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The perfect travel shoe is a unicorn among footwear. What may work for, say, a European city break isn’t necessarily going to feel comfortable when stepping off the plane in the Caribbean, not to mention that you’ll likely need something that easily slips on and off in the airport security line. Over the years I’ve tried everything, from sneakers to Birkenstocks to Chelsea boots—all of which have looked great in the airport but haven’t necessarily translated into my outfits on the other side of the flight. I finally found my perfect match, however, before a trip that combined both Mexico City and Tulum (destinations with starkly different vibes), and I found myself wearing them throughout every stage of the vacation, whether it be tripping around Frida Khalo’s Casa Azul, riding a bike through a Mayan ruin, or sitting at a beach bar until 2 a.m. They’ve been a permanent fixture on my packing list ever since.
Handmade in Turkey, Sabah slippers are modeled after a traditional Turkish shoe that has mostly fallen out of fashion in recent years, but possess a distinctly New York twist thanks to the brand’s founder Mickey Ashmore. The origin story is simple: Ashmore fell so in love with the style of shoe after being gifted a pair while living in Istanbul back in 2010, that when they wore thin from too much wear he tracked down a man named Orhan, one of the last traditional shoemakers in Gaziantep, a region near Turkey's Syrian border, to get them repaired. The pair swapped numbers and from there a collaboration was born.
Over a decade later, and you can now buy Sabah slippers in a whole host of different colors, all made from butter soft leather. My pair are leopard print, but you can find them in jewel-like shades of Palma Green, Felli Red, and Phoenician Purple. There are suede versions, too, including a rose pink and a desert shade called Teton Yellow; plus a glamorous metallic gold that would dress up any outfit in the place of heels. There’s also an additional Baba style, which is more like a mule and comes in even more colors and patterns, some with a snug shearling lining. But regardless of the color or the style, each shoe comes to life in the same way: hand stitched by one of the 10 shoemakers who comprise the Sabah Workshop in Gaziantep. Look closely at a pair and you’ll notice the initials of the person who made them written delicately with a ballpoint pen on the inside.
As much as I’ve been lusting after new colors, it’s been hard to justify purchasing another pair given how incredibly durable they are. After six years of ownership, my pair is completely intact with the exception of the color, which is slightly fading in a way that, if anything, has only made them look better. My Sabah shoes have survived torrential rain storms on that aforementioned Mexico trip, pounded the pavement in Paris, gone dancing in Medellín, been chucked in the sand in Montauk, and, of course, walked up and down the inconceivably steep hills of Istanbul, just as they were intended to be. The more I wear them, the better they fit, molding to my feet like a glove—almost as if they were designed just for me.