reflection of how amazing the patina is on this shoe. I will continue to master my skills until an accurate photo has been taken.
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At least you've got a proper pair of boots for the winter. Getting a Vass delivery is always a special occasion worth celebrating.
 
Thruth said:
hahahaha. that is just a random internet pic of shoes at the door. But I soon will be selling off most of my fine shoos.
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Thruth Thruth I've been thinking in the back of my mind of retiring to a nice coastal town one of these days. I've looked at photos of the town and people, and videos too. Everyone is in shorts and tshirts and wears thongs (fliplops), the most casual clothing ever. If l moved there l would stick out so much because l would always be in sportscoat and shoos. Would l be an outcast? I just want to be myself. I could never go casual just to please others. Now l understand your situation. Different area = completely different environment. Makes ya think `eh.
 
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The Shooman said:
Thruth Thruth I've been thinking in the back of my mind of retiring to a nice coastal town one of these days. I've looked at photos of the town and people, and videos too. Everyone is in shorts and tshirts and wears thongs (fliplops), the most casual clothing ever. If l moved there l would stick out so much because l would always be in sportscoat and shoos. Would l be an outcast? I just want to be myself. I could never go casual just to please others. Now l understand your situation. Different area = completely different environment. Makes ya think `eh.
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You either choose to be a visible outlier or not. No one is saying you have to wear shorts, tees and flip flops either.
 
There was a fella on SF who announced he would proudly wear a suit to a backyard barbecue.
Now I’m all for preserving certain standard of dress in these ever more casual days we’re living through but a suit to a backyard barbecue is frankly ridiculous. There’s always a happy medium between ‘doing a Tibor’ on one hand and being king of the slobs on the other. An element of being well dressed (the title of this forum) includes wearing clothes suitable for the occasion which of course is open to interpretation but I can see Shooey being the Richard Nixon of his imaginary beach community.
 
We need more use of Tibor as a verb. For example:

I invited my weird friend to the family Turkey Day barbecue and that mf Tibored tf out of it by showing up with his fancy tweed suit and dress shorts
 
Great White Snark said:
There was a fella on SF who announced he would proudly wear a suit to a backyard barbecue.
Now I’m all for preserving certain standard of dress in these ever more casual days we’re living through but a suit to a backyard barbecue is frankly ridiculous. There’s always a happy medium between ‘doing a Tibor’ on one hand and being king of the slobs on the other. An element of being well dressed (the title of this forum) includes wearing clothes suitable for the occasion which of course is open to interpretation but I can see Shooey being the Richard Nixon of his imaginary beach community.
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Shooey can't help being Shooey. And let's thank the gods that guard against gemming failure for that.
 
Thruth said:
Shooey figures that moving to a coastal town would be a tiboring experience.
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Nah, Tibor would wear his top hat and tails and be a total outcast while l would get around in a sports coat, BIG difference. One thing though, l would need to ditch the homburg; l easily get away with it in the city, but not a coastal town. The boater hat would still come out on sunny days along with the panama, but it would need to be dressed down a bit with nice trousers and shirt minus the blazer.

There is a fine line with these things. Luckily l know what l can get away with. Bowties with boaters and blazers on a coastal town?...ugh ugh.

Soon l order a rowing blazer, bespoke. Now that is me through and through. I'd pull it off like a second skin. I notice bespoke addict wears his in the middle of London
 
Still worth wearing shoes every waking moment, specially when they are Lattanzi. You couldn't pay me enough money to wear slippers or socks around the house each day, that would be absolutely miserable.

I don't like the idea of weak little mousy men sneaking around the house in sox either, it's a terrible look.

Would Donald wear sox around the house? NO WAY!!!
 
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It's amazing how all the top shoo makers travel to countries all over the world, yet none ever come to Australia. No-one gives a stuff about Oz. :mad:

Only 10% of the world's population live in southern hemisphere.
 
While sneakers are reigning supreme and custom shoes are in decline here, it’s interesting to see little places like this (in my neighborhood) still thriving. Western boots, worn by middle class tech workers a few times a year at rodeo concerts and parties, are made to measure or bespoke using many of the same techniques as dress shoes.

