"I don't believe in honest design," confesses high-concept cobbler Marloes ten Bhömer, who says that watching an old documentary about factory workers who glued together small bits of meat to create the illusion of a large rump steak inspired her vision to design things that look like something else. Thus, for her eponymous line, formerly called Hunt, she relishes in a sort of shodden fraud by creating "objects that surround the feet," but never resembling shoes. By OLIVIA NIWAGABA
Credit shouldn't all go to the meat factory as the 26-year-old has been rubbing avant-garde shoulders for some time. She spent her undergraduate years at the Arnhem Academy alongside experimental shoe designer Fredie Stevens, as well as Viktor & Rolf, then earned an MA in product design from London's Royal College of Art under the tutelage of renowned architect Ron Arad. Ten Bhömer went on to intern at Tod's, at Arad's recommendation, before collaborating on shoe projects for Alexander McQueen and Boudicca.
Ten Bhömer is all about abstraction, as if designing for Cubism's leading ladies. Who would know more about making an entrance than the subject in Duchamp's Nude Descending a Staircase? She's the type to step into anything from the designer's red leather mâché loafers, a technique ten Bhömer invented, to a vegetable-tanned leather assemblage of hand-molded pieces resembling bone and tissue, a figurative attempt at turning the foot inside out.
Other jaw-droppers include blue folded leather shoes reminiscent of a card house, a pair of extruded tarpaulin box shoes that pay tribute to Japanese tabi socks, a cross-sectioned pump with a cantilevered heel, and mules made of industrial carbon fiber, her favorite material, that look as though they could assemble themselves.
With objects like these, ten Bhömer is constantly asked whether she designs for pedestrian consumption or museum display, to which she's quick to reply that her sculptural shoes are indeed made for walking. But for a former ballerina from The Netherlands, the country of clogs, anything is wearable. "Clogs may not look like they can be worn," she says, "but if you're on a farm and a cow steps on your wooden shoe instead of your foot, a clog becomes very functional."
The last time a Scandinavian ballerina and her shoes caused a stir was in early 19th century Russia. After the legendary Marie Taglioni gave her last performance, her satin slippers were seized by the devoted, cooked for consumption and served with sauce. The balletomanes ate her shoes�and didn't die. The same sentiment can be boiled down to ten Bhömer's own outlook: "The world is boring enough as it is."
"I don't believe in honest design," confesses high-concept cobbler 
