By Kelly Nicholaides
Lucio Paiva, a 70-year-old Brazilian cobbler, hands over a mirror-shine, thigh-high, red stiletto boot. “You like?” he asks. “Maybe for Lady Gaga.” He heads to a back room of shelved, beaten leather goods. Balms, salves, and dyes from Brooklyn-based wholesaler, Kaufman Shoe Repair Supplies will be used to nourish, condition, and restore them.
A behemoth Made in the USA Master Finisher machine of dust extractors, grinders,
trimmers, sanders, buffers, shiners, and sole makers awakens with a switch and whirr. Under Lucio’s guiding hands and movements, faded and creased footwear reach their former glory. Cracks filled, wrinkles softened, pigment deepened. Engineer, western, and ankle boots. Oxfords. Pumps. Loafers. Sandals. All are well-worn and cherished. Lucio’s Shoe Repair at 148 Kearny Ave. specializes in leather goods’ transformation as an art form. In a throwaway age of fast fashion, those who value quality tend to pay more for materials and workmanship. They expect their footwear to last a decade or longer, with proper maintenance.
Independent shoe repair shops in the United States dwindled to 3,400 independent shops in the modern era, according to the Shoe Service Institute of America. The organization estimates that the shoe repair industry keeps 62 million pairs of shoes out of landfills annually. The trade has become artisanal, focused on high-end, luxury footwear, heirloom leather, and orthopedic modifications. Businesses carve a niche by promoting sustainability and longevity.
Fluent in Portuguese, sparse in English, Lucio talked to Kearny Life through a translator, his friend and loyal customer Ariosto “Vinny” Quinteros. Lucio says he worked as a bank teller, teacher, restaurateur, and factory worker in Brazil. In the latter, he assembled 500 pairs of sneakers daily for export to Europe and the United States. His sister still works there, producing about 2,000 sneakers a day.
Seeking opportunity, Lucio visited New York, perusing Manhattan and Queens with his love of artisan shoemaking influenced by his father. He returned to the Big Apple, emigrating with his fiancée in the 1980s. The couple lived in New York for 15 years. Self-taught in his trade, Lucio took over the Kearny shop from a Portuguese shoemaker 25 years ago. A portrait of Lucio’s mother-in-law’s family of Brazilian coffee farmers hangs in the shop where he also sells shoes and handbags.
“Mass-produced goods cannot compete with hand-made and durable shoes,” Lucio explains. “Not too many people do this type of work anymore. Today, people may buy and throw out 20 or 30 pairs of shoes. But some people believe it’s worth it to wear a handful or a dozen pairs of good shoes for a long time rather than buy cheap synthetics and trends.”
“Today’s shoes you may wear three years tops and they’re done,” Quinteros reflects. “The quality shoes people bring to Lucio, he restores to brand new. He loves to make
shoes, too.”
A customer is pleased with his re-healed Dingo motorcycle boots. A pair of 1970s Frye campus boots is re-soled and ready for pickup. Purse straps are reinforced. Belts are punched with extra holes to accommodate weight fluctuation. As Lucio finishes Gucci men’s dress shoes with a soft bristle brush, Maplewood resident Kenneth Paul arrives. He comes here for Lucio’s courteous service and attention to detail. “They’re gleaming,” he says, examining the polish and his re-soled Johnston & Murphy shoes.
Kearny resident Carlos Lopez walks in and presents Lucio with new Jessica Simpson
heels someone tossed in the garbage at his job. “Maybe you can sell them. They’re not my wife’s size,” he says as Lucio laughs.
