A Blend of Comfort and, Well, Comfort

-The New York Times: Business Section
-David Colman
-February 1, 2004

A Blend of Comfort and, Well, Comfort

Fashion writers, poor devils, are often hard-pressed for fresh adjectives — especially when it comes to shoes. Sandals are invariably strappy, stilettos spiky, mules flirty. They just don't trot out words like comfortable, sensible or orthopedic.

That would change fast if Dov Charney had his way; and it might be well if he doesn't. The 35-year-old owner of American Apparel, the Los-Angeles-based purveyor of refined basics like neatly cut, light cotton T-shirts and hooded sweatshirts, Mr. Charney is a strange hybrid: an impassioned advocate of plain clothing, and a perverse hipster who suggests that the pink terry-cloth coat he sells in his women's line would be eminently suitable for men.

These two aesthetics — the plain and the insane — do not often cross in the fashion world, but for Mr. Charney they overlap with a strange spark, on his own feet, via a pair of SAS shoes.

Basic, yes. High style, no. SAS shoes are the last word in something you don't hear much about: orthopedic chic. Not what you'd call pretty, SAS are solid, comfortable shoes, made in San Antonio since 1976. Their largest fan base, a company spokesman acknowledged, is older adults.

"They're good, high-quality, American comfort shoes," said Mr. Charney, who has been busy preparing to open stores in New York and Los Angeles in the next few months. He found the shoes a year ago in a shoe store in Little Tokyo in Los Angeles, and bought two pairs — a brown lace-up (the Amigo) and a loafer (the Alamo, shown) — then and there. "I love them," he said. "They're weird, they're Eisenhower, they're Florida."

He bristled when the term "orthopedic" was used. "That's your word," he said angrily, and asked a passing colleague, "Hey, what do you think of these shoes?"

"Hospital," came the terse reply.

Moving on, Mr. Charney said that what he really liked about SAS shoes was their anonymity. "There's none of this false tribalism," he said, referring to the way that sneaker manufacturers festoon their wares with all manner of high-tech decoration. The fact that SAS shoes are made in the United States, he said, lent notes of patriotism and reverse-snob appeal to their plain-Jane look.

He added that SAS, a private company which has grown by word-of-mouth rather than advertising, sends a strong message about its product. "All this stuff in the last 10 years about branding was really a false messaging system," he said. "What got lost was good product design. It became more about the brand. They were just selling atmosphere."

Of course, the look of comfort has made curious infroads into fashion; stylish companies like Tod's and Prada have taken the orthopedic polyurethane sole and turned it on its proverbial heel, a trend that has amused the folks down at SAS. "Our shoes look prettier for it," said an SAS spokesman, who asked that his name not be used. "But they're not pretty at all."

For any New Yroker in step with Mr. Charney's brand of off-road style, SAS shoes are sold, appropriately, far from the superhip Lower East Side (and American Apprel's next store). Tip Top Shoes, 72nd and Broadway, sells some SAS styles and will order any style you want; Amigo and Alamos will run you about $135.

Yes, the Upper West Side. Are you cool enough?