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Dropbear said:
While sneakers are reigning supreme and custom shoes are in decline here, it’s interesting to see little places like this (in my neighborhood) still thriving. Western boots, worn by middle class tech workers a few times a year at rodeo concerts and parties, are made to measure or bespoke using many of the same techniques as dress shoes.

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Looks great, I am pretty sure they also have top yeyo and meth.
 
Spending more time in the office now and kinda need another pair of shoes, but I’d rather get something that I’ll also enjoy wearing more casually. I thought about getting a pair of chelseas made by Brissleblack, but fuck me if they aren’t asking over $700 now for premium leathers! I guess they are worth it (Shinki and Mariam horse butt, solid old world craftsmanship, etc) but that’s more than I’m willing to pay for some Indonesian boots!

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‘I want to be the biggest brand in the country’: The next gen of Aussie shoemakers​

Australia’s footwear manufacturing industry is all but gone, as rising costs push factories offshore and access to fast fashion drives a waning appreciation for handmade goods. In the face of these challenges, a small group of passionate craftspeople are keeping the art of shoe making alive and preserving it for the next generation.
ByLauren Ironmonger
OCTOBER 19, 2024​
Bespoke shoemaker Matea Gluscevic at her studio in Melbourne.
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Bespoke shoemaker Matea Gluscevic at her studio in Melbourne.CREDIT:WAYNE TAYLOR
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Matea Gluscevic, 36, has been making bespoke and handmade shoes under her eponymous label since 2019. Known for her whimsical, daring designs that often push the limits of what we think of as shoes, her work stands out in a sea of mass-produced sneakers. But recently she’s hit a crossroad, as she says her current approach is “unsustainable”.
Due to poor sales, she has decided to close the made-to-order portion of her business to focus on bespoke shoes. Her clientele, which includes brides and people who need special considerations in their shoes, like those with mobility issues, are more willing to pay for the product.
A bespoke pair of shoes takes around a month to make – from the conceptualisation stage to the finished product – and starts at $1500. Still, the hours she works – which equate to a part-time job – are not reflected in what she’s paid.
“My issue is that [bespoke] is not necessarily enough to live off,” she says. “So I’m sort of in a position of assessing what I’m doing.”
There’s also the not-so-small matter of people’s purse strings getting tighter. “The reality is, lots of the younger demographic, who I can tell love my work, are not in a position to be paying $700 for a pair of shoes,” says Gluscevic.
“Which is completely understandable. I’m not in that position either, but I can’t make it for any less, it just doesn’t work.”
Shoes designed and made by Matea Gluscevic for the Nicol & Ford show at Australian Fashion Week 2024.

Shoes designed and made by Matea Gluscevic for the Nicol & Ford show at Australian Fashion Week 2024.CREDIT:GETTY IMAGES
All this has not been for a lack of exposure. She’s worked with fashion designers Nicol & Ford, collaborated with Johnny Walker on a collection of sneakers for the AFLW and had her work shown in Sydney’s Powerhouse Museum.
However, she says all but the Johnny Walker collaboration were done for free – something many emerging creatives are expected to do to raise their profiles.
“The reality is, lots of the younger demographic, who I can tell love my work, are not in a position to be paying $700 for a pair of shoes.”
Matea Gluscevic
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Gluscevic also has scoliosis, which is compounded by the stress the craft puts on the body.
“For anybody, it’s lots of time sitting, sewing, drawing, cutting, hammering, standing at a grinder for hours. It’s a very physical job.”
Working on big projects in the past, she says she’s been unable to sleep due to muscle cramps, which haven’t been alleviated by any amount of physiotherapy or massage.
All this – the financial and physical toll of shoe making – not to mention the time involved, begs the question: why do it in the first place?
For Gluscevic, it’s a necessity.
“I have an unbearable amount of ideas,” she says. “I start feeling stressed if I don’t get them out of my head into the world.”
But the challenges she’s faced – and continues to face – are similar to those many of her peers grapple with. Some 720 Australians have listed their occupation as shoemakers, according to the latest census data. Australia’s footwear manufacturing industry is all but gone, barring a few small businesses and RM Williams’ operation in Adelaide.
Below are the Australian shoemakers, designers and educators for whom footwear is also a labour of love.

