🎶 Artists in the Wild (4): Meet Châu Quỳnh Lê, Shoe Designer
On swing dance love, sustainable fashion, bogus leather, and happy feet
Meeting people from diverse backgrounds is one of the most rewarding aspects of traveling to me. Especially when they’re changing the world with their hands and minds.
🎶 Artists in the Wild is an interview series with the creative people I run into on my journeys. This is episode #4.
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🖇️ Scroll to the end of this newsletter for information on my presentation next Monday, with a 40% off coupon for writers experiencing financial hardship.
Meet Châu Quỳnh Lê, Shoe Designer
The woman whose love for swing dance inspired her to handcraft sustainable leather shoes in Vietnam.
This Saturday, March 8th, is International Women’s Day. I take this as an opportunity to spotlight a woman in Vietnam I admire.
In previous episodes of Artists in the Wild, I asked people seven questions about their practice and life. This time, the formula is different because I already interviewed Châu on a previous occasion.
The travel website She Wanderful published my essay on Châu, but only a truncated version. They preferred a brief, clean profile. But Châu and I liked the longer, original piece better, because it includes telling details about how we met, life in Hội An, and the actual process of making handcrafted leather shoes.
Today, I’m publishing the Author’s Cut.
From Speakeasy to Bespoke: One Woman’s Journey toward Happy Feet
I first met Châu Quỳnh Lê in May 2020 in Hội An, a charming UNESCO-protected coastal town in central Vietnam. We were having dinner on neighboring outdoor tables in the excellent restaurant of a communal friend just after Vietnam’s first national COVID-19 lockdown.
Born in 1993 in nearby Đà Nẵng, Châu lived in Hội An, where I was happily stuck. I’d arrived five days before the borders closed in early March on a one-month tourist visa that the government, lenient to stranded nomads like me, kept renewing each month. While the world shut down, we lived more or less freely. It seemed Vietnam might escape the pandemic.
Under rustling palms facing a pond, Châu spoke about her business in making bespoke leather shoes and showed off the two-toned pair on her feet. I was impressed, by the gorgeous shoes and her stance against the wasteful fast-fashion industry.
“Has this been your dream,” I asked, “to become a sustainable shoe designer?”
She laughed. “Not really.”
“So what happened?”
“Shop owners called my feet difficult. I called them unique.” Châu Quỳnh Lê
She told me her love story with Lindy Hop and how the dance, originating from the African-American communities in 1930s Harlem, a time of speakeasies and the Great Depression, had travelled all the way to Vietnam. As a student in Ho Chi Minh City, she heard her first swing dance rhythms in the popular venue La Habana on a Sunday afternoon. She’d never liked dancing before, but the music’s energy captivated her that day. Happiness radiated from the dancers, and she couldn’t resist joining them on the floor. Swing dance has been a source of joy for her ever since.
But there was one problem: Châu didn’t have the right footwear for a high-impact dance such as Lindy Hop. Her joints often ached after an evening of fun. Because her left foot was almost a size bigger than her right and wider than any shoe off the rack could accommodate, she’d never worn comfortable shoes.
“Shop owners called my feet difficult,” Châu said. “I called them unique.”
One night after several swingouts, her feet hurt so badly that she had to stop dancing and decided something had to change.
Hội An, famous for its tailors and shoemakers
Châu researched shoe design, drew an ideal pair, and had them custom-made. Hội An, after all, was famous for its tailors and shoemakers. From as early as the 16th century, Asian and European merchants had sailed down the Thu Bon River, bringing their fabrics in for trade and hiring local artisans to handcraft clothes and shoes. To this day, craftspeople in over 600 tailor shops lure tourists to their town.
After several unsuccessful attempts with different shoemakers, she established a professional relationship with Sĩ Nguyễn, who was up for a challenge. Together they designed a pair she wore with delight at the next swing dance event. Other dancers were enthralled. They, too, wanted to experience what it felt like to dance on perfectly fitting shoes.
On New Year’s Eve 2018 an idea arose: Why not help other dancers by selling shoes? Châu, who studied International Economics at the Vietnam National University in Ho Chi Minh City, launched her brand not long after: Swing Love was born.
Traipsing Through Towns
At the time, I stowed her story away like a squirrel stores a nut. Upon my return in Hội An in the spring of 2023, Daniel and I rented a house near the beach, and I searched out Châu. How was she and her business doing?
We spoke over several evenings at her favorite restaurants in the picturesque old quarter, enjoying Vietnamese specialties such as bánh xèo (savory rice pancakes), canh chua (sweet and sour soup), and iced coconut coffee. Meals are windows in which you can talk.
Swing Love sales had been slow during the pandemic, due to cancelled social events where she would normally promote her shoes. And manufacturing had been challenging, due to delayed supplies. But Châu and her master shoemaker Sĩ had taken this time to experiment with new models and enhance their production quality. As a result, Swing Love had experienced significant growth in the last year.
