I hope I don’t sound like I’m betraying the very spirit of this blog when I admit: I haven’t been all that interested in shoes lately. For someone who has spent years falling head over heels (pun intended) for bold, odd, or unapologetically glamorous footwear, this feels almost sacrilegious to say. But truthfully, shoe design seems to have entered a period of stagnation.
Think back for a moment. Remember the frenzy of Balenciaga’s lego heels in spring 2008? Or the way the Prada Wellington boots of fall 2009 practically sparked a stampede, with stylists fighting each other for pairs? Shoes once inspired the kind of collective obsession and chatter that could define an entire season. Fast forward to today, and… well, things feel much quieter.
Yes, there are exceptions—Bottega’s square-toe mules and their chunky tread boots did make a splash. But overall, footwear has become simpler, safer, and more practical.
The Practical Turn
Minimalism has its place, of course. A sleek black boot or a neutral mule will always be a wardrobe staple. I’d happily take home a pair of By Far mules, which seem to be perpetually sold out for good reason. They’re chic, they’re wearable, they go with everything. But if I’m being honest? My heart doesn’t skip a beat for “sensible.”
As shoe lovers, part of the magic is slipping into something that’s not practical at all—shoes that make no sense for the real world, but all the sense in the world for fashion. The shoes that straddle the line between beautiful and ugly, that spark conversation, that make you stand a little taller and feel a little braver.
A Luxury That No Longer Thrills
That’s what feels missing. Luxury shoes today often seem too tame, too safe. When I walk past rows of designer displays and see endless ankle boots, basic pumps, and sneakers with exaggerated logos, I can’t help but feel deflated. Luxury, after all, is supposed to thrill. What’s the point of investing in something expensive if it doesn’t make your heart race?
It’s not an urgent crisis, of course—not in a world with far bigger concerns. But I do think it’s symptomatic of a broader shift in fashion. Shoes used to serve as emotional touchpoints for style, crystallizing the spirit of a decade. The mid-2000s had the iconic Balenciaga harness boots, beloved by Mary-Kate Olsen. The late 2000s gave us the aforementioned Prada wellies, which became instant collector’s items. Those shoes were fashion. They set the tone.
Now? We have flip flops, soft leather slides, PVC sandals, and endless “It” sneakers worn by Kardashian stylists. Fine, yes. Comfortable, yes. But revolutionary? Hardly.
The Spark Returns
A few weeks ago, I was wandering through the shoe section of a department store—a ritual that usually brings me joy, but lately has been more of a perfunctory glance. Pumps with overwrought rhinestones (a poor disguise for plainness), boots plastered with oversized logos, sneakers everywhere. My heart wasn’t in it.
And then, in the very back, something caught my eye. A glint of black patent leather, glossy and unapologetic. I walked closer. They were glorious: square-toed, set on a meaty platform that felt substantial, almost architectural. Yet delicately, across the vamp, a thin T-strap traced its way upward—an echo of 1940s film noir elegance. The tension between the fat platform and the dainty strap was intoxicating.
I lifted the shoe from its perch and placed it reverently on a red velvet couch nearby. I studied it from every angle, admiring the interplay of heft and delicacy, glamour and toughness. The craftsmanship, the attitude, the sheer presence of the shoe felt like a spark of the old magic.
Of course, it was Prada. Naturally.
Why It Matters
That moment reminded me why I fell in love with shoes in the first place. Shoes, more than most accessories, carry the power to shift an outfit, a mood, even a persona. They can be wearable armor or a playful wink, a way to declare who you are without saying a word.
And that’s what I miss—the sense of audacity, of risk-taking, of designers using shoes as their canvas for experimentation. Because while there’s a time and place for sensible, it’s the impractical, the strange, the slightly “ugly” shoes that stay etched in memory.
So where have the fashion shoes gone? They’re still out there, but they’re hiding, waiting for us to find them. And when you do—when you stumble across that one pair that makes your pulse quicken—you remember that shoes aren’t just accessories. They’re fashion distilled into its most thrilling form.