The teachers​

Shoemaker and founder of School of Footwear in Sydney, Darren Bischoff.
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Shoemaker and founder of School of Footwear in Sydney, Darren Bischoff.CREDIT:LOUISE KENNERLEY
The day Darren Bischoff, founder of the School of Footwear in Sydney, decided to pursue a career in shoemaking is the day the industry closed down. The year was 1988 and the introduction of tariff reductions led to many of the country’s major footwear manufacturers moving offshore.
In the decades since, Bischoff has witnessed the slow decline of the industry. The opening of his footwear school in 2011 was partly borne out of a desire to teach the craft to the next generation (TAFE’s shoemaking courses in Sydney, Brisbane and Adelaide all closed in 2009). It also functions as a workshop space for other professional shoemakers.
One of the biggest challenges, Bischoff says, is sourcing specialist materials and tools – including heels and shoe lasts (moulds) – needed for their craft. He now has to travel overseas a few times a year to source them.
“This has been the story since ’88, slowly but surely all the bits and pieces have gone,” he says.
“The mass manufacturing industry is gone and will never come back. But I’m very interested in some of these young people coming through.”
Darren Bischoff
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Even the technicians who maintained his machinery have aged out of the industry, and Bischoff has had to train himself in the specialist skills required to keep them running.
Still, his comprehensive courses have been incredibly successful, including a sneaker course that’s popular among teenage boys. Some who come through his doors simply want to do something hands-on outside their professional lives, but others have gone on to pursue a career in shoemaking.
“People are just so surprised and amazed that you can still make shoes by hand in this country,” he says.
But as a whole, Bischoff says he doesn’t have much hope for the craft as an industry. “But I’m very interested in some of these young people coming through,” he says.
Bischoff with his collection of shoe lasts, which he says have become harder to source.

Bischoff with his collection of shoe lasts, which he says have become harder to source.CREDIT:LOUISE KENNERLEY
Andrew Robinson has taught at RMIT’s school of footwear for the past two decades. It is now the only nationally accredited program for shoemaking in the Southern Hemisphere.
The biggest thing Robinson would like to see, to support the next generation, is more government funding.
“I would love to have a course that’s three years or four years long. Even the one-year course we offer, it’s intense but really it’s the tip of the iceberg with all the skills, refinement and different areas of footwear there are to learn.
“For students who leave the program, we give them as much support [as possible] and I’ll make myself available 24/7 for them, but setting up a small business in Australia at the moment is so hard.”
Robinson says there also needs to be more support from the Australian fashion industry.
“There needs to be a greater push and exposure for these custom-made shoemakers.”
Lou Clifton, owner of Melbourne Shoe School.
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Lou Clifton, owner of Melbourne Shoe School.CREDIT:SIMON SCHLUTER
Lou Clifton launched her footwear school in New Zealand in 2015, which she relocated to Melbourne earlier this year. Her short courses – ranging from one to five days – give students a crash course in the fundamentals of shoemaking. Her students are mainly hobbyists, who she says have been spurred by burgeoning craft movement.
“When I started, Etsy was becoming big, and it was just a reaction to people wanting an alternative to mass-produced goods or to understand how mass-produced goods were made.”
She says her students get a feeling of satisfaction from their work.
“You start out with some nerves and then have to solve a design problem, and it’s quite meditative. You get a real and important rush at the end when you realise that you’ve crafted something wearable.”