The story was out: People from Singapore to France ordered her vintage-looking yet brand-new shoes through the website. A video tutorial online showed potential customers how to properly measure their feet, so Swing Love could make bespoke leather shoes long-distance. And not only for dancers. When shoes are comfortable and durable enough for a night of high-impact Lindy Hopping, they’re also great for traipsing through towns.
Tuxedo Junction
One night, Châu threw a party for Swing Love customers at her home and urged me to come. I bicycled inward from the coast to the tranquil Trà Quế island where she lived among the greenness of organic herbs. The party fell at the tail end of a grand-scale swing dance event, which had brought many of her international clients to town. Some forty people gathered, wearing Swing Love shoes or entire swing outfits that swished and flared as though alive.
To the beat of Tuxedo Junction by Erskine Hawkins the participants came striding down the makeshift catwalk that led from the living room into the blooming garden and up the winding stone path to the kitchen, where onlookers like me savored the unputdownable spring rolls Châu’s mother had prepared for the occasion. The participants moved shyly at first, but the rhythm was possessive, and soon they were dancing, proudly showing off their shoes in honor of the Swing Love team. It was as though they were pulling the energy straight out of the earth with their steps and releasing it into the evening air.
Bogus Leather
Later that night, when things calmed down and mangoes nodded their soft yellow heads in the branches above, I asked Châu, “How do your shoes differ from other custom-made shoes in Hội An?”
She liked that question. For one, Sĩ didn’t use standard lasts (wooden or plastic models of feet). He used a special design that was modified for each pair of shoes to guarantee a tailored fit. He also made hand-stacked leather heels and outsoles, instead of gluing on cheap premade alternatives, and he put in thicker insoles for extra arch support. Finally, the quality of Swing Love’s leather was higher.
I was shocked to learn that the label “genuine leather,” which I had seen printed on pretty much all my shoes made in Italy or Spain, and which I had naïvely taken as an indication of quality, denoted the worst grade of leather. The stuff consists of little scraps of leather mixed with other materials, so bogus leather would be a more accurate term. Châu obtained the material for her uppers from the surplus produced for luxury brands.
“I cannot buy the highest quality leather directly,” she explained. “My order is too small. But I can purchase reserves. When Chanel, for example, orders a particular type of leather, the manufacturer will overproduce to guarantee they can deliver the promised goods in time in case part of the order fails. The leftover leather is sold to smaller producers like me.”
“Most people understand that custom design is nice, but that custom fit is most important. Above all, you want your feet to be happy.” Châu Quỳnh Lê
Giving Back
The Swing Love website offers classic designs such as brogues, closed-toe sandals, and ankle boots. Most customers opt for an existing model with minor modifications, such as a change of color. Châu does, however, invite clients to submit their own designs.
“No one has yet demanded the impossible?” I asked.
She laughed and shook her head. “Most people understand that custom design is nice, but that custom fit is most important. Above all, you want your feet to be happy.”
And happy feet should be attainable for all. Although her profit margin remains minor, and she seems on the fence about raising her fees, she has set up what she calls the Lindy Circle Program. Inspired by the Harlem roots of swing dance and the desire to give back to the Swing dance community that supports her, she offers dancers with limited funds a discount. For every pair of Swing Love shoes sold, she sets aside a percentage of the profits to finance the program.
“No one should have to dance with sore feet,” she said.
Shoemaking Magic
On a sweltering July afternoon, I left my breezy beach house and bicycled to Hội An’s old quarter. Rice paddies sprouted their second growth of the year, bright like neon green. I was on my way to meet Sĩ Nguyễn and witness his shoemaking magic. I pedaled past the polyglot architecture that mesmerized me each time anew: dragon-fronted temples, ornate Chinese assembly halls, stately Japanese roofs. And between them the simple yet attractive ocher-washed shophouses festooned with silk lanterns.
Châu, also on a bicycle, led me down a maze of alleyways to a modest one-story cement house where Sĩ had built his workshop in the back. Shelves loaded with colorful rolls of leather took up one wall of the open-air structure and racks of shoe lasts in cubbyholes took up another. Above the sewing machine a row of old cell phones hang attached to the board as though on display in a museum. The place smelled predictably of shoe polish and glue.
Sĩ (born in 1984) warily welcomed me with a handshake. His mustache, so thin it seemed penciled, curled on his lip. He was a lean man in jean shorts, a black Swing Love T-shirt, and plastic sandals. Raised on the nearby Cham islands, where his mother provided for the family after his fisherman father suffered a paralyzing accident at sea, he came to Hội An at age sixteen to attend high school. He arrived with a sack of rice and the equivalent of two dollars in his pocket.
Châu translated Sĩ’s words for me while he spoke from a low red plastic stool, like the ones used at street food stalls. I was offered a nearby plastic chair in the shade of the corrugated iron roof. He apologized for getting on with his work: He had received an order from a local merchant in the early afternoon and was expected to deliver a pair of black leather shoes by sunset. It was the type of job he liked the least, a rush job where quality is sacrificed to keep the costs low.
