Valentino makes beautiful shoes

Valentino makes beautiful shoes. Whether they hold up is another question entirely. Italian luxury footwear lives in that uncomfortable space between craft and ornament — stitched by hand in small workshops, yes, but often designed for the sort of life where a car collects you at the door. The Rockstud flats that defined a decade were never built for commuting. They were built to look good doing very little.

But some models do last. Not all of them, and not without care, but enough to justify the investment if you choose carefully. What separates them is construction. Valentino's dress shoes and sneakers are made in different factories with different priorities. The former tend to use Blake-stitched or cemented soles — lighter, more elegant, less repairable. The latter lean on Margom or Vibram rubber and reinforced heel counters. Neither approach is wrong, but one weathers daily wear far better than the other.

I have worn three pairs hard over the past two years. One is a write-off. The other two are still in rotation, and likely will be for another three. What follows is not a love letter. It is a practical accounting of what works, what does not, and why the distinction matters if you are spending north of £500 on a pair of shoes.

Rockstud Untitled Sneaker

The Untitled launched in 2022 as Valentino's attempt at a grown-up trainer — no studs, no logo gymnastics, just a low-profile leather sneaker with a cupsole and tonal laces. It looked like nothing, which was the point. Two years on, mine look like something: specifically, like a pair of shoes that have been worn three times a week and cleaned twice.

The upper is calfskin, not the coated stuff that chips. It creases where you would expect it to crease, at the vamp and along the flex point, but it has not cracked or split. The toe box holds its shape. There is a thin rubber rand that runs along the sole join, and that rand has kept moisture out through two London winters. The insole is still attached. This is rarer than it should be.

What has worn is the heel counter. It compresses after six months, which means the back of the shoe starts to fold inward when you slip them on without a shoehorn. I do not use a shoehorn. That is on me. The sole, a Margom unit with a slight wedge, has held up better than expected. The tread is still visible. The edges have scuffed, but they have not delaminated, which is what kills most cemented sneakers after a year.

These were £520 at launch. They are now £590. If you wear them in rotation and keep them clean, they will last three years minimum. If you wear them daily, eighteen months. The construction is there. The materials are honest. This is the Valentino shoe I would buy again.

Rockstud Pump, 100mm

I bought these knowing they would not last. Patent leather, a stiletto heel, and a pointed toe — this is occasion footwear, not daily armour. But I wore them anyway, because they were the only black heels I owned that did not look apologetic.

The studs are the problem. Not aesthetically — they are what they are — but structurally. Each one is a small metal pyramid held in place by a single prong that pierces the leather and folds flat on the underside. Over time, the prongs loosen. The studs do not fall off, but they shift. You can feel them click when you walk. One stud on the left shoe now sits at a slight angle. It is not noticeable unless you are looking, which means it is always noticeable to me.

The rest of the shoe has fared worse. The patent has cracked along the toe box where it flexes. The heel tip, which is plastic wrapped in a thin metal sleeve, wore down to nothing in four months. I had it replaced. It wore down again in three. The insole is glued, not stitched, and it has started to peel at the edges. The shoes still look good from two metres. Up close, they look tired.

I have worn them perhaps thirty times. They cost £850. That works out to £28 per wear, which is not ruinous, but it is not good either. These are shoes for a specific kind of evening, worn once and then put away. If that is your life, fine. It is not mine.

Open Sneaker

Valentino's Open is a chunky runner with an oversized sole and a mesh-and-leather upper. It is the least elegant shoe the house makes, and the most durable. Mine are two years old. They look two years old, but they are not falling apart.

The sole is Vibram, thick enough that you can feel the tread catch on pavement. It has worn evenly. The mesh has not torn, though it has stretched slightly around the eyelets. The leather panels, which are nubuck, have scuffed and darkened in places. I tried to clean them once with a suede brush. It did nothing. I have accepted this.

What has impressed me is the stitching. The upper is stitched to the midsole, not glued, and none of those stitches have popped. The laces are still the original laces. The heel counter, which is reinforced with something rigid, has not collapsed. These are not precious shoes. They are built like trail runners, and they wear like them.

They were £650. They are now £750. If you want a Valentino sneaker that will survive rotation with your Salomons and your Hokas, this is it. They will not age gracefully, but they will age.

A Note on Care

Valentino does not make work boots. Even the sturdiest models here are built for European city life, where pavements are smooth and cobblers are common. If you wear them hard, have them resoled before the sole wears through to the welt. If you wear them in rain, stuff them with newspaper and let them dry slowly. If you ignore them, they will punish you for it.

The shoes that last are the shoes you maintain. That is true at every price point, but it is especially true here, where repairs cost £80 and replacements cost £700. A tin of neutral cream and five minutes every few weeks will double the life of any leather shoe. It is not romantic, but neither is binning a pair of £600 trainers after a year.