Paraboot
The Quiet Luxury of French Craftsmanship
In Saint-Jean-de-Moirans, between Grenoble and the foothills of the Vercors mountains, the machines still hum. Thick leather, the rhythm of needles, the patience of hands — here, little has changed in over a century. It’s in this workshop in the French Alps that Paraboot continues to make most of its shoes. A rare fact in today’s world of fast-paced, outsourced fashion. No marketing noise, no inflated storytelling: founded by Rémy Richard in 1908, Paraboot has always preferred work over words.
This devotion to craft, this quiet precision — that’s the true art of French making. Paraboot doesn’t cling to heritage for the sake of nostalgia; it lives it. Each pair is stitched, assembled, and polished with almost monastic care. Full-grain leather, natural rubber soles, Norwegian-welted seams: every detail speaks of rain, of mountain paths, of lives built to last.
Roots that became iconic
From this culture of substance was born, in 1945, a model destined for legend: the Michael. Named after the founder’s son, it embodies the very idea of inheritance. Initially a work shoe — sturdy, honest, built to endure — it would soon take on another life: that of a cross-generational icon, bridging worlds.
From Alpine villages to the streets of Tokyo, the Michael has aged without aging. Its solid shape, thick sole and distinctive lace make it a cult object among style purists — architects, designers, collectors, and understated dressers alike. You’ll see it on Japanese students in reimagined uniforms, or on Parisian creatives in love with effortless luxury.
Fashion houses have reinterpreted it time and again: Aimé Leon Dore gave it a New York refinement, Beams and Nanamica turned it into a symbol of functional elegance, while Margaret Howell and Orslow integrated it naturally into everyday wardrobes. The Michael belongs everywhere — yet never looks like anyone else.
Japan, a land of reverence
While Paraboot remains a deeply French story, its aura extends far beyond. In Japan, it has achieved near-mythical status.
There, the Michael and the Chambord are treated almost like design studies. The Japanese reverence for craftsmanship, durability, and natural patina finds in Paraboot a perfect mirror. In magazines such as Clutch, Lightning or Popeye, the brand appears alongside Red Wing, Alden and Barbour — yet always stands apart, embodying that uniquely European restraint the Japanese call shibui: refined simplicity.
At Beams+, United Arrows or Journal Standard, Paraboots are styled with cropped chinos, Harrington jackets, or crisp Oxford shirts. The result is an effortless balance of tradition and modernity — a hand-crafted object adapted to modern life. In Japanese visual culture, Paraboot is to footwear what Leica is to photography: a tool of precision, made to last, to age, and to be passed down.
The elegance of authenticity
Wearing Paraboot means choosing substance over spectacle — comfort over compromise. In an age that replaces rather than repairs, the brand has established another rhythm: a French tempo, deliberate and exacting, made of repeated gestures, nourished leather, and resoled soles.
That may be the true modernity of Paraboot: refusing the chase for modernity itself. Still making shoes in France, at Saint-Jean-de-Moirans — not as a slogan, but as a conviction. Letting the material, the patina, and the memory of the hand speak for themselves. Offering, through a pair of shoes, a certain idea of style: rooted, lasting, sincere.
Everyday. Everything. Curated.
Because some brands don’t follow time — they shape it, at their own pace. Paraboot is one of them.
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