Inspired by the 15th-century Japanese tabi sock, the split-toe design was thought to promote balance by separating the big toe. Originally exclusive to the upper class, rubber soles were later added for outdoor activities. These shoes became known as jika-tabi and were worn by workers. Martin Margiela wanted footwear that gave the illusion of a bare foot resting on a heel. When it was time to create footwear for his first collection, no cobbler accepted his tabi design because the divided toe was too unconventional for traditional workshops. By an odd turn of fortune, Mr. Zagato, an Italian craftsman, expressed his interest in the tabi prototype over dinner.
In the finale of Margiela's debut show in 1988, models walked the runway with shoes dipped in red paint, leaving behind strange red marks, marks that hinted at movement but didn't quite belong. Little did he know that this runway moment would go on to unsettle and mesmerize the fashion industry for generations. In the exhibition “Footprint: The Tracks of Shoes in Fashion,” Margiela explained his choice, stating that he wanted the audience to notice the new footwear and posed the question, "What could be more evident than a footprint?" What began as a necessity soon became demand; the Tabi, born of constraint, evolved into an icon people couldn’t stop asking for.
To slip on a pair of Margiela Tabis is to opt into a particular niche. Some either absolutely love or utterly detest them—there's rarely an in-between. The Tabi isn’t an ordinary shoe, it is part human, part animal. Deers have cloven hooves, meaning their feet are split into two halves. The Tabi boots, owing to this very similarity in design, draw attention and confusion in equal measure. It's precisely this very capacity of the boots to unsettle and hypnotize that makes it what it is today: a sculptural form of rebellion that refuses to be normalized, no matter how many Instagram reels it infiltrates.
At first glance, Tabis might pass for regular boots, but a closer look reveals that they are anything but subtle, becoming a true centerpiece. The color options only contribute to the confusion: a beige leather pair might resemble bare, cloven hooves, leading to feelings of both repulsion and fascination. The shoe stands as one of the most perfect examples of the intersection of art and fashion. Consider this: those who wear Tabi boots tend to intellectualize their choice. This is fashion that invites interpretation, not just admiration. Wearing them in public, after all, is a commitment to enduring confused stares. You’re not just wearing shoes, you’re wearing an argument.
Of course, the Tabi didn’t remain underground forever. From people who pretend to know about fashion to men on Tinder who now steal a pair from their dates—it has clearly made its way into the mainstream. Its widespread popularity raises an important question: when outsiders adopt the icon of insiders, does it still hold the same rebellious weight?
Still, for many, Margiela’s Tabi holds an investment value and remains a badge of honor. Rooted in centuries-old tradition yet persistently futuristic, from a worker's shoe to every fashion student's dream, it acts as a contradiction in itself. Amid a fashion world driven by fleeting trends, the Tabi endures, not merely as a shoe but as a statement of intent.
So, to be or not Tabi? For those brave enough to straddle the line between elegance and the eerie, the answer is always yes!
