In Tod’s Le Marche headquarters, nothing escapes this artisan’s eye

A bead of water glides along a sheet of suede, hesitates, then slips away, leaving no trace behind. At first glance, this could easily seem like an experiment unfolding in a university science lab: white walls, wooden tables lined with tube lights, and gleaming instruments of all kinds. But the bolts of leather strewn across the room give it away—this is no laboratory of science but of fashion. The home of Italian luxury house Tod’s, in the heart of central Italy’s Le Marche, where some of the world’s most coveted loafers are made entirely by hand.

Watching my reactions intently is Tony Ripani, the near-octogenarian who heads Tod’s leather department. My bet is Ripani—dressed in grey jeans, a white lab coat over a polo-neck tee, and round glasses framing his twinkling eyes—already knows how this experiment to demonstrate the quality of Tod’s water-resistant leather treatment will end; he’s just waiting for it to support his hypothesis. “Quality,” he declares with a smile that rarely fades. “Quality, especially of the materials, is what makes our shoes famously durable and water-resistant. Just remember to let them dry naturally; don’t put them in the sun,” he says in his native Italian dialect, relayed by a translator. He then gestures toward his colleague’s 18-year-old loafers, still in near-pristine condition, to prove his point.

While the Italian brand makes everything from ready-to-wear to handbags, it is the iconic Gommino that remains Tod’s most enduring superstar. Classic, elegant, and trend-proof, it’s a sartorial staple. Born in the 1970s when CEO Diego Della Valle drew inspiration from the flexible racing shoes he saw men in America wearing, the hand-made moccasin has been reissued in countless variations since.

Take its most recent outing for spring/summer 2026 menswear, where the Gommino appeared as a lace-up boat shoe and even a sneaker. Or last year, when designer Rahul Mishra decorated the shoe with his distinctive bead-and-sequin floral embroidery, turning it into a slip-on fit for an Indian groom. Today, the Gommino anchors Tod’s Group, the luxury powerhouse that also counts Hogan, Fay, and Roger Vivier in its portfolio.

If the shoe fits

It’s the Gommino we are here to explore at Tod’s sprawling headquarters in Brancadoro, in the heart of Italy, the same region where the house was originally founded in the 1920s by Diego’s grandfather, Filippo Della Valle. While Tod’s bags are produced in factories in Tuscany and Tolentino, shoemaking remains rooted in the town where their legacy began.

Diego enlisted his wife, architect Barbara Pistilli, to design this state-of-the-art facility, inaugurated in 1998; the home of their “artisanal intelligence”. The central compound spans over 1 million sq ft, set amidst 16 acres of gardens, making it Italy’s largest luxury footwear production centre.

Walking these halls, it’s easy to believe everyone covers far more than the prescribed quota of 10,000 daily steps. “I do all this walking but still haven’t got rid of my belly!” Ripani laughs. Outside his atelier, rolling hills stretch towards the horizon, and the Adriatic Sea is just a short drive away.

The floor-to-ceiling windows bathe the hallways in natural sunlight, spotlighting the contemporary art that adorns the space—paintings by Giovanni Gastel, a globe installation with pencils to represent the continents, a clandestine bronze statue by Igor Mitoraj, a Ferrari F33 Formula 1 car driven by Michael Schumacher gifted to Diego, and a site-specific staircase by Ron Arad, called ‘Wave’. Up these stairs is a table with the original tools that Filippo used to start the business, framed by a wall with shoe lasts of celebrity clients like Tom Cruise, George Clooney, and Princess Caroline of Monaco.

It’s here that Tod’s hand-crafts its shoes every single day. We get a peek at the various departments—design, prototyping, sampling, and production. Ripani is among the 1,000 people who keep this operation running, though his journey began long before the majestic HQ was built.

In a town steeped in cobblery and shoemaking, Ripani says he was only following in the footsteps of many before him. He started at just 13, learning leather cutting from his older brother. “If your family was rich, you could study,” he recalls. “But that wasn’t my case, so I started working right after school. Shoemaking was the most common job in town.” He joined the Della Valle empire back in 1974, under Diego’s father, Dorino, and calls them family today.

100 steps, one expert vision

Five decades later, every piece of leather at the company passes Ripani’s expert gaze and knowing hands. He’s also been training their next generation of artisans.

There are over 100 steps that go into making one Tod’s Gommino. While Ripani may not be able to perform every step himself (“I can’t stitch. Plus, we have trained experts for every step”), no one knows materials quite like him. “Depending on the design, a shoe could require 35 pieces of leather,” he explains, guiding me through a crash course with the hides around us. This includes a tour of the 37,000 sq ft humidity-controlled warehouse that houses a repository of their leathers, including a special glass-encased room for exotic skins.

From passion to precision

Ripani delights in explaining the distinction between stingray, snake, lizard, and alligator skins. “Brava!” he exclaims when I manage to spot the minute wrinkles in a piece of leather he places in front of me. The teacher’s hat comes naturally to him. “I love to teach,” he says, “even though I only studied until I was a teenager. But I still learn something new here every day.”

The hides, he explains, come from the finest tanneries in Europe and beyond. “Because they are byproducts of the food industry to ensure ethical sourcing, we must inspect them closely for imperfections.” While a textbook may classify wrinkles and veins as flaws, to Ripani they are what bring the leather to life. “These are my favourite bits, they make the leather real,” he insists, pulling out a pair of brogues he fashioned for himself from leftover scraps.

Jovial, animated, and generous with his knowledge, Ripani shows no signs of tiring of my questions, but duty calls him back to the factory floor. As we part, he reflects: “I know this would have been different if I spoke English. But the passion would be lost… lost in translation.” Perhaps that is the point: at Tod’s, it is passion that translates into precision—and into shoes that endure.