I still go into the workshop at 7 a.m. I probably work 10 or 11 hours a day. I do take a nap in between, though (laughs).

At the end of each workday, I always soak the soles of my shoes in a bucket of water. The moistened leather faithfully replicates the intricate contours of the soles of my feet. It's a bit of a hassle, but I believe that meaningful work shouldn't be skipped.

Speaking of tedious tasks, hammering is one of them. The hammer is one of the most important tools for making shoes. Just lasting isn't enough; the leather won't cooperate. You have to hammer and hammer to make it memorize the shape of the last. Doing this makes a huge difference in the appearance of the shoe.

The great thing about a small workshop is that everyone can be a pinch hitter. Just the other day, the finishing craftsman fell ill, so I spent the whole day battling with the hammer in his place. Yuka came into the workshop and laughed at me. "You always have such a fierce look on your face when you're swinging that hammer," she said (Yuka = Yuka Murase. Designer for Les Yuccas. She lives in Italy and is like mother and daughter to Bonafe. She accompanied him on this trip to Japan and served as his interpreter).



"The finishing process must be done by hand." "Of course. Each piece of leather has its own unique characteristics. If you want to understand those characteristics and finish the leather properly, a machine just can't do it. Only my hands can tame this leather."

Of course, the blind stitching is also done by hand. Just like with lasting, when it comes to reproducing the wooden mold accurately, there's a definite advantage to doing it by hand. And that's not all. Due to its structure, the blind stitching machine requires attaching a tape called a rib to the insole, which compromises flexibility.

That's not to say I'm completely against machines. If a machine is superior, I'll use it. That's why I use a sewing machine for the outsole stitching. It doesn't affect the comfort or appearance, and it also keeps costs down.

My hand-cutting style remains unchanged. Take crocodile leather, for example. While it's generally said that one can cut five pairs, I can cut six, so my prices are more modest compared to others. Why can I cut so many? Because I can instantly tell the condition of the leather. If I can cut the right material for the right purpose, I can use it without waste, right? This has been my sacred domain, but I'm thinking of handing it over to the next generation. There's a craftsman who's been doing lining for 18 years, and last week I told him I'd raise his salary if he took over this job.

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