Somehow. Some way. Someone. Something. Some shoe bestowing being up there was shining on me and a smiling UPS man came with a discreet black box encasing these hand crafted phenomena that at first glance, without the distressed leather upper could easily be some sort of eroded driftwood, cast upon a beach or leaving aside the fact that it is wood, could also be rocks sand-blasted to beauty. Let's rewind a bit before we get into overly floral language. I wasn't expecting these. I'm not even sure why they are in my possession but like I said with all the 'some' words above, these Jil Sander S/S 10 wedges which I think went into production in teensy tiny quantities are on my feet. Well, not right now they're not. But they could be. Or perhaps it's better that they're not on the feet.
Afterall these are shoes to be gazed at to the most extreme degree. Blink. Rub. Stare. And stare again. When you're wearing shoes, it's mostly onlookers that are staring at your feet and not you. Not unless you literally go into 'shoe gazing' mode at bus stops. So if I wore these, I'd have to faciliate some way so that the wedge was somehow put into my path of view every two minutes or so. That's basically me at home with the feet propped up onto a coffee table, balancing a plate of chips on my tummy. That therefore means that these are more likely to be more of an objet… probably one that will need its own clause in my will as well a dignified shelf that isn't from Ikea.
It will fall upon deaf ears but I will have to ask Raf Simons how he even conceived or conjured up the idea of a wooden wedge that is both made to look ravaged by nature but also looks like a deft bit of handiwork has been applied to it…? Might just tap him on the shoulder some time around Paris menswear, interrupt a coffee/cig break and go "Yo Raf… these shoes… how and why?" I'm sure that will go down like a treat.
So in short, there are questions to be asked but none that are consequential to the finite conclusion of these shoes… one which is better expressed through pics than more of my torrid, florid and ultimately shell-shocked language… blame it on very special black boxes and UPS men.