Greatest shoe on earth

Every shoe has a story.

To truly know a man, the old saying goes, you must walk a mile in his shoes.

A nice thought, to be sure, but impractical - what if the shoes don't fit? - and probably unhygienic. Time-consuming as well.

Thankfully, the just-opened exhibition "Portraits of Shoes - Stories of Feet" demonstrates that there's much to be gained from simply putting those same shoes in glass cases and inviting the public to come and see.

The show, on view through August 20 at the Thailand Creative and Design Centre at the Emporium, as part of the ongoing La F?te French cultural programme, features more than 100 pairs of the world's finest footwear from the last four centuries.

Viewed as a whole, the formidable collection, on loan from the International Museum of Shoes in the French city of Romans, helps answer, among other questions, the one posed by curator Yves Sabourin:

"Why do women develop such an urge and desire to own one, then two, then a dozen and, for some, even hundreds of pairs in all sizes, shapes and colours?"

One short answer: because they're pretty. 

Dedicated shoe-lovers will find much to covet in "Portraits of Shoes", from sky-high satin pumps to elaborately embroidered silk slippers. In a gallery setting, the sculptural quality of the shoes comes to the forefront - the exhibition makes a convincing case that the best shoe designers practice real artistry.

But there's more going on in "Portraits of Shoes" than just aesthetic appreciation. What sets the exhibits apart from the Emporium's own shoe racks is that Sabourin and company seek to place footwear in a wider context.

The show examines the role of shoes as art objects, functional tools, commercial products and - most importantly - as cultural artefacts. A pair of shoes, Sabourin argues, can tell much about the woman who wears them and the culture that produced them.

When viewing "Portraits of Shoes" more fanciful attractions - Chanel heels shaped like lightbulbs, see-through sneakers - it can be easy to forget that for much of its history, the shoe served a wholly practical purpose: to help humans walk farther, faster.

As the exhibit explains, functionality, not looks, determined the form of early footwear. Shoes fit into their particular surroundings just as surely as they fit their owners' feet.

The heavy cloth moccasins on display allowed native North Americans to cover more ground when hunting in the frigid forests. At the other end of the spectrum, fishermen in humid southern China wore woven rice-straw sandals to keep their feet cool.

Shoes, we learn, evolved from these humble beginnings to meet functional demands of which earlier generations could never have dreamed.

The high platform of traditional Japanese geta sandals, for example, was designed to help women keep their kimonos off of muddy Kyoto streets.

As societies accumulated wealth, leisure became part of life. This allowed some shoemakers to prioritise aesthetics over durability. The exhibition includes delicate high-heeled silk shoes from the 18th century that men in the French court of King Louis XIV wore to signify that they did not have to perform manual labour.

Technological breakthroughs spurred changes in form, especially the invention of vulcanised rubber, which allowed the development of sneakers and new types of boots, represented here by a pair of Chanel rain boots that no doubt cost a pretty penny.

With today's manufacturing advances suggesta bold future for footwear If Chanel's Karl Lagerfeld can design pumps with heels made out of revolvers (Madonna wore a pair last year after separating from her husband), then surely the sky's the limit.

Chanel's gun shoe makes explicit another of "Portraits of Shoes" themes: footwear's historical relationship to shifting power dynamics between men and women.

Three-inch-long shoes from China illustrate how practices such as foot binding once impeded the mobility of women.

A traditional Korean shoe took an opposite tack to achieve similar means: the loose, turquoise, satin slipper would fall off if the wearer did anything but shuffle. According to the catalogue, the shoe is another "example of footwear over which the shoe-wearer has no control".

Given the common theme of limited mobility, it's tempting to draw a line from these shoes to the vertigo-inducing high heels of later periods. But Sabourin says high-heeled shoes, painful as they may be to wear, are actually a symbol of women's liberation.

Though it was the men at Versailles who originally popularised heels, the court's women quickly appropriated the style and used it as a weapon in the battle of the sexes.

As they moved around the palace, Sabourin writes, they'd raise the hem of their dresses, flashing their arched feet and driving the men wild.

The extra height that heels created, and the pleasing posture they encouraged, proved empowering to women and helped usher in a new perspective of sensuality.

As hemlines crept upwards in the 20th century, shoe heights followed them. One striking example is a skintight pair of calf-length boots from the 1920s meant to accentuate the wearer's shapely legs.

While women wear heels today in a variety of non-romantic contexts, the connotation of power remains.

 The word "stiletto" also means a long, thin dagger. While heels might not be quite as dangerous, "Portraits of Shoes" shows that they can still pack a punch.