Washington Post
July 28 2007
Old-World Craftsmanship In a Disposable Age
By Cecilia Kang
Sunday, July 29, 2007; Page F01
Children used to press their noses against the big window of John
Shafakian’s shop in downtown Bethesda. Inside, to the admiring eyes,
the cobbler would carve out new leather soles, hammer on fresh heels
and polish wingtips to a shine.
That was years ago.
Shafakian still puts his craft on display at Bethesda Shoe & Luggage
Repair but now racks of laces, shoehorns and cedar shoe trees block
the view. Hurried customers barely glance at Shafakian wielding his
knife and pliers in the sole-stained shop room.
"Something changed," Shafakian said. "Everyone got busy."
Indeed, much has changed at the Old Georgetown Road shop. For 21
years, Shafakian has repaired shoes for big names like Lynda Carter
and Sugar Ray Leonard and for scores of loyal customers. But those
customers have aged along with Shafakian and new, younger ones are
rare.
As an old-world cobbler, Shafakian is caught in the middle of a
massive economic shift that has flooded the shelves of big-box stores
such as Wal-Mart and Target with cheap imports and changed the way
people view footwear. Today consumers buy many pairs of shoes and
don’t expect them to last long.
"Footwear has become disposable," said Leon Nicholas, a principal
consultant for consumer goods and the retail industry at Global
Insight. "Who has the time and frankly the inclination to repair a
pair of shoes when that pair of shoes can be replaced for $10 at
Payless?"
In Shafakian’s view, lower prices means poor quality — a trend that
would seem like a boon to the shoe repair industry. Instead, the
shift poses new challenges. Economists say that cobblers, like those
who repair typewriters and watches, will likely fade away, their
skills becoming archaic in the fast-changing global economic
landscape.
"Some shoes are just two pieces of plastic glued together. I can’t
even fix that," said Shafakian, 55, lamenting the unsentimental and
poor workmanship of shoes coming from China.
The 55-year-old Turkish-Armenian immigrant learned his craft as a kid
in Istanbul, hanging out at shoemaker shops near the Grand Bazaar and
hoping to grab the attention of a willing mentor. After weeks of
bringing customers tea and coffee, he was handed his first knife and
taught how to assemble a shoe from scratch. He understood the
importance of natural materials and learned how to customize a shoe.
Few shoemakers exist in the United States anymore and footwear
factories have been shuttered, says Global Insight’s Nicholas.
Handmade imports are also a rarity, with shoemaking countries such as
Italy and Germany themselves importing cheaper goods from China and
other nations.
"The same pair of Sketchers I bought four years ago are cheaper today
by at least $15," Nicholas said. He expects average shoe prices to
decrease 1.4 percent this year and 0.4 percent next year.
Shafakian’s craft now only partly keeps him in business. He has
branched out into sales of luggage and shoe products. His shop is
crowded with suitcases and bags, shoe cushion inserts and polishes.
About half of his revenue comes from sales of merchandise.
"You have to try something different to keep this business going,"
Shafakian said.
The cost of running the shop increases every year. Rent has gone up
about 5 percent each year since Shafakian began business in the
850-square-feet shop.Materials are also more expensive: A box of
petroleum-based rubber soles has climbed to $12 from $5 because of
higher oil costs in the past year.
Among those who have gone out of business is Shafakian’s
brother-in-law, who shut down his shoe repair shop in Beltway Plaza
in Greenbelt last year.
Because the trade of shoemaking has become such a rarity around the
world, Shafakian has found it harder to hire skilled help. His
assistant is Oscar Ordonez, a third-generation shoemaker from
Honduras who came to the Washington region after a flood swept away
his shoe factory four years ago. It took years to find someone with
Ordonez’s skill, who could properly shape wood and leather soles and
delicately reassemble a broken stacked heel on a pair of $400 Dolce
& Gabbana pumps.
For now, Shafakian survives on his longtime customers. He has seen
them have children and grandchildren. He gets cards and photos of new
babies. An autographed pair of Sugar Ray Leonard’s boxing gloves hang
on his back wall.
Many of his customers are confounded by the idea of throwing away a
good pair of shoes.
Gail Povar, a physician in Silver Spring, has brought her shoes to
Shafakian since he opened the shop in 1986. She came in one recent
afternoon to pick up a pair of white leather Trotter sandals that
have been resoled for the third time in 17 years.
Povar is on her feet all day seeing patients in her general practice.
When she finds a pair of comfortable shoes, she will go to great
lengths to save and protect them.
"I get toe and heel taps on a good pair of new shoes right away,"
Povar said. "Some people might say it’s not worth spending $20 or $30
on new soles, but it is to me on a decent pair of shoes that I can
wear forever."
His customers are finding it harder to squeeze Shafakian’s services
into their busy schedule.
On a recent late Saturday morning Helena Dunn was rushing to pick up
resoled shoes on her way to meet her son and grandchildren visiting
from Monterey, Calif.
The Bethesda resident, who has been coming to Shafakian for 15 years,
responded with a hurried nod and brief smile when the cobbler greeted
her by name.
Yet the other values of coming to the shop weren’t lost on her.
"It is nice to have this kind of neighborhood store left," Dunn said,
admitting she’s part of a fading generation that also gets its
clothes tailored and mended.