L'HISTOIRE
Silk dancing shoes of the 1800s, made by hand again, one pair at a time, between Paris and Tuscany.
Souliers Dulion began with a pair of silk dancing slippers from the 1830s, discovered by chance at a Paris flea market.
The original pair : Souliers de bal, silk, wooden heel, c. 1830. Found at the Puces de Vanves, Paris. Souliers Dulion archive.
In the 19th century, women's attire included delicate silk dancing shoes, typically in soft shades like ivory, blush, or pale blue. The construction was minimal to allow for agility on the dance floor: thin leather or fabric soles, modest heels, or often flats. They were usually adorned with decorative touches such as rosettes, bows, or embroidery, sometimes with tiny beads or sequins for added shimmer under candlelight. A soirée was among the most important social events, and it revolved around dancing. The dances were intricate and could run late into the morning, as much performance as pleasure: to move through them well and to be dressed for the part was to show command of an elaborate social code. It was on that floor, between one partner and the next, that matches were made, and a woman's grace counted for as much as her name.
Women's silk satin shoes, Great Britain, c. 1830s. Victoria and Albert Museum, London.
No one influenced that taste more than Marie-Antoinette. At Versailles in the closing decades of the 18th century, she treated shoes as almost no one had before her. She is said to have kept enough shoes and gowns to fill three rooms, and to have taken delivery of new pairs almost every week. Her slippers were tiny, the surviving examples barely a modern size 36½, and exquisite: silk and fine leather in sugared pastels, trimmed with pleated ribbon, beads, and the occasional shimmer of sequins. These were court shoes made for measured steps of palace etiquette, the famous "Versailles glide," rather than for distance. That delicacy became their signature.
One of the rare surviving Marie-Antoinette souliers
A generation later, the Empress Joséphine carried that love of beautiful shoes into a new century, and a new silhouette. As Napoleon's consort, she inherited Marie-Antoinette's role as France's trendsetter, and it fell to her to coax the country's luxury workshops back to life after the Revolution. Gone were the heeled, buckled court shoes; the Empire fashion she led called for high-waisted, neoclassical gowns worn over flat, whisper-thin silk slippers. Pale, ribbon-tied, and finished with gros-grain trim, these were true dancing slippers: so finely made that a lady could dance clean through a pair in a single evening. It is this dancing shoe, graceful and made to move in, that Dulion has set out to revive.
Joséphine de Beauharnais dans son salon à Malmaison, François Gérard (1801)
Etude de femme d'après nature, Marie-Denise Villers (1802)
Two details run through it all, and every Soulier still carries them. The first is the rosette, a ribbon coiled into the shape of a rose - one of the oldest flourishes in European footwear. In the 17th century, these silk-and-lace roses were so elaborate and precious that they were collected as ornaments. The buckle overtook them for much of the 18th century, but once the Revolution swept opulent buckles aside, the soft rosette returned to the flat dancing slippers of the early 1800s and bloomed again on the evening shoes of the Napoleonic and Victorian era.
Intérieur d'un atelier de canut, Balthazar Alexis, 19th century
The second is the silk. France's romance with it began in the 16th century, when François I granted Lyon the right to weave silk and the city rose to become the capital of the European trade. By the 1700s, the Lyonnais workshops, the Grande Fabrique, clothed the court of Versailles and set the fashions of Europe. Marie-Antoinette and the women around her favored silks in pale blues and blush pinks; blue, the hardest shade to dye and to hold, became a mark of nobility, and the same delicate silks lined the dancing slippers of the age. That craft never vanished: French ateliers still weave by hand for the great couture houses and for the restoration of historic textiles, the living tradition we draw on for every Soulier.
Our silk is woven in France by Veraseta, a family-run mill in Charlieu that has been in operation since the early 20th century. While most brands opt for polyester to reduce costs, we insist on authentic silk. This is partly for historical accuracy, but mostly for quality. Silk breathes, keeping feet cool, and it grows softer and more beautiful with age. Our silk is also treated to withstand light rain.
ANATOMY OF THE SOULIERS
We’ve made our Souliers as close to the original design as possible. That includes the wooden heel, which sounds the same as it did two hundred years ago. The only modern addition is a hidden padded insole, making the shoe comfortable enough for all-day wear. Unlike the original Souliers that wore out quickly, our soles are built to last. In the 19th century, silk slippers were often made to be worn just once.
Each pair is a collaboration between two important regions. The design begins in Paris, at the Bourgine atelier near the Luxembourg Gardens, where a team of women sews each rosette. The shoes are then assembled in a small family-run workshop in Tuscany, resting on the shoulders of generations of shoemaking. Each pair is cut and made to order, passing through only a few skilled hands, using the highest-quality components.
POISE
There is a unique duality within our Souliers: while they appear delicate to the eye, they are not fragile. Inspired by women like Marie-Antoinette and Joséphine de Beauharnais, who used that very elegance as a foundation of strength, these shoes embody the same undemanding might. While most antique Souliers are kept behind museum glass, too delicate to wear, ours are built to move you gracefully through life, not just admired from across a room.
FOUNDER
Caroline Bourgine is the French designer behind Souliers Dulion. She studied at Studio Berçot and worked at A.P.C. before founding her own couture house, Bourgine, in 2015, a boutique and atelier beside the Luxembourg Gardens where a team of women makes each piece by hand. Her work has always looked to the past: she grew up partly in a 18th-century house in Versailles, and her collections translate historical dress for the present.
“My intention was never to create a new object, but to revive one that had been forgotten.”
Why “Dulion”? It’s the maternal name of Caroline’s grandmother, Marie-Thérèse Dulion. It is said that she inherited her grandmother’s knack for clothing and ballet. Reviving 1800s silk dancing shoes in her name seems just right.
Marie-Thérèse Dulion in the 1950s
