The Margiela Tabi: Fashion’s Most Famous Cult Shoe

Some fashion designs transcend trends and eras. Some change the way we perceive the object itself. The Margiela Tabi is one of these. With its signature split-toe hoof and classic calfskin leather, the original iteration inspires devotion, division, occasional shock and even disgust. Commonplace in fashion and art circles, it’s become the definitive cult accessory. The designer himself, famously reclusive, has called it “the most important footprint of [his] career.” 

The history of the Tabi begins far before Margiela dreamed up his cloven creation introduced at his 1988 debut. To understand where it comes from and how it fits into the designer’s body of work, you have to understand his sensibilities.

Margiela’s brilliance lay largely in his radical post-structural approach: his ability to take common existing items and deconstruct, reframe and reconceptualize them through tailoring, leaving the wearer questioning the object’s purpose and place. Take his porcelain waistcoat from his Fall/Winter 1989 Artisanal line. Crafted out of broken fine china, the garment forces a consideration of value, playing with concepts of constriction, comfort, fragility and use. 

The pinstripes on the pieces of his Spring/Summer 1992 collection—shown in a damp, abandoned pre-war Paris Metro Station, once a homeless shelter after Liberation—were likewise painted on the models’ bodies. Where does the work end and begin? Models were doused in red paint just before walking, leaving red split-toe Tabi prints throughout the station. Is it bizarre? Is it beautiful? 

The designer left the viewer feeling and thinking; complacency and clichés of glamour had no place in this world. The Tabi, much like interior construction made visible or sweaters baked over XXL dummies and transformed into oversized wearable sculpture (Spring/Summer ‘00), is rooted in a concept of luxury revitalized by deconstruction. 

The Tabi, too, forces a reconsideration of a historic design. The original tabi was birthed in 15th century Japan as a pair of cotton socks. Japan had just begun importing cotton, and a split-toe sock was designed to match traditional wood-and-leather thong sandals. The concept behind the split-toe was based on more than aesthetics. It was about balance and stability. 

At first, the tabi was solely available for the upper classes due to scarcity of cotton. Later on, tabis were color-coded by class, with the elite wearing purple and gold, common people almost always blue, and samurais taking their choice excluding the colors of the upper caste. In the 19th century, a pair of rubber-soled tabis, the jika-tabi, were invented by rubber tire manufacturer Tokujiro Ishibashi for outdoor laborers. Meaning “tabi that contact the ground,” the jika-tabi was durable and agile. 

This is the pair Margiela based his version on, seen in his first collection. He later told Geert Bruloot, his first buyer, that the shoe kept reappearing because there was no budget for a new form; the team repainted unsold boots from the 1988 collection in 1989 and 1990. 

Today, the Margiela Tabi has many iterations. It’s been referenced by Prada and Vetements. Within the house of Margiela, there is the original, heeled calfskin version. Then there is the Tabi Bianchetto, a simple canvas sneaker save the split-toe; the Tabi ballet flat; Tabi mary janes; and various Tabis for men. The latest offerings are something else. Take the new MMM x Reebok Instapump Fury Hi, which fuses Reebok’s Instapump with a heeled Tabi, both strange and futuristic. 

Of course, a piece of fashion is nothing if it is not lived in. The Tabi became a cult item not through creation alone, but through how it’s been worn on the street. We spoke to Margiela Tabi obsessives to hone in on the piece’s other, more personal history.