“Most tourists want fast and cheap,” he said. “It breaks my heart.”
He pulled the leather uppers he had already finished tightly over the lasts and tacked them into place. The lasts force the stiff material into the shape of a foot. Normally, the uppers stay on for at least 24 hours, yet not every customer wants to wait that long.
Made to Survive
Sĩ is a dedicated shoemaker with twenty years of experience. He has labored as an unpaid apprentice for several workshops in Ho Chi Minh City before becoming an independent master in Hội An. He had disliked performing only one task, working non-stop in a competitive environment, and never seeing the finished product. Now he’s involved with every step of the process, from cutting the leather to stitching the uppers, making the soles, and joining the two together, which is the most challenging part of the job. Handcrafting a pair of bespoke leather shoes for Swing Love takes him about 18 hours, not counting the time the uppers stay on the lasts.
“Our shoes are not only made to measure. They’re made to survive,” Sĩ said.
There’s No Profession That Isn’t Noble
Sĩ excused himself and retreated to the back where he machine-sanded the heels. Dust clouds blew around his head. He brought the shoes close to his face, examining them like a jeweler would his stones.
In a busy month, when Swing Love receives an order a day, he collaborates with another expert shoemaker who specializes in uppers, so Sĩ can focus on the soles—it’s where he shines.
Back on his red plastic stool, he smeared glue on the soles with a toothbrush. A chemical scent permeated the air.
“Where do you see yourself in the future?” I asked.
“I want to keep learning new things,” he replied. “Explore new possibilities. There’s always room to improve my skills.”
Swing Love recently started a collaboration with a group of Thai artisans from the Nghe An province who make handwoven brocades and plant-dyed cotton. When Swing Love used one of their fabrics to spice up a design, the new model became a sold-out success.
Châu added, “We want to showcase Vietnamese elements, contribute to the preservation and appreciation of our cultural heritage.”
Near sunset, the local merchant came to pick up the black shoes Sĩ had just finished. The exchange took less than a minute and afterward, Sĩ visibly relaxed.
“Do you mind if I smoke?” he asked.
We were in the open air. In his workshop. And I didn’t mind. Silence rested upon the moment like calm on a lake.
In the waning light, Châu told me he had been touched at the Swing Love Party for seeing so many content customers dancing happily on his shoes. It made him proud of what he did, what he and Châu were accomplishing together.
“There’s no profession that isn’t noble,” he said, blowing out cigarette smoke. “You can make any profession noble by giving the work the love and attention it deserves.”
Our Feet Support Us: They deserve to be treated with care.
I resisted the urge to order a pair of bespoke leather shoes there and then. It was too hot. I hadn’t worn anything but flip flops for the past three months. I was running around barefoot at home, and would soon be traveling into the hot and rainy South-Korean summer, carrying everything I had with me on my back.
Then again, I imagined returning to Hội An next year with a pair of tailor-made shoes waiting for me upon arrival. What spells home better for a nomad like me than a soft cradle for my wandering feet?
“Our feet support us,” Châu said. “They provide balance and stability in our life. They deserve to be treated with care.”
More about Châu Quỳnh Lê
Find out more about Châu and her shoes on the Swing Love’s website. And don’t forget to order a pair of shoes!
You can also follow Châu on Instagram and Facebook or spread the word about Swing Love by sharing this essay with others. More readers means more attention for Châu’s shoes, and the whole world deserves happy feet.
Most photos in this essay are by Hiếu Minh Lê, who is also on Instagram.
Author News
In case you missed it last week: This Monday, March 10th, I will give a presentation for the HerStories Project Incubator.
This is a 4-week community writing experience designed for midlife women who want to write together, meet one another, join online workshops (such as mine), and learn a lot in the process.
My presentation: The Writer as Character: How to Craft Narrators Readers Trust.
I’ll discuss:
how a personal essay differs from a diary entry or piece of reportage
what a narrative persona is and why a personal essay needs one
how to create a narrative persona that best serves your story
what writers can do to establish trust and make their stories resonate
how the tools of a novelist can help bring a narrative persona to life
If you’d like to participate, you can sign up for the 4-week experience and also join presentations on (for example) Writing Op-Eds that Spark Change, Writing about Trauma, and Writing about Family. There are 10 presentations in total, and you can join them in person or watch the recordings later.
🖇️ If you are a writer experiencing financial hardship, please don't hesitate to use the discount code "40OFF" to receive 40% off the cost of the incubator.
If you sign up through this link, part of the fee will flow back to me.
I hope to meet some of you online!
Related Posts
Time to Say Goodbye
In two days, Daniel and I will leave the Galápagos and fly to Medellín, Colombia. I have by far not shared all there is to tell about these wonderful faraway islands and their fascinating inhabitants, and I’ll probably post more stories about our time here in the months to come. For now, I have this for you: a lava gull wondering why it’s wearing a monitoring ankle bracelet, and a heron pretending to stare into the far distance while secretly hunting for fish.
All my best,
Claire
P.S. Am I becoming a birder?
