"A Mistake With a Receipt Is Still a Mistake," Says Mirela Sund
Mirela Sund finds the planned flaw in Mateo Rincón's new derby in four minutes, then the one he never planned, and rules on whether choosing a mistake makes it something else.
The left shoe is in my hand before Mateo Rincón has finished his coffee. Oxblood calfskin derby. 1,950,000 pesos. A rooftop in Laureles at 7:40 in the morning, the sun still low enough to light every scratch. I like to see the truth early, before it has time to get dressed.
Every Rincón pair carries one flaw, on purpose. This is the entire business. Buyers hunt for it the way guests hunt for the ring in a cake.
I find it in four minutes. The fourth eyelet on the right shoe sits two millimetres off the line, one small drunk among sober soldiers. Rincón watches me find it with the face of a magician whose trick was guessed by the first person in the front row. The record, he says, is ninety seconds. I say the record holder had less to look at.
Is it a mistake? A mistake is something the maker would undo. He would not undo this. So it is an opinion, delivered in the shape of an eyelet. The idea has a pleasant smell. A tailor leaves one thread long to remind you that hands exist. I am told hands exist. I have seen them.
Then I walk down the stairwell to the street. Six stone steps, a landing, and the left shoe squeaks. Not on every step. Only on the landing, one high note, like a hinge being given bad news.
I take the shoe off. The lining has bled. My pale grey sock is now the colour of boiled ham. Rincón had not planned this and his face says so. I have watched him try on several faces this morning and this is the only one that fit.
So here is the ruling. The eyelet is a decision, and decisions are the only things worth reviewing. It is crooked with intent, and intent is scarcer than leather. The squeak and the dye are accidents. Accidents are honest, but honesty is not a feature at 1,950,000 pesos.
A chosen flaw has one condition. Everything around it must be flawless. One wrong note needs a quiet room. Rincón's room has a hinge in it.
Verdict: the eyelet is a signature. The squeak is also a signature, he just did not sign it. Wear the right shoe in the sun and keep the left in a drawer.
He asks whether he may have the sock back. I tell him the sock is the only piece of the collection I would keep.
