When I was younger, I was simultaneously fascinated and repulsed by the cognac or black or cordovan leather loafers that my father wore to work. Quintessential professional male shoes, they typically featured tasseled accoutrements that seemed to contradict my youthful and naïve notions of masculinity, constructed certainly from television bombardments and confirmed probably by his usual weekend attire. As if a chameleon, he slid between suits and old, worn rugby shirts with ease, only the mildly archaic tassels seeming bizarre and misplaced at the time. Twenty years later, I now find myself salivating over the French and feminine version of his now discarded work garb: the toe is more pointed, the fit more narrow and casual, and, unsurprisingly, they have been doused in a cascade of metallic glitter. Tassels, once a stalwart of window treatments and medieval suits of armor in my mind, have grown on me. Unlike my father, however, I think I would leave these and all of their resplendent glory for my days away from the cubicle.
(image taken from Vogue France)