Raff McGuinness, Above the Ground​

Young footwear designer Raff McGuinness.
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Young footwear designer Raff McGuinness.CREDIT:SIMON SCHLUTER
Raff McGuinness, a 20-year-old communications student from Melbourne, has lofty ambitions for his footwear brand Above the Ground.
“The plan is to be the biggest footwear brand in the country. And then the biggest footwear brand in streetwear.”
Later this year, he will launch the brand with just two silos – a loafer and a boot – which he’s been working on for the past two years, making them the best they can be.
“My priorities are, how can I make an extremely good product as opposed to how can I just make it good?”
McGuinness’ loafer, which he’s described as a “loafer for a sneakerhead”, was conceived from his frustrations with uncomfortable loafers. He’s not reinventing the wheel, but striving for greatness. Little details – like mohair laces on his boots – are what he believes will set his product apart.
But McGuinness’ entrepreneurial spirit started long before he started Above the Ground. In high school, he sourced hard-to-find football boots online and resold them to an Australian audience, building up a strong social media following overtime. He’s also worked in the performance footwear space – he and his business partner did some footwear customisation for the Australian Olympic team earlier this year.
“No one’s really gone and tried to disrupt the streetwear space for footwear.”
Raff McGuinness
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He says part of his desire to start the brand stems from seeing a lack of innovation in the Australian footwear industry, particularly in the streetwear space.
“It’s a much more difficult process to start in footwear than it is to start in clothing,” says McGuinness.
“You can make a T-shirt, and if the T-shirts are a seven out of 10 people will still wear it. [But] if you make a shoe and the shoes are a seven out of 10, people will be reminded of that every time they step in your shoes. It hurts.”
McGuinness is working with overseas manufacturers, who require high order quantities, which carry high cost, and the system can be difficult to navigate for someone with little experience.
“You sort of get sucked into believing what other people tell you. You’ll basically be like, ‘Oh, that must be the right way of doing things’, so I think that was the most difficult part for me.”
McGuinness with a prototype of his loafer.

McGuinness with a prototype of his loafer.CREDIT:SIMON SCHLUTER

Effi and Emily Mavratzas, Didyma Shoes​

Emily, left, and Effi Mavratzas in their home studio in Sydney.

Emily, left, and Effi Mavratzas in their home studio in Sydney.CREDIT:DION GEORGOPOULOS
Effi and Emily Mavratzas became students at the School of Footwear in Sydney during the pandemic where they fell in love with the craft. Twins, the 33-year-olds both work full-time in fashion but have launched their own brand, Didyma shoes, where they make bespoke pieces for friends and family. Each pair goes for around $450 and can take anywhere from a day to weeks to make.
Their feminine styles, often adorned with flowers or bows, take inspiration from vintage footwear.
“Effi and I have both always been very much into fabrics and textures and colours and the craftsmanship behind it...but there isn’t a single source, there are so many things that really inspire us,” says Emily.
One of the biggest hurdles – besides finding time outside their full-time jobs – has been finding space to accommodate the bulky machinery required to make shoes. The pair have recently had to move their workshop back home after their studio space became water damaged.
“It’s more similar to a trade than it is to dressmaking. It can be quite messy, the machinery can be quite heavy and it’s quite dirty, in a way.”
Emily Mavratzas
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Sourcing materials, tools and equipment has been another challenge.
“Shoemaking is a dying art, and it’s not really something that is happening any more here,” says Effi. “That also makes it really difficult to find the tools and the machines that you need. Because no one’s using them, no one’s selling them.”
She says they’ve had some success on Facebook Marketplace sourcing equipment from old shoemakers, but that it’s still difficult to find.
And despite coming from a fashion background, they’ve both been surprised by how labour-intensive and time-consuming the craft is.
“It’s more similar to a trade than it is to dressmaking,” says Emily. “It can be quite messy, the machinery can be quite heavy, and it’s quite dirty, in a way.”
A selection of handmade shoes from Effi and Emily Mavratzas’ brand Didyma shoes.

A selection of handmade shoes from Effi and Emily Mavratzas’ brand Didyma shoes.CREDIT:DION GEORGOPOULOS

Breeze, Post Sole Studio​

Breeze Powell, cordwainer and founder of Post Sole Studio in Melbourne.
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Breeze Powell, cordwainer and founder of Post Sole Studio in Melbourne.CREDIT:SIMON SCHLUTER
For Breeze Powell, 42, the co-founder of Melbourne footwear brand Post Sole Studio, shoemaking started as a necessity. Born with one leg slightly longer than the other, she had special requirements for footwear.
After completing a Certificate IV in Custom-Made Footwear at RMIT in 2007, Powell started working in a factory making comfort shoes for people with orthotics and problematic feet. After seven years, the owner of the business retired and offered to sell her the factory’s machinery. With her former business partner Myra Spencer, Powell founded Post Sole Studio and moved to Fitzroy. The brand specialises in well-crafted, made-to-order leather classics at their studio in Abbotsford, where they have since moved.
The label outsources their stitching, but the rest is done in-house by Powell, who runs the business alongside general manager Yoshi Maruyama.
She would love to expand Post Sole Studio but says it’s just not viable in this current climate.
“I wish there was a little bit of government support. I would love to purchase new machinery or have the ability to upscale the business, so that I could employ more people. But just making that leap into the next stage of business is really hard,” says Powell.
“Being able to source good materials without having to pay so much in shipping to bring in everything from Europe, that’s really hard.”
The “Dune” shoe from Post Sole Studio.

