From pumps and courts to boots and brogues, one of the key conversations around contemporary style that we’ve been having in the office is the amped up presence of the “proper” shoe on both the catwalks and the streets. The definitive proof? The long-awaited arrival of Matthieu Blazy’s first collection for Chanel in stores, which, from the second it had dropped, had every fashion editor in Paris descend into a collective hysteria.
This near-unanimous co-sign should have been pretty declarative. Athleisure be damned! The thing is, though, I just spent the end of last week in a context where the fashion stakes are even higher than they are in Paris during fashion week: the opening of the Venice Biennale. The consensus over there seemed to be that the appetite for trainers isn’t just alive – it’s thriving.
Looking at the feet around town (my eyes on the ground to ensure I didn’t walk into a canal, rather than anything weird, ok!), I was struck by the notable lack of chic leather shoes – which, of all places, I thought the Venetian authorities would insist on at the point of disembarkation. No, it was trainers galore – and the louder, the better it would seem.
This was something seen across the board – officious-looking curators in amply cut tailoring, hopscotching the pavilions in the Giardini in marigold Skechers; party-boy types in tank-tops, wraparound sunglasses and deep-cut Air Maxes; willowy girls in poplin maxi skirts and calf-cladding Puma boxing boots; billionaire collectors in low-top Pradas in every imaginable hue. Wherever you went in town, there was a defiantly whacky sneaker to be spotted.
Now, I am not one for the trend myself – I am an unabashed clodhopper boot lover, and my residual PE class trauma means that the mere prospect of pulling on a graphic trainer fills me with angst. Still the style, verve and intuition with which I saw so many pull them off almost changed my mind.
Of course, in the context, this particular footwear choice was as much motivated by practical necessity as by style stunting. Venice is a city that will send your step count soaring at the best of times, and that’s especially the case when the Biennale’s in town. The sheer number of things to see – and people who might tread on your toes – is truly overwhelming, making a sturdy, practical shoe a must.
At the same time, the specificity of the context made me see what may look like pragmatically-motivated choices as something anchored in a stylistic sensibility. Art folk are, of course, generally pretty stylistically inclined, though typically not quite as peacockish as us fashion folk can be. There are, of course, exceptions to any rule, but the abundance of loud and proud, sporty sneakers resonated similarly to how a statement skirt does for me – it’s a little bit of “look at me” that’s in line with a distinctly Italian sprezzatura.
“While fashion’s pendulum has swung from jacked-up trainers to sensible shoes, there are still occasions that call for, say, a pair of electric-blue Kiko Kostadinov x Asics mules – namely when I’m wearing camo trousers and want to avoid looking like an overgrown cadet,” says my venerable colleague Daniel Rodgers. To him, such shoes also help to unpick the potential stuffiness of both a social context and a look itself. “In the context of a contemporary art opening, the fugly trainers listed within this article perform a similar kind of subversion: there’s an anti-good-taste frisson in wearing something so knowingly unserious among all the Tabi-booted chin-strokers, while still signalling a degree of fashion literacy.”
Now, while I’ll be sticking with boots, I still find it spiriting to see that – at a time when the death of the garish, gorpy dad trainer is being widely trumpeted – so many are sticking to their gut and striding on proud. After all, as you can tell at a first glance, these really are trainers made for walking.
