today.”
In conversation, John Fluevog unselfconsciously
scatters words like mystic, dreams, humanity, poems,
childlike, colour, shape, love, community and, above all,
faith and spirituality. He is a romantic who adores his
family and still gets starry-eyed when he remembers
a woman who walked into his store nearly five decades
ago. He wears his spirituality like a cozy cardigan, a
comforting layer that kept him warm when the world
was cold and now is just part of his everyday ensemble.
He has made money by quietly giving it away, supporting
people and causes that speak to his soul. His sole.
John Fluevog’s world—call it the Fluniverse, or maybe
Vogville—is unique. It has its own language. It has its
own international day (May 15—John thinks you should
celebrate with random acts of kindness). Its citizens come
from all walks of life, but none hews to the ordinary. It is
a world of happy colours, bold shapes and sensual lines.
It is a world where nothing is too ridiculous to try, where
comfort and wearability matter as much as how good
something looks. Goodness matters in the Fluniverse, and
kindness, and God, however you choose to define God.
John Fluevog began his journey fifty years ago when
he and Peter Fox opened a shoe store in a historic
Vancouver neighbourhood. And he’s just getting started.
This is his story.
— Joanne Sasvari, lifestyle journalist
“John and I started designing shoes the same year.
We both wanted to change the world in our own ways.
John designed shoes with a very strong point of view.
I respected John for his courage, his consistency,
his values, and always sticking to ‘his last.’ ”
ALDO BENSADOUN, FOUNDER, ALDO SHOES
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Celebrating International
Fluevog Day across the
country
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In the beginning there was
John Fluevog, grandson
of pioneers, exploring his
Vancouver backyard and the
great beyond. In the 1950s
and ’60s, he discovered his
love of cars, fashion and
music, and was ready to set
foot on his great journey
as a master shoe designer.
23
BEFORE THE
BEGINNING
1948–1969
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I KNOW WHAT PEOPLE SAY ABOUT MY SHOES:
Creative. Original. Funky. Sassy. Groovy. Artistic. The
funny thing is, I didn’t have a clue that I was artistic
until I was in my thirties. I didn’t even really like artistic
people. I thought they were kind of sketchy.
It turns out that I’m both practical and creative.
That was quite a discovery for a kid who was dyslexic
and bad in school, who almost didn’t graduate and who
never really knew what he wanted to be when he grew
up. A lot of my life was me not thinking I was good at
things, then finding out later that I actually was.
It’s been fifty years since I’ve been selling and making
shoes, and after all this time, I’ve just started to under-
stand who I am. It’s taken me this long to realize that
my business has been my spiritual journey. Now I want
to encourage and maybe inspire others who are setting
foot on the same path.
So let’s start at the beginning. No, let’s start before
the beginning.
I was born on May 15, 1948, to Ruth and Sigurd
Fluevog, in the city of Vancouver, British Columbia, on
the far-left coast of the North American continent.
My sister Gail followed three years later and my brother
Glen five years after that. We have an older sister, too,
Karen, who was born in 1943.
We had a very free childhood. Even when I was little,
I rode my bike everywhere. We lived at 6th and Fraser
and one day, when I was eleven or so, I rode my bike
all the way from home across what was then known as
the Second Narrows Bridge, up that steep hill to North
Vancouver and back again. Must have been twenty
kilometres, maybe more. The bridge, which spans the
Burrard Inlet, had just been finished, and it was crazy
and dangerous and a little bit scary. But we just went
off and did stuff like that back then.
My dad was an eccentric character, really smart,
and a big personality, the kind of guy who was never
embarrassed by a moniker like Sigurd Cornelius. It’s
royalty, right? That’s the kind of man he was. He was
a huge influence in my life—it took me a long time to
get over being Sigurd’s son, because that’s what I was,
Sigurd’s son. I didn’t have an identity of my own for a
long, long time. Where Sigurd was often critical and
demanding, Mom was loving and kind; she encouraged
us, whatever we decided to do, as long as we were
good and believed in God.
They were both devout Christians—in fact, my mother
always said she married my dad because he was the only
true Christian around.