A Thing for Thongs

The shoe has always been quietly popular. But when Lily Pulitzer sportswear made a splashy comeback a couple of years ago, the Navajo came with it, charming a new generation.?

The renewed interest in the venerable Navajo had predictable retail consequences. Suddenly there were horrible knockoffs, some more expensive than the real Navajo, which is always $69.50. I tried on a dreadful rendition for $14 in an outlet store. And I examined a tarted-up version for $78 in a trendy clothing store that should know better.

The best place to acquire authentic Jack Rogers thong sandals is at Bob Baker Shoes on Fifth Avenue South in Naples. Brother and sister Kalie and Rob Baker now run the big emporium started by their grandfather in 1945 and presided over by their dad, Robert W., until he passed away on Valentine's Day. Bob Baker is the oldest all-women's shoe store in Naples. "My father used to pay us to pick up trim materials from the floor," remembers Kalie, the artist in the family. "A penny a sequin."

Today, Kalie uses sequins, paints, bits of buttery leather and fine fabric to customize shoes for women needing a pair to match a designer outfit. One of the house signatures is "mismatched" shoes. The color pattern for the left shoe is reversed for the right. The shoes match but are different. You can have it done to Navajos, too.

Rob, who handles the business end of running a top-quality shoe boutique, prefers to service out-of-state orders through a catalog rather than via the Internet. So many customers are regulars that Rob recognizes their voices when they call and can anticipate what they want. The store sells about 800 pairs of Navajo sandals every season.

"Women who buy one pair return for more," says Kalie, who owns 14. "Favorites are the all-white, the white-and-bone combination and the black patent crocodile. I wear crocs every day in the store. I'm always standing, and the Navajo is comfortable because the leather molds to the shape of the foot. And it stretches if your feet swell. About this time of year, women start phoning us from Michigan, Illinois, even Europe. They want their Jack Rogers Navajos sent to them right away. Luckily, here in Florida you can buy them year-round." Kalie says a pair of Navajos lasts about 10 years.

Grandfather Baker may have bought the first pair of Jack Rogers sandals manufactured, since he did business in Miami with the shoe's designer, Harry Rabin. There never was an actual Jack Rogers; Rabin made up the logo name because it sounded classy and informal. Navajo refers to the stitching on the sandal and maybe the circle design. The thong is made of soft flexible leather and has stitching detail on the insole and outsole (one way to tell an authentic pair). The half-inch stack heel ensures a nice leg line.

There's now a Navajo for children called Miss Jack Rogers. In this part of Florida, it's not unusual to see a chic grandmother, mom and little miss sauntering down the avenue in their matching sandals. There are about a dozen stock color combinations of the Navajo, and special orders are welcome at a $10 charge at Bob Baker. Custom orders, four to six weeks. Brand new this season: the Jack Rogers Navajo wide leather belt, which matches the shoe, for $69.50. You'll never stop at one.

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This is the saga of Martine Cronin, a Fort Myers designer who couldn't sketch worth a darn. Frustrated, she earned a merchandising degree at Florida State University and learned how to run a retail design business. She had apprenticed since age 15 at various stores in the Edison Mall. "Over the years, I opened and managed retail design businesses for other people, always discouraged that it wasn't mine," says 31-year-old Cronin. "But a designer with no art skills is necessarily limited."

Then through her brother Cronin met a metal artist and watched him craft a wrought-iron bed. "Suddenly, I saw my future," remembers Cronin. "I was a metal artist. I just had a feeling. I knew I could learn this art and I knew I would love it." She asked Jason Morgan if he would mentor her, and he did, teaching her how to cut, mold and color aluminum (her metal of choice). Her "graduation" was the Sunday afternoon during which she turned out three whimsical handbags from aluminum and spare parts she found in Morgan's studio. "Actually, Jason told me I wasn't going home until I made something original," she says. "Once I got past that hurdle, things began to fall into place."

Unknown to the artist, Cronin had started a trend. Her handbags ended up in one charity auction and then another. People began calling her.

Her sexy aluminum handbags-adorned with bits and pieces of industrial products-are now on view around town day and night on the area's most fashionable women. Shapes range from triangle to rectangle, while the handles and closures are made from objects as unpredictable as bathroom towel bars, coated cable, doorknobs, industrial chains, or that flexible tubing that's on the sprayer in your kitchen sink. The handbags are powder-coated so that the fresh colors and finish mimic the look of racy sports cars. Cronin, who lines her handbags with exquisite Japanese silk prints and bold solid colors, often carries a purple rectangle bag with a huge, chrome handle and a jewel lock. She can't walk a block without being stopped and asked where she got that incredible bag.

Her head-turning handbags come in eight shapes and six colors, including the most popular one, silver. Cronin's aluminum handbags are lightweight, durable and really fun to carry. Believe me, you will be noticed. Price range is $150 to $550 and almost no one can stop at just one bag. To start your own collection, contact Cronin at the Shell Factory (that's where her studio is) at 995-2141, ext. 151. One of her clients has nine of her handbags already. So you've got some catching up to do.

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Women don't walk in a Fin de Secolo outfit so much as they float or tenderly skim the ground. An observer catches a glimpse of a gracefully sexy, elfin femme. Lace, embroidery, ribbon, crystal beads, sequins, gossamer chiffon and slippery, shimmery silk and satin whirl together, creating couture clothes so alluring that when you're not wearing these clothes, you'll want to hang them on your bedroom wall. Fin de Secolo clothes are too lovely to ever imprison in a closet.

Best of all, these clothes aren't made just for starved, fragile, young-model types. They're designed with all shapes and sizes in mind by 42-year-old Gwedolyn Gleason. She's a size 12. Regal-tall with dreamy blue eyes and blond hair that cascades down to her kneecaps, Gleason is a sorceress with fabrics and trim. She waves her silks and you are a princess.

A graduate of the prestigious Fashion Institute of Technology, Gleason started out in New York designing sportswear with flair and was happily working away until one day she needed a delicate little jacket to throw over a dress she was wearing to a wedding. She fabricated a sheer little shrug (she calls it a sleevelet) and everyone who locked eyes on it wanted one right away. That was the dawning of Gleason's theory about three- and four-piece outfits that can be worn as an ensemble or paired with other things you already own. The designer began showing her work locally in October 2002. For many years she kept her primary residence in Greenwich Village and traveled to work in Italy for months at a time. But she has been coming to Naples, Fla., since 1987 to visit her parents and she made the move permanently in 1997, starting out in Marco Island and then settling in Naples in January.

Because silk takes dye so effectively, Fin de Secolo clothes can be ordered in any shade (or combinations of shades) a woman fancies. Once a client has selected a style, the article of clothing usually takes six weeks from measurement to delivery. Besides the basic wardrobe pieces, Gleason also designs a collection of flower-embellished organza hats (she sold many at the Kentucky Derby this year), belts, flower pins, handbags and more. Since each item is handmade, no two are ever alike. Shawls start at $200. A beaded camisole is about $275. A three-piece ensemble of camisole, skirt or pants and sleevelet starts at about $1,100 and escalates depending upon the complexity of surface ornamentation. Her sleevelets come in 40 different styles and are cut to be seamless, just one continuous piece of fabric. An opulent beaded sheer netting beauty is about $360.