Shoemaking

A shoe is built around a last: a solid form, roughly foot-shaped but not foot-shaped, over which the upper is stretched and to which the sole is attached. Almost everything difficult about shoemaking follows from that. The last determines fit and shape, it is not a copy of a foot, and learning to read what a last will do to a foot is the part that takes longest and is discussed least.

The main division is how the sole is attached, and it determines the tools, the time and whether the shoe can be repaired. Cemented construction glues the sole to the upper: fastest, needs the least equipment, and is how most factory footwear is made. Goodyear welted stitches a welt to the upper and insole and then stitches the sole to the welt, which is slower, more expensive, and repairable more or less indefinitely. Blake stitched runs a single stitch through sole, insole and upper — sleeker, and it needs a machine most amateurs will not have. Hand welted is the traditional bespoke method, is the most demanding, and is what people usually mean by shoemaking as a craft.

What separates this from most crafts is the ratio of preparation to making. Pattern cutting from a last, clicking the leather, skiving the edges, closing the upper — the shoe exists as a flat problem for a long time before it exists as an object. Beginners consistently underestimate that half and then find the lasting, which is the dramatic part, is over in an evening.

First pair, realistically

40–80 hoursAnd it will not fit properly. This is normal.

The cost nobody mentions

Lasts, per shape and size

Start with

A kit, or a course

What actually decides fit

The last, not the measurements

1. 1

   Step 1: Do a course, or start from a kit

   This is the craft where self-teaching from scratch is least efficient. A weekend or week-long course puts a finished pair in your hands and — more importantly — lets somebody watch your hands and correct them. If a course is out of reach, a beginner kit supplying last, leather, pattern and instructions for one pair is the next best thing.

   You will know it worked when: A finished pair, and a sense of the whole sequence.

2. 2

   Step 2: Repair before you make

   Resoling, reheeling and patching are the fastest way to learn how a shoe is assembled, because taking one apart teaches more than reading about one. It also costs almost nothing and produces something useful immediately.

   You will know it worked when: You understand the construction from the inside.

3. 3

   Step 3: Make simple footwear first

   Moccasins, espadrilles or simple slip-ons have no welt, minimal lasting and few components. They are not lesser objects — they teach cutting, skiving and stitching without the whole difficulty of the craft arriving at once.

   You will know it worked when: Hand skills, on something you will actually wear.

4. 4

   Step 4: Buy lasts before you buy tools

   The inverse of most crafts, and correct here. The last determines what you can make and it is the constraint on everything else. Buy a pair for the style you actually want, in your size, and let the toolkit follow the work.

   You will know it worked when: Tools bought for a purpose rather than a catalogue.

5. 5

   Step 5: Accept that the first pair is a prototype

   It will fit imperfectly and the finish will be visibly amateur. Every maker’s first pair is. Making a trial upper in cheap leather or canvas first — a fitting shoe — is what professionals do, and it is the single practice that most improves an amateur’s second pair.

   You will know it worked when: Learning rather than disappointment.

• Lasts — Not a tool and the first purchase regardless. £60–£200 a pair, specific to a size and a style, and the object that determines what you are able to make. Everything else on this list is chosen to suit them.
• Lasting pincers — Wide-jawed pincers with a hammer face, used to pull the upper over the last and tack it down. There is no substitute and no way round the job.
• A skiving knife — Kept genuinely sharp, and sharpened far more often than beginners expect. A French or round knife is traditional; a good scalpel does more of the work than purists admit.
• Awls — A curved awl for welt stitching and a straight one for marking. Making holes in the right place at the right angle is most of hand welting.
• A stitching pony — A clamp that holds work while both hands sew. The difference between hand stitching being pleasant and being a wrestling match.
• Hammers and rasps — A shoemaker’s hammer for setting tacks and working leather down, and rasps and files for shaping heels and edges. Finishing consumes far more of these than construction does.
• What can wait — A stitching machine, a finishing wheel, a heel press. All are real time-savers and none is needed for a first several pairs, which is fortunate because together they cost more than everything above.

The order of operations is fixed and each stage constrains the next, which is why shoemaking rewards planning more than improvisation. What follows is the shape of the process rather than instructions for performing it — the hand skills in particular are a watching-and-doing subject, and no written description substitutes for somebody correcting your knife angle.

• Lasting the pattern — Taping the last, drawing the design on it, then flattening that into a two-dimensional pattern. This is a genuinely counterintuitive geometric problem and it is where most first-pair fit errors originate — long before any leather is cut.
• Clicking — Cutting the upper pieces from the hide. Leather is not uniform: it stretches differently along and across the back, and thins towards the belly. Where on the hide a piece is cut from decides how the finished shoe holds its shape.
• Skiving — Paring the edges of leather thin so seams do not build up bulk. Done with a very sharp knife at a shallow angle, and it is the operation most likely to ruin a cut piece and most likely to cut the maker.
• Closing — Stitching the upper together, by hand or on a machine. A domestic sewing machine will not do this — leather needs a walking foot and a heavier needle system — so hand stitching or a used industrial machine are the realistic options.
• Lasting the upper — Pulling the closed upper over the last and fixing it to the insole, working from toe and heel outwards, with pincers and tacks. Physically hard, satisfying, and the moment a flat object becomes a shoe.
• Welting and soling — Stitching the welt to the insole feather, then attaching the sole to the welt. This is where welted, blake and cemented construction diverge, and where the repairability of the finished shoe is decided.
• Finishing — Trimming, edge dressing, burnishing, heel building and polishing. Disproportionately responsible for whether the shoe looks amateur or not, and the stage beginners rush.

• Contact adhesives used in cemented construction are solvent-based and give off vapour that is genuinely unpleasant and worth taking seriously. Work with a window open or better ventilation, and follow the manufacturer’s own safety information — which is the specific advice for the specific product, and is more useful than anything general we could write.
• Sanding and rasping leather and sole material makes fine dust. It is worth a mask and extraction rather than a shrug, on the same general principle that applies to any fine dust generated in a small room over long sessions.
• Leather dyes and finishes vary widely in what they contain. Read the label on the specific product rather than assuming leatherwork chemicals are benign as a class.
• Nothing here is regulated for hobby use in the UK, and there is no governing body. That means the safety practices are craft practice rather than legal duty, and the responsibility for adopting them sits entirely with you.