In the resurgence of all things 1980s, from the miniskirt to grunge, there has been one notable exception - big hair. As a decade marker, it was paradigmatic, from Melanie Griffith's Working Girl bouffant to Margaret Thatcher and the helmet heads of New York social queens such as Susan Gutfreund and Blain Trump.
And yet, atop the T-shirt dresses over leggings that marched down the runways, atop the paper-bag pants (say it isn't so!) and severe shoulders were . . . slicked-down ponytails. Neat little updos. Bobs. Has fashion recognised a generational about-face? Have we head-butted our way through the glass ceiling?
Not exactly. It's just that the power base has shifted, literally: from the head to the feet. Instead of power hair, we have power shoes, made for power-walking. Not the kind you do for exercise, the power-walking you do for, well, world domination. The kind of walking you do in six-inch platforms; mega-wedges and majorly chunky, masterful heels.
"To be towering up in the air and be able to strut and stride around, that has great appeal," says Sally Mackereth, co-principal of architects Wells, Mackereth, who has a penchant for big shoes. "It changes the way you feel about yourself - height without vulnerability."
"They're an extension of your legs; they anchor you," says Solange Azagury-Partridge, the jeweller, who wears wedges and only wedges, and has been for the past 10 years. "I'm quite cross they're all the rage."
And they are. It's hard to find a designer who didn't do a wedge, a platform or a chunky heel for spring/summer, whether it's Chloé's towering wood block versions of the platform wedge; Prada's major snakeskin or steel moments; Yves Saint Laurent's "Dada", a gold or silver pump with just enough of a wedge sliced out to create an ultra-high heel; or Christian Dior's have-your-cake-and-eat-it-too ÂÂfloral fabric stiletto-cum-wedge - you name the brand, boom goes the shoe.
Hermès made thin-soled wedges in pink snakeskin and huge-soled woven wedges, not to mention some wooden ones; Gucci, voluptuous, vertiginous strappy platform sandals; and Chanel, a fun fabric-covered style. Meanwhile, brands such as Terry de Havilland and Biba which were known for their wedges during the last great heyday of the style (the 1960s and 70s) are enjoying a renaissance.
And it's a global phenomenon: in Italy, style-setting boutique 10 Corso Como is selling out of Chloé mega-wedges; in Spain, designers from Audley to Sinela have sinuous wood versions; and for the opening of Villa Moda Syria, Majed Al-Sabah's emporium to all things luxe, Sergio Rossi's Edmund Castillo-designed "Damasco", an open-toed platform pump in gold leather with a Perspex cone-shaped heel filled with gold flakes.
"It's a fusion of tradition and innovation, craftsmanship and fashion; it gives a fresh proportion to the sexy shoe, while the material makes it modern as opposed to retro," says Castillo.
His sentiment is echoed by Ferrucio Ferragamo, chief executive of Salvatore Ferragamo, the house credited with inventing the wedge when, in 1937, his father Salvatore replaced the steel plate traditionally used to support the arch with a big chunk of cork. "Inspiration doesn't mean replication," says Ferragamo, who this season has its own wedges and collaborated with designer Allegra Hicks on some platform versions.
"I went to the Ferragamo museum in Florence, saw the original wedges and it was just extraordinary," says Hicks. "I thought, I want to use those in my show, but cover them in my fabric." The resulting platform wedge sandals with thick straps come in big graphic prints and practically scream Capri.
The return of the wedge has been pending for a while. It made a reappearance a few years ago in the shape of a stealth-wedge: thin enough that from the back it resembled a stiletto, it was, in effect, a filled-in court shoe.
As the espadrille, a woven wedge, took off, shoes became gradually wedgier - Anya Hindmarch has been doing brisk business in them since 1998 - turning finally into the mega-platform of the moment which are very similar to those of late 1970s Donna Summer disco-rama.
And in that similarity lies the beginning of the explanation for the resurgence. Part of it is simple chronology: coming off the 1970s revival in fashion, moving into the 1980s, it is only natural that some of the styles of the bridge years pop up. Then there's the fact that the 80s was a bit irony-free - fashion was about a taunting in-your-face-femininity. The huge wedges restored a bit of humour to the equation.
And there's also the recognition that whatever the 1980s got wrong, they got their proportions right: if the middle is exposed, then either the top or the bottom has to be grounded. Hence instead of big hair, we get big shoes. Unlike big hair, which has a tendency to overshadow all erotic features underneath it, big shoes don't overwhelm your legs. "They really make a difference to the shape of your leg," says Hicks. "You can run around in a wedge and still have the elegance of a high heel."
In many ways platforms and wedges are comfort shoes, psychologically and physically.
"I might covet Gina shoes," says Mackereth," but working on building sites, I can't wear them. Turning up in stilettos would be like turning up in your nightie. Platforms and wedges turn you into a tower block on legs. But they're very comfortable because of their surface area. It's like wearing a flip flop with height."
"They're not overtly feminine but in a way this allows you to wear something very feminine, as they strike a nice balance," says Azagury-Partridge. "If I'd got my legs out, I'd feel too tarty in spindly shoes."
"They're not a sexy shoe, they're a woman's shoe," says Hicks. Wear them, and everyone will hear you roar.
Vanessa Friedman is the FT's fashion editor
NOW MAKE WAY FOR THE ANTI-WEDGE
Since every trend has its opposite, it was only logical that the return of the wedge should mark the return of the anti-wedge - which is not to say the flat. The anti-wedge, or “heel-less shoe”, is exactly that: a wedge shape where, instead of the chunk of cork/wood/leather, there is, rather, empty-space. A possibly even more complicated feat of engineering than its opposite, the anti-wedge was invented in 1979 by Manolo Blahnik.
Then known as “the Gruyere,” inspired by the heel-less styles of Caren Mirnada and Celia Cruz, and constructed from solid metal, the shoe looked good but wasn’t too easy to walk in, making it more sculpture than practical; ditto its 1999 sibling, the “Armadillo,” which made it into the Design Museum, but not too many closets.
All that has changed this season with Blahnik’s “Arunium” (pictured) - heel-less, yes, but made from titanium and studded leather with a foot-friendly flexible sole, the Arunium, which takes about six weeks to put together, was inspired by the architect Zaha Hadid’s work. “I tried to reproduce the feeling of compromise between past, present, and future; a really uncomfortable mix that I love,” says Blahnik. While the aesthetic may be chicly uncomfortable, the shoe isn’t; the Arunium has sold out in London and is on re-order. If wedges make you feel solidly anchored to the world, the anti-wedge gives you the illusion of floating magically above it.
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