Natural goatskin loafers look like they were made to be ruined pleasantly. The pale, grainy leather starts almost oat-coloured, and every crease, drop of rain and scuff writes itself in, which is either the reason to buy them or the reason not to.
The Paris shape carries a heel of seven-tenths of an inch, a sole of black leather and rubber, edged in black leather, a palladium buckle across the vamp and a black lambskin lining inside. The grain of the goatskin gives the surface a subtle tooth that keeps the pale colour from looking flat.
I wear mine with grey flannel, with worn denim, with a white shirt and nothing clever at all. Sizes run 36 to 41. Slipping them on without socks in early summer is one of the reliable pleasures of a town wardrobe.
What to accept honestly: the leather will pause exactly where your foot bends, and after a few months the creases at the vamp will be permanent and visible. My pair developed them within a season and became better for it, but if uniform appearance matters to you, choose the black version instead. Wiping the loafers with a dry cloth after wear has kept the grain even.
Regular brushing of the nap-free surface and a neutral cream keep the leather from drying at the heel. Made in Italy. Two summers in, mine look like they have a history, which is precisely the point.









































