Summer in the Midwest, where I grew up, didn't really get going until June. By then it was warm enough to go barefoot and we would purposefully have to work on toughening up the soles of our feet to handle the hot pavement and the rough grass. All pavement gets hot, but in our kind of suburbs, people would "blacktop" their driveways which seemed to be an every-few-years paving process with this horrible-smelling black goop. I cannot imagine the toxins. It was like a competition for who could have the blackest drive and the greenest lawn. You needed really tough feet for that. We wore sneakers and sandals, too, but to be barefoot felt like freedom and summer itself.
The Chloe sandal to me is the closest thing you can get to being barefoot… a barely-there sandal. Something just for the sole of your foot with beautiful, criss-crossed straps wrapping around and ending in a little tie. Almost like jewelry for your ankle — the smallest bit of decoration. This style is known as a Grecian sandal and truly was one of the first shoes in history. Slaves in Ancient Greece went barefoot, but the next step up was a leather-soled sandal with ankle ties. Walk the halls of any major museum and you will see it over and over and over. In paintings, in sculptures, on gods, on mortals. Hermes even had a pair with wings. Art history aside… I don't need to tell you that they are timeless.
The Greekness of it all has got me thinking of Greece, the first and only time I've ever been there, and how much travel has changed in the forty years since. It is a silly thing to observe out loud: everything has changed and anyone who lives long enough can remember when times were different. But it is remarkable how being online, and visually online, has colored the way we experience the world. The comparison engine of Instagram has sucked us all in. The pressure of not just where to go… but what to do and where to eat and then what to eat once you get there. It is a whole different level of peer pressure.
This trip to Greece was in 1984 and I would consider it my first real adventure abroad. It was a leg on the tail end of my "European tour" with my older brother Chris after I graduated from college. After too long a hangout at his friend's Paris apartment, we got in a fight. The first in our eight weeks together. About what, I cannot remember, but it was big enough that I left town on my own to cool off. Another thing I cannot remember is how I sorted out the details… but within 24 hours I was on a flight to Athens, where I would spend the next week as the guest of my friend Dimitri from college, who was miraculously game for a surprise visit. (No raised eyebrows… I would give him a 9/10 on the gentleman scale.) We stayed out all night at the nightclubs in Athens, and then he took off work to generously give me a tour of the rest of his Greece. It was off-season and cold, with hardly any tourists, but the deserted feel somehow made it seem more exotic to me. We went to Santorini and another smaller island, where I remember nothing except just one open hotel, just one open taverna, and many, many stray cats.
This being March, I saw very few sandals, but my antenna was up to a degree I may never experience again. The entire trip was one long, intense observation. Greek coffee, Retsina, and lots of lemon potatoes. Aging, grey-headed women slamming octopus down on the rocks to tenderize them. A flight over the beautiful blue water in a tiny plane that may have cost $30 a ticket. I remember thinking that the islands below looked like God had thrown a handful of rocks down into the water and a few had floated on the surface. Greece was beautiful and a bit strange and exactly what I needed in that moment. I feel grateful that I got to go and just let Dimitri take the wheel without having to even consider where I was supposed to be eating or seeing or shopping.
I know that a trip in the 2020s can feel just as magical as a trip in the 1980s. And a well-planned trip can spark the same joy as a last-minute escape. But don't we all hold a little nostalgia for naïveté in our hearts? Maybe I sound like an old lady. But I really think that my ignorance of the place — of not having any pictures in my head beforehand — heightened the wonder I felt when I got there. A few days prior, I was angry and sad in Paris, and here I was seeing something wild and different with absolutely zero buildup or anticipation. No expectations, no disappointment. Just curiosity. I miss that.
A few weeks ago, I was walking with my dearest friend Daisy in Central Park. She remarked how lucky we were to grow up when we did. We spent our twenties together in New York with a wonder and a naïveté that is not really possible in the age of the internet. We'd walk all the way uptown, from Prince Street well past the Met, just to do it. We weren't sure where we'd eat when we got there — we just went. And we had a great time. Everyone is having this conversation right now: from the romantic 90s fever for American Love Story to Sofia Coppola explaining the freedom of growing up without camera phones to her 19-year-old daughter. I get it. I miss it too.
Of course, being prepared and informed is wonderful. I am constantly referencing Yolanda Edwards, who does this so well in the travel space because she knows that no one wants to waste their time. When you are visiting a new spot and you have only five days… that's 15 meals… you do not want to waste one of those in some mediocre spot. And nothing is worse than a sad hotel. But some of my favorite memories with Sid are when we were traveling and flying by the seat of our pants… which left space for the unexpected to show up and wow us. We didn't know what we didn't know, and we had more fun because of it.
Today I am not sure I have the same sense of adventure, or frankly, the freedom to go anywhere I want whenever I want. But what I do have is vastly improved packing skills. A minimal, Grecian wrap sandal is one of two pairs of shoes I travel with. For any warm destination, I will pack those and a pair of espadrilles (plus a pair of sneakers for exercise, which I am not counting) and I promise you that is it. I wrote about my carry-on-only packing list last summer so you can fact-check me on this. I love this sandal with a dress… I love it even more poking out of a trouser leg or roughed-up denim. The shape and geometry is just so beautiful: a delicate criss-cross over the foot that looks like it could have been drawn on like one of the paintings on the second floor of the Met. You can tie the straps in a big loopy bow or double-knot them with a neat little tuck. They are quite adaptable in this way. I had a hard time deciding on which color I wanted here. The gold is a must because it can translate to evening in the best way… but with khaki or denim it is unexpected and cool. I think the brown suede and the black are similarly chic, they just don't have the glamorous factor of the metallic. And the red is such a great zip of color. I think I could convince someone they needed three out of the four… a high-low sandal if there ever was one, equally good for a fancy evening out or a trip to the supermarket. The kind of style-maker I feel proud to have on our line. Maybe I can talk Sid into a last-minute trip to Greece so I can wear them in situ. And if I do — I will do my best to stamp out the internal, Instagram-induced pressure of optimizing the trip into oblivion and just try to relax and take the adventure as it comes.