The “Dune” shoe from Post Sole Studio.CREDIT:SIMON SCHLUTER
 
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In the basement of Melbourne’s historic Trades Hall, the home of Australia’s organised worker movement, a 66-year-old Salvadorian is keeping a different kind of labour tradition alive. For the past decade, José Rodríguez has been down here, surrounded by old masonry, industrial sewing machines and multicoloured rolls of leather, hand-making bespoke shoes.

It’s a slow craft, and in an age of mass-production, a highly specialised trade.


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Shoemaker José Rodríguez, who fled El Salvador for Australia in 1988, in his workshop at Melbourne’s Trades Hall. Photograph: Ellen Smith/The Guardian


José Rodríguez gets ‘a special kind of feeling’ from his craft, derived from the fact ‘that someone else is happy’ with their new shoes


By Stephanie Convery, inequality reporter

“Your shoes are not just any type of shoe,” Rodríguez says. “My thing is to make something unique. I don’t want to be pretentious, but it’s like a work of art, you know? If you commission someone to paint a portrait, you’re not going to make the same one twice.”

Rodríguez’s tools in his workshop.
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Rodríguez’s tools in his workshop. Photograph: Ellen Smith/The Guardian
We meet in a bright Turkish cafe just down the road in bustling Lygon Street. Thoughtful and gregarious with a wide, welcoming smile, Rodríguez gives the impression of having worked a lifetime at his craft, but he was in fifties before he made a single shoe.

Born in El Salvador in 1958, Rodríguez was the middle child of 11 to artistic and industrious parents: his father was a woodworker, fashioning children’s toys, cigarette cases, ornaments and other handicrafts in their home workshop, and selling them to craft markets and small businesses around San Salvador. His mother was a landscape painter, who also turned her talents to decorating the items her husband made. Rodríguez’s earliest memories are of helping his father in the workshop. On weekends, he would sneak in there and make toys for his own amusement.

Despite his evident love of crafting and a fervent imagination, Rodríguez did not follow his father into handicrafts. As a young man, he found work in ground operations at the national airline instead. In his descriptions of his early adult life in El Salvador, the road from the city to the then-new international airport – a 40-minute drive through the countryside from central San Salvador – emerges as something of a motif, representing both routine and huge upheaval.

Much of this was shaped by the civil war, a 12-year-long conflict between the US-backed Salvadorian military and a coalition of leftwing revolutionary guerrilla groups, the Farabundo Martí National Liberation Front. More than 75,000 people were killed in the war between 1979 and 1992, the vast majority by the military and its death squads. Eight thousand were “desaparecidos”, or disappeared.

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Rodríguez undertook a 13-week night course in shoemaking. Photograph: Ellen Smith/The Guardian
Many Salvadorians couldn’t afford a car, so the airline provided a shuttle bus from the city for its workers. As guerrilla activity and military repression became more intense, the consequences of that violence became increasingly visible, especially on that shared commute.

Sometimes, Rodríguez says, they would drive past bodies discarded on the side of the highway. One crisp, clear morning, they heard gunshots, and the minibus driver slammed on the brakes. “I think there were three guerrillas. They were running for their lives, with M16s in hand. And we just froze,” says Rodríguez. Another time, the bus stopped to find out why a crowd of people had gathered near a beachside cliff. Four people were dead on the rocks below.

“Why did we have to go and see? It was horrible,” says Rodríguez. “But the interesting thing is that we got used to it. Desensitised. Because you have to live there, you adapt.”

One by one his siblings and his friends fled the violence, seeking asylum in other countries, but Rodríguez put off leaving.

“I liked the job that I was doing. I liked the position. I was earning good money for a country like El Salvador,” he says.

“Now, when I’m talking to you, I say, how did I survive? How did I last? Why didn’t I leave earlier, you know? But back in the day, when you’re in the situation, you get used to it – you just move on, and you move on, and then all of a sudden, you just don’t care. And there’s bombs in the middle of the night and there’s machine gun fire …” He trails off.

