A black sandal can look flat, which is why the details carry more weight than the colour. On this Santorini everything runs dark — sole, edge and goatskin lining — with only the palladium buckle interrupting the line. Against black tailoring it nearly disappears; against a bright dress it reads as an anchor.
Epsom calfskin provides the structure: embossed, firm, forgiving of kerbs and car doors. The H cut-out sits high on the vamp, at the part of the foot that barely flexes, so it never digs in. The ankle strap is adjustable, which matters on a shoe I wear with tights in June and bare in August. Heel 0.4 inch with a 0.2-inch front rise; six sizes from 36 up to 41; made in Italy.
I spent one August in a pair of these — pavements, galleries, a rehearsal dinner — and never once felt I had chosen the practical option and paid for it. Maintenance is minimal: wipe them down, condition the leather twice a season, keep them out of direct sun so the finish stays uniform. I store them flat with the straps loose rather than hanging them by the ankle strap, which is how straps stretch out of shape.
Where it falls short: black leather takes on heat. On the hottest afternoons I leave these at home and wear them after six, when the pavement has cooled and they look their best anyway.



































