On a recent Monday afternoon, a few silver-haired women, corduroy-clad men, and a movie star stopped into a tiny, unremarkable shop on East 55th Street to buy house slippers with little bows on them, for which they paid about $700. With the exception of perhaps the actor, they all seemed to be return customers at Belgian Shoes, which has been selling the prim, handsewn style in New York for nearly 70 years.
The shoes have long been a cult favorite among Fifth Avenue doyennes and uptown gentlemen, but lately they have gained wider appeal. Now Belgians—as they’re known among enthusiasts—are embraced by the self-assured from Savile Row to Dimes Square and, yes, Hollywood.
“There’s the French expression bien dans sa peau [good in one’s skin], and if you’re comfortable in your own skin, really, what’s a bow?” says style writer, brand consultant, and uptown native John Brodie when asked about the distinctly delicate design of his neighborhood’s unofficial weekend shoe.
Devotees know that the shoes are available exclusively at the store, or on Belgian’s spartan Web site, and buying them there signifies a desire for the real thing and all that comes with it. Custom services are extended to loyal customers, while members of the staff, which has a reputation for standoffishness, are known not to court business from newcomers.
The shoes also suggest a devil-may-care attitude. A pair of Mr. Casual, the flagship model, is meant to be worn only indoors. Although they look like loafers at first glance, the slippers have soft leather bottoms that are hardly more suited to a New York sidewalk than bare feet. This does little to deter well-heeled customers, who often have a thin rubber protective sole applied to improve durability.
Manhattan was introduced to the shoes in 1955, courtesy of society retailer Henri Bendel’s nephew, who discovered them on a trip to Belgium. With his family’s store under new ownership, Bendel set up a dedicated Belgian Shoes outpost on 56th Street. Georges Vanacker later became his business partner, and is now the sole owner of the company.
Although they look like loafers at first glance, the slippers have soft leather bottoms that are hardly more suited to a New York sidewalk than bare feet.
Each pair is still handmade in the company’s namesake country and varies only in color and texture—think beige linen, burgundy calfskin, gray flannel, and, for the truly daring, leopard-spotted pony-hair leather.
For decades, Belgians signified a chintz-upholstered life of inherited club memberships and staff. Part of that perception, no doubt, was due to the slippers’ comfortableness, which the company claims comes from piano-felt soles and being handsewn inside out at the homes of artisans. A cohort of stylish fans also bolstered the brand’s image: everyone from Kate Moss and Isaac Mizrahi to Duncan Hannah has owned at least one pair. (Bernie Madoff is said to have owned somewhere in the neighborhood of 300.)
It’s not difficult to understand why Belgian Shoes continues to gain appeal without resorting to advertising, or even acknowledging the term “influencer.” It maintains a fewer-but-finer approach and unconcern for growth that’s foreign to today’s commodified luxury brands. Paradoxically, that has only contributed to its popularity among both consumers and fashion-world insiders. When Arie Kopelman was the president and C.O.O. of Chanel, he tried to buy Belgian Shoes several times, but the company continually turned him down.
Now a younger, more assorted crowd—comprising everyone from fashion editors and bankers to skaters—has gravitated to the Belgian look. But the very exclusivity that made the slippers popular in the first place is at odds with increased demand, encouraging other designers and men’s-wear brands to rush to fill the gap in the market.
Rubinacci, a Neapolitan tailoring house, was particularly early to introduce its version, the Marphy.
“I saw a photo of Andy Warhol wearing Belgian loafers and immediately fell in love with them,” says Luca Rubinacci, the Vespa-driving, third-generation family member at the brand’s helm. “In 2002, I contacted a slipper-maker in Le Marche, an area famous in Italy for this type of workmanship.”
The resulting shoes were a pointier-toed, slightly sleeker, more Italian version of the New York classic. They also have a hard leather sole for street use, making them more attractive to younger customers, who can’t necessarily afford to own real-deal Belgians. (A pair of Marphy slippers retails for just over $600.)
Milanese designer Massimo Alba introduced his own take on Belgians. “The house slipper is something you can step into and feel connected to the past, yet it remains modern. It’s effortless but full of character.” He retired the style at its height, though, possibly fearing overexposure of the style. “Part of the magic is in knowing that something was made for a moment.”
Newer entrants to the Belgian market have added their own minimalist twist: removing the trademark bows. Morjas, a Stockholm-based shoemaker, manufactures its structured and more affordably priced loafers in Spain and markets them toward the young creative class. Founder Henrik Berg credits versatility and exclusivity as part of the Belgians’ effect. “When you get a shoe that checks all the style boxes, it’s easy to see why more guys are choosing Belgian loafers over their sneakers.”
Last month, the London-based Baudoin & Lange opened a New York City store on Madison Avenue, housing its modern interpretation of the house slipper, the Sagan. Its version is perhaps the most tasteful of the new, bowless models, blending as it does three different styles: a Venetian Friulane, an Albert slipper, and the Belgian.
The brand’s Parisian founder, Allan Baudoin, started the brand in 2016 after he quit his marketing job in tech and had a chance encounter with master Turkish shoemaker Kasim Yldir. “They were making shoes by hand, with their knife, the old way,” he says. “Now I require the shoemakers I work with to do the same.” Anyone with an eye for craftsmanship can see that Baudoin’s shoes are as thoughtfully constructed as Belgians.
Like the Baudoin & Lange stores in London’s Burlington Arcade and Royal Exchange, and the location in St. Tropez, the New York shop is imbued with the same level of sophistication as the shoes themselves. It has vaulted ceilings and pistachio-hued walls appointed with Cole & Son murals, and it is undeniably more stylized than the Belgian Shoes boutique, which remains determinedly understated even after a renovation five years ago.
In fact, comparing Belgian Shoes and Baudoin & Lange gives a fairly good sense of how much—and how little—can change in 70 years. The shoes themselves aren’t all that different, but the Baudoins are clearly made for those who aspire to practicality and ease rather than frivolousness. Without bows, they also seem to signal a desire to move on from the past, if only slightly. But attention to detail, durability, and logo-free elegance are once again becoming valued in the wake of a long, dispiriting period of mass manufacturing and disposability. Like all classics, Belgians continue to evolve—bows and whistles not required.
Emilie Hawtin is the founder of women’s-tailoring brand Clementina. She lives in New York City
