Jodo

By the third page, I had a revelation. Not a Roger Gicquel-style newsflash. A mystical, slightly vulgar revelation: I needed a western boot. But not some cowboy boot straight out of La Dernière Séance. I needed a boot that had survived the emotional desert, the city, love, shame, sheer audacity, and come back declaring: “I'm a shameless bitch, and you can all kindly fuck off.”
And of course, when you think of Jodorowsky, you're no longer thinking about shoes. You're entering a trance. Because Jodo is the kind of man who looks you straight in the eye and says: “If you don't follow your vision all the way, you'll wither away.”
So I did what any reasonable person would do: the exact opposite of what was sensible.
I started drawing. At night. Like a witch determined to brew a powerful love potion.
I wanted the pointed toe to be sharp, insolent, precise. Not aggressive: determined. A pointed toe that makes you look like you've made up your mind, even when you haven't.

As for the heel, I wanted it to be a punctuation mark. Not a “practical” heel, not a “comfortable” heel. Those words bring me out in herpes sores. I wanted a heel that clicks, that makes a statement, that leaves its signature. A boot that goes “click” against the pavement, like a wholehearted, unapologetic yes.
And then came that one detail, the one that changes everything: the shaft, the upward thrust, the sheer verticality.
Because Jodo isn't just one hell of a cowboy boot. It's an attitude. A beautiful little orthopaedic device for the soul: it realigns you, straightens you up, puts you back at the centre of your own existence, right where you were before life started demanding that you be nice.

I called it Jodo because I had no intention of pretending otherwise.
Jodorowsky is pure intensity. The man has survived everything, invented his own grammar and made art the way someone runs through a burning building drenched in flammable liquid. He teaches you one simple thing: if you want to create, you have to accept being possessed.
Not by some Gothic demon.

Possessed by your vision.

So I created this killer western boot the way you'd cast a spell: a line that elongates, a heel that barks with attitude, a silhouette that makes you feel more real than your own reflection.
And the day the very first pair came to life, I had one of those very specific, very human moments: I wanted to slip them onto the feet of someone I love and say, “Here, take these. They'll help you get through this thing called life.”
Because that's what it's really all about. Jodo is a cowboy boot for women who want to walk with the unwavering conviction of a silver trout. For women who want to feel alive, not merely presentable. For women who want a little cinema in their everyday reality.
So yes, you could say I met the master in a dream, that he turned up in my workshop carrying a tarot deck and uttering some cryptic phrase.
If it amuses you, I'll tell it that way: he appeared, studied my sketches, said, “Sharper,” then vanished the way spirits do, without warning.
But the truth is simpler, and far more beautiful: I met him through his work. And that was enough to inspire me to create a boot that wears his intensity like the sweat of a stubbly cowboy.
Jodo: a cowboy boot without the folklore, but with a fucking spectacular sense of style.
A killer cowboy boot that doesn't pretend to be a cowgirl. It becomes you, the real you, unapologetically and faithfully.