Walking in Dad’s Shoes

From the moment I set eyes on my father’s Gucci loafers, it was love. Even as a toddler I recognized their magnificence. Italian craftsmanship at its finest: soft leather topped with gold horsebit detailing. Perfection. As the years went by I would observe, mesmerized, the ritualistic way in which Dad would meticulously polish, brush and clean his Guccis before setting them in a row. Black leather, brown suede, patent, navy. At least 10 pairs, each one well loved and worn but beautifully maintained. I also saw how he styled them. Elevating a Breton T-shirt, jeans and neck scarf with bare ankles and a loafer. Classic elegance when paired with a suit. The sound of the buckle clinking as he walked, now synonymous with my memory of him.

Since Dad passed away in 2014 he left some impossibly large shoes to fill. Metaphorically, you understand—he did not have big feet. But given that my size 35s often fall into the kids’ shoe category, they were never going to fit me. Nope, if I were ever to take a walk in Dad’s shoes, I was going to have to find a pair of Guccis of my own. And recently, a few weeks before my 30th birthday, it was decided that my moment had come. Tori, you shall go to the ball! My then-fiancé now-husband, Jamie, said, “Meet me at the Gucci store in half an hour.”

Trust us, you do not want to miss reading the rest of this story, here.