Careful with vintage shoes: what you should look out for when buying them

Some time ago, I discovered a pair of black vintage Prada ankle boots hidden under a clothes rail at a flea market. Probably from around the turn of the century. Stiletto heel, pointed front embroidered with floral ornaments. The leather looked flawless, the sole undamaged. The shoe fit perfectly. Dazzled and without haggling, I willingly handed over 100 francs to the elderly lady at the stand.

At the time, I was sure I’d made the purchase of a lifetime. Until the rubber caps on the heels crumbled away the second time I wore them, and I spent the rest of the day stumbling around on metal. But it’s not all bad. My trusted shoemaker fixed the problem for a tame 20 francs. No need to panic, then. If it weren’t for one other problem: the outsole also started to crumble. I took my dodgy find back to the repair shop for a resole and burnt another 50 francs. In return, the expert told me that vintage items – yes, even ones that have hardly been worn despite their age – often end up with her. How do shoes that were rarely used fall apart? Sounds weird at first, but it’s easy to explain.

Shrinking plasticisers and hydrolysis

Shoe soles are usually made of plastic, rubber or leather. The former two will inevitably lose flexibility over time and become brittle. In the case of rubber soles, this is usually due to the fact that the plasticisers in them gradually leech from the material. Synthetic soles, on the other hand, are often made of polyurethane. This material is very susceptible to hydrolysis. Put simply, this refers to a chemical compound being broken down by water. Hydrolysis is a natural ageing process that can’t be stopped, only delayed. You can protect your shoes from rain, but not from moisture in the air.

The fact is, the phenomenon of crumbling soles is more likely to occur with unworn shoes than with ones that are regularly used. One reason for this is that unused shoes are often stored in damp environments such as basements or garages – which promotes decay through hydrolysis. On the other hand, regular wear helps to keep the materials flexible. So, assuming that unworn vintage shoes are as good as new is a fallacy.

Test the sole, negotiate the price

The fact that ageing often isn’t visible from the outside makes it particularly difficult to assess the condition of used and especially vintage models – vintage meaning that something’s at least 20 years old. Bending the sole by hand a few times is a small flexibility test you should always carry out when buying second-hand shoes. Of course, this won’t be possible when shopping online. The most you can do here is write to the seller and follow up. In general, you should take into account when shopping that you’ll have to pay extra for any repairs. You can also use this argument in price negotiations.

Keep in mind that resoling may change the look of your shoe. In addition, it won’t always be possible to save your boots. In my case, it was ankle boots with thin soles. Those could be replaced without major changes. Shoes with a distinctive or functional sole, such as platform sandals or sneakers, are probably a more complicated undertaking.

Some vintage shoes are worth the risk

It’s difficult to estimate how long vintage shoes will last. From my own experience, all three that I bought in the last few years developed ailments after just a few weeks. The insoles of a pair of pumps came off the very first time I tried them on, and the rubber caps on the heels of my knee-high boots and ankle boots crumbled away within a very short space of time. At first I assumed I was just unlucky. Now I know better. However, I’ve had good experiences with newer second-hand shoes so far.

In future, I’ll give vintage shoes a wide berth. After all, getting them repaired costs time and money – if there’s anything to be saved at all. However, I don’t want to write them off completely. Some treasures from past decades are worth the risk and money. In the case of my Prada ankle boots, I’ve never regretted buying them. The shoes remain my favourite flea market find of all time. I’ll continue to wear them with pleasure – until they break. And I’ll keep bringing them to the workshop until my shoemaker thinks it’s time to let them go.