I’VE GOT SOLE BUT I’M NOT A SOLDIER

A love affair with shoes is not just for women — let’s get that out of the way. And men, not women, are to blame for the existence of the stereotype. For decades we have poked fun at our partners’ fascination with footwear, refusing to employ any nuance in understanding the dynamic between practicality and art. This relationship — that of practicality versus art; not of men being rude to women — is, as far as I am concerned, the beating heart of luxury. I know that, to some, luxury can be the pleasure of peace and quiet amid a household of hormonal children. It can be the privilege of a flat bed on an airplane, replete with a shower that won’t admit ‘more than two people at a time’, ahem.

While there is a subjective argument that luxury can be any one thing to any person, I stand by the theory that, in it’s truest form, luxury — through craftsmanship — bridges the gap between our everyday needs and art that reaches the same monumental heights of Bacon or Bach. This can be expressed in furniture, in tailoring, in watches and other accessories, in cigars and in various intoxicating beverages. Others have their own opinions on the matter,