While in metaphorical terms it might be apposite to refer to the fashion world as a load of old cobblers, in literal terms this is simply not true, at least where shoes are concerned. If you, like me, are bored witless by the cliché that is the reference to Carrie Bradshaw teetering on her Manolos/Jimmy Choos which appears in almost every column relating to footwear (and now this one, dammit), take heart; for truly there is a new, young cobbler on the block. Rupert Sanderson won’t like being called the “new Manolo” but he is potentially the new Messiah in the world of stilettos, Mary Janes and flats. I know this because anyone and everyone who a decade ago would have bleated nauseatingly about their “Manolos” are to be found doing exactly the same thing about their “Ruperts”.
Sanderson is not your average shoemaker. Formerly “in publishing”, he admits to “always having had a thing about shoes”. So much so that five years ago he chucked in his day job and embarked on a course at Cordwainers College. Anxious to get on with the process of shoe “creation”, Sanderson became restless and headed off to Italy to study and work with Sergio Rossi and Bruno Magli before the course was completed. His impulsiveness paid off. Just 18 months ago he opened his first store in London’s Bruton Place. Brits, Americans, Scandinavians, Japanese and now Russians are in Sanderson’s thrall. He says he doesn’t follow fashion per se. His shoes are not fussy, trendy or ridiculously fancy, but they are stylish, well-made and chic. One fan describes his style as “old-style pretty, because they make your feet look incredibly feminine”. On top of the exotic leathers, suedes and skins (all legal) are Sanderson’s exquisite colours – sand, magenta, teal and cobalt, all sculpted on to heels of varying degrees of vertigiousness. Bestsellers so far: the Ulla and the Mabel. Watch out for the Odette in red for spring/summer 06.
Of course, Ruperts don’t come cheap – the average cost is around £350, which means that for some they are a prized possession. “Some people save for months,” says Jo, the PR. “They can’t afford to just come in and buy a couple of pairs.” I don’t ask who could, because, readers, both you and I know the answer and this column is to its best efforts anti-celeb. Sanderson names all of his shoes after daffodils – a particular quirk that no one, least of all himself, seems able to explain fully. In his store, a battered book circa 1954 called Classified List of Daffodil Names takes pride of place. Each season it is lovingly pored over and appropriate names attributed to each style of shoe. Quaint but forward-thinking might be a good description of Sanderson’s paradoxical approach. He’s talented enough to be in this for the long haul. It’s fortunate then that the book has tens of thousands of entries.
www.rupertsanderson.co.uk
coolhunter@thetimes.co.uk