The Craft of the Hand-Made Shoe

In a small workshop above a hardware shop in the market town of Hollins, Tomasz Wren is cutting a piece of leather with a curved knife. Around him are shelves holding hundreds of wooden foot shapes, each labelled with the name of a customer. Wren is one of a small number of bespoke shoemakers still working in Britain, and a single pair of his shoes takes around sixty hours to complete. Customers wait up to eighteen months for their order, and the price, which begins at around £3,000, puts his work well beyond the reach of most people. Most of his customers live in Britain, but some travel from as far away as Japan and Canada for a fitting.

Until the middle of the nineteenth century, almost all shoes were made by hand. Every town had several shoemakers, and many villages had one, often working alone from a room in his own house. The introduction of sewing machines that could stitch leather, followed by machines that attached soles to uppers, transformed the industry. Factories could produce shoes far more quickly and cheaply, and within a few decades most independent makers had either closed or turned to repairing factory-made footwear rather than making their own.

The bespoke process begins with measuring. Wren takes more than a dozen measurements of each foot and draws around it on paper, noting features such as a high arch or a bunion. He also watches the customer walk, since the way a person places their weight can affect how a shoe should be shaped. Using this information, he carves a wooden form, known as a last, which reproduces the customer's foot. This stage requires the most experience, Wren says, because a last that is only a few millimetres wrong will produce a shoe that is never comfortable. The whole measuring appointment usually lasts around an hour and a half.

Before making the final pair, most bespoke makers produce a trial shoe from cheaper leather, which the customer wears for a short time so that any problems can be identified. Only then is the leather for the real shoes chosen and cut. The upper is stretched over the last and left for several days to take its shape, and the sole is attached with hand stitching which, unlike glue, allows the shoe to be taken apart and the sole replaced many times. A well-made pair, Wren claims, can last for thirty years or more if it is properly looked after.

The tools of the trade have changed remarkably little. Wren uses awls, pincers and knives that would be familiar to a shoemaker of two centuries ago, and several of his tools belonged to the maker who trained him. The leather, however, must be chosen with great care. Calfskin is the most common choice for the uppers, while the soles are cut from thick leather that has been slowly treated with tree bark, a process that can take a year but produces a material that is both firm and flexible.

Learning the craft is a slow process. There are no formal qualifications, and most makers learn through an apprenticeship of five years or more with an established workshop. Apprentices are often paid little, and many leave before they have mastered all the stages. Wren himself trained for six years and says he did not feel fully confident until he had been working independently for another five. He currently has one apprentice and receives several letters a month from young people hoping to join him, but he cannot afford to train more than one person at a time.

Despite the high prices, demand for hand-made shoes has risen in recent years. Some customers have medical conditions that make factory shoes painful to wear, while others are attracted by the idea of owning a few well-made items rather than many cheap ones. A growing number of buyers are concerned about the environmental cost of fast fashion and see shoes that can be repaired for decades as a responsible choice. Wren is pleased by the interest, but he warns that the craft remains fragile. 'If the skills are not passed on now,' he says, 'there will be nobody left to teach them in twenty years.'