Shoes. They tell stories.
To listen to some of these tales you could do worse than take a trip to the Bata Shoe Museum in Toronto.
Here, shoes from around the world and through the ages recount their histories: who wore them and why they were worn.
Out of many intriguing tales, these three piqued my imagination. All worn by very different people for very different purposes.
Firstly, a shoe with only one aim in life: to crush, smash and pulverise. Seen out of context, this beast of a shoe is the stuff of nightmares; an instrument of torture conceived by a twisted mind.
It’s actual raison d’être is more prosaic: this is a worker’s clog, worn, yes, to crush, smash and pulverise… the humble chestnut.
If you were born into a nineteenth century chestnut farming family in the Haute Ardeche of France, this would be your footwear of choice come harvest time. These shoes tell a story of unmechanised hard labouring. As fun as it might be to try them on and wobble around, I’m guessing that chestnut farmer couldn’t wait to get them off their feet at the end of a long day.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a shoe created for quite such a specific purpose.
From another corner of the planet comes example number two. This is a nineteenth century paduka from India.
Worn by placing the toe knob between your big toe and the next, much like a flip flop, these particular examples had a rather more elaborate function.
The small button on the heel, when pressed, would send a spray of lotus-infused water over the wearer’s foot, thereby cleansing and purifying on-the-go.
Originally, these paduka would have been decorated with a lotus flower (important in both Hindu and Buddhist religions) on the toe knob; a fancy stepping out indeed for the devout. These shoes tell a tale of the search for enlightenment, the quest for reincarnation.
I wonder if that chestnut farmer had similar thoughts in mind as they stepped out of a morning?
Finally, a story of rank, privilege and power.
Here, in all his splendour and finery is Louis XIV.
Of note here are his dandyish shoes, and more specifically, those daring, red heels. In the Versailles of this Louis, only the most valued and most important courtier had the right of sporting scarlet heels bestowed on them. One wonders how hard you had to work to reach that point; how low you had to bow. The grovelling, the flattering, the scheming: all for the right to totter along the hall of mirrors in a pair of heels! You couldn’t exactly wear them to pick up your baguette for lunch; which, I suppose, was the point. Still, what fun to have been a mouche on a wall in Versailles…those shoes were made for talking.
Three pairs of shoes; three stories; three very different lives.
If your shoes could talk, what story would they tell.