When The Shoe Fits.(The Good Life)

Byline: Nick Foulkes

The psychology of the shoe is a fascinating field of study. In the female pantheon, the shoe's quasi-magical ability to empower and embolden is well rehearsed. For women, just hearing the name Jimmy Choo or Manolo Blahnik can cause a quickening of the heart and awaken the sort of devotion that most men experience only in the context of football teams or Scotch.

The relationship a man has with his shoes is utterly different. But it shouldn't be. Men's shoes are certainly capable of leaving just as lasting an impression as women's. "You can get away with a pair of worn jeans or the most rough-and-tumble suit, and if the shoes are well fitting and well cared for, the whole outfit passes," explains Hilary Freeman, who runs British shoemaker Edward Green. "But even if you are wearing the best Savile Row suit and the shoes are not up to the mark, wella--" Her voice trails off ominously.

The pinnacle of men's footwear, of course, is the handmade shoe. Having brogues and Oxfords made to order is not a quick business; it is the essence of deferred gratification. The construction of a bespoke shoe begins with the creation of the last, a wooden model of the wearer's foot. I have been fortunate enough to see the last makers at John Lobb in Paris at work, chopping the first rough forms out of hunks of wood using a tool that looked like a cavalry saber attached to a breadboard. Apparently this tool has altered little in the past three centuries: a few deft slices and the recognizable shape of a foot emerges from a formless piece of timber. This requires a hard, close-grained wood that does not distort with time, such as beech, hornbeam or maple.

Next, just like a suit, a card or paper pattern is made and fitted to the last. Then the leather pattern is cut and sent to the closer, who stitches the upper together. This shape is nailed to the last, onto which an insole has been placed, and it is during this infuriating procedure that my own shoemaker, Eric Cook---who has in his time made shoes for Cary Grant, Paul Newman, Bing Crosby, Fred Astaire and the Shah of Iran--assures me that they are "looking good on the last." Then the welt--an interstitial layer between the hard-wearing sole and the beautiful upper---is attached. Even the sole can be a thing of beauty; Cook is fond of shaping that portion between the front sole and heel into a fiddleback waist, a beautifully beveled ...