He remembers vividly the incident that changed everything.

The media were under tight government control, but information about flare-ups of fighting was transmitted in code over the radio that let people know to avoid particular areas. Rodríguez remembers hearing one of these alerts on the commute home. When he arrived, his then-wife was distraught: their seven-year-old son’s school bus had been caught at the fire-fight. Their son hadn’t been physically harmed, but Rodríguez said the incident made him suddenly see their situation anew.


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Rodríguez began his new craft after being made redundant by Qantas. Photograph: Ellen Smith/The Guardian
“I remember clearly, my wife said, in these words: ‘What are you waiting for? For one of our kids to be killed?’” Rodríguez says. “The next day, I went and filled in the application.” They left El Salvador and arrived in Melbourne on Christmas Eve, 1988.

The route from refugee to bespoke shoemaker would take nearly three more decades. Rodríguez found work quickly, as a phone sales representative at a wholesale travel company. He spent nine years there, followed by a long stint in customer service at Optus and finally Qantas.

Then in 2014, he signed up to a 13-week night course in shoemaking. “It was only one day, one day a week, three hours, and it was just to make one pair of shoes for fun. But I loved it so much,” he says. From his teacher, Jess Wootten, he learned that there was a full-time, year-long certificate IV course in custom shoemaking at RMIT. It was auspicious timing: just months later, he and thousands of other Qantas workers were made redundant. So Rodríguez decided to devote himself to this new craft.

It took a few years to build business momentum once he’d finished the course, but the waitlist at Rodríguez and Rose is now eight months’ long. His prices are high – a pair of boots can cost between $1,200 and $1,500 – but he says people who seek out bespoke footwear understand that what they are paying for is something made uniquely to their aesthetic and their feet.

Often his clients have a particular purpose in mind: a gift for someone close to them, or to wear to a special occasion, such as a wedding. Others come to him because they have trouble buying shoes that properly fit.

Rodríguez remembers a young man who had to wear Blundstone boots many sizes too big to accommodate the significant width of his feet. So his mother paid for Rodríguez to make him a pair of boots, saying that since she had blessed her son with those genetics, she should help him pay for comfortable shoes.

The young man’s face when he tried on the finished boots nearly made Rodríguez cry. “He said that those were the first shoes that actually fit him, because the length was ideal,” he says. “So I do take a lot of pride and joy when I see that.”

His clients’ initial ideas are often very conventional – he suspects our sense of what we like or don’t like often develops passively, in response to the market – so he spends time trying to encourage the expansion of their creative horizons, teasing out their interests and passions so the shoes become a true collaboration, a reflection of his clients’ individual personalities as well as his own craft.

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‘I’m not driven by money. I’m driven by the satisfaction that I still get making shoes, making people smile.’ Photograph: Ellen Smith/The Guardian
It would be easy just to make facsimiles of mass-market shoes, Rodríguez says. “But I would die of boredom. That’s not my thing.”

While he wishes he had come to shoemaking earlier in his life, there are some advantages to having had other careers; he’s now able to prioritise his work for the love of it, and doesn’t need it to bring in the equivalent of a full-time job.

“I’m not driven by money. I’m driven by the satisfaction that I still get making shoes, making people smile,” he says.

“That is a sense of achievement that is very rare,” Rodríguez says. “It’s a special kind of feeling. When you do it for the first time, it’s even greater … That, coupled with what you’re doing for someone else – and that someone else is happy.”
 
I just saw that Jim Green are now doing custom boots. I’ve heard nothing but good things about this brand. Although I want to stay loyal to Blundies, the wider fit and better construction might someday lure me to the South Africans.

It’s still a chunky, wide fitting work boot, but the veg tanned full grain leather adds a little class.

As far as mid-sole options, which of these would be better:

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Any knew this Spaniard shoemaker?

The article says it was the shoemaker of Julio Iglesias, Putin, Brad Pitt among others, Alicante, Spain

www.informacion.es

Fallece Jesús Cánovas, el zapatero de famosos como Julio Iglesias

El empresario de la firma de lujo que lleva su nombre, con taller en Elche, perteneció a un selecto club de maestros artesanos por apostar por sus diseños celebridades de todo el mundo como Flavio Briatore, Brad Pitt, Victoria Beckham o Beyoncé
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