In the 1770s, two siblings named Johannes and Johann Adam Birkenstock started crafting footwear in a small village close to Frankfurt, unknowingly setting the stage for something monumental.
Records of the initial cobbling Birkenstocks are sparse, traceable to a document dated 1774, right after the Boston Tea Party. However, after 251 years, eight successive generations, and a multitude of Johanns, Johanneses, Carls, and Karls, the enterprise that arose from that early family effort has flourished into one of the most wildly successful footwear labels worldwide.
Birkenstock now distributes tens of millions of shoe pairs annually (the exact figure remains undisclosed), resulting in a valuation of $7.5bn (£5.6bn) when it debuted on the New York Stock Exchange in 2023. It has emerged as a long-standing fashion and high-street success story over the decades, yet continues to exhibit remarkable growth year after year; just this week the company announced an anticipated growth of 17.5% compared to last year.
Steve Jobs sported them during the 1970s, with Kate Moss also donning them in her notable 1990 photoshoot for the Face. They emerged during the bohemian chic era, skyrocketed in popularity during Covid, and received a further boost from the Barbie movie. The current top seller, the Boston clog, was dubbed by British Vogue in April as the “footwear that captivates the fashion elite” – yet in 2026 the Boston will celebrate 50 years, remaining entirely the same since its initial launch.
How did a label even considered as the world’s ugliest shoe evolve into one of the planet’s most favored? Not by succumbing to trends. “Fashion has never been our focus – neither in the past nor now,” remarked the company’s CEO, Oliver Reichert, a striking statement from a leader of a global style brand. Rather, in a notably unglamorous phrase in fashion promotion, he described Birkenstock as a “purpose-driven brand focused on orthopaedics,” which has maintained an “enduring interest in foot health” since its inception.
This non-traditional approach has long been integral to the company’s identity. It was Konrad Birkenstock, the great-grandson of Johann Adam, who pioneered the first orthopaedic shoe last in 1897, challenging norms by proposing that right and left feet ought to be designed differently.
Carl, his son, mandated that shoe retailers undergo a training program before they could even sell the product; when Carl’s offspring Karl (yep …) presented the Original Birkenstock Footbed Sandal at the Düsseldorf shoe expo in 1963, he was met with scorn and received not a single order. Renamed Madrid, that same single strap design has remained a staple of the brand.
“We consistently focus on the consumer and the value our offerings provide to their lives,” stated Nico Bouyakhf, the president and managing director for Europe, the Middle East, and Asia. “Our ambition is to provide the most optimal experience with our distinctive footbed, rather than pursuing fleeting trends.”
Ultimately, J’Nae Phillips, a trend analyst and founder of the Fashion Tingz newsletter, posits that this emphasis on functionality has rendered Birkenstock a “fashion anomaly: a shoe so indifferent to style that it has become a style statement. Their ‘anti-fashion’ design resonates with a broader cultural shift where authenticity and practicality are often valued over explicit trendiness. In an era rife with fast fashion, Birkenstocks present a consistent, grounded choice.”
Dr. Anastasia Kārkliņa Gabriel, a cultural analyst and author of Cultural Intelligence for Marketers, highlights the brand’s resonance during the US counterculture of the 1970s as pivotal. “Birkenstock symbolized resistance to conventional American footwear. Once embraced by the hippie movement, it gained layered meaning tied to spiritual freedom and a more deliberate lifestyle.
“When a brand secures a place in our cultural consciousness and aligns with our values, it swiftly evolves beyond transient trends … In this way, perceived ‘ugliness’ enhances the brand’s allure, serving as a marker of authenticity and a rejection of traditional style norms.”
This week, the Guardian received rare access to visit two of its manufacturing facilities in Germany, where every shoe is crafted from primarily European materials, observing a surprisingly manual assembly process.
The blend of cork and latex destined to become the footbed (the cork granules derive from leftover materials of the Portuguese wine cork industry) is compressed by hand before being molded. Workers assess sheets of colored leather visually before deftly positioning cutters on areas without blemishes. Even the adhesive used to bond the leather segments to the sole is applied manually with a device resembling a shaving brush.
The shoes undergo trimming, stamping, shaping, buckling, and packaging performed by skilled workers (the company proudly claims that 50 hands craft each pair), resulting in products that are gratifyingly artisanal – and pricey. After establishing the prototype for comfortable summer sandals, the brand encounters persistent imitation and counterfeit items, and unsuccessfully challenged earlier this year in court to copyright its designs as artistic creations.
Don’t bet on that German court ruling hindering Birkenstock’s progress. The company has now launched a luxury collection, known as 1774, along with a professional series tailored for workers, while continuing with high-end designer partnerships and non-sandal offerings, like the newly launched Utti Lace shoe. The company is also broadening its reach into China and India, has launched a skincare line, and on Thursday unveiled plans to acquire another German factory to enhance production. The path ahead, without a doubt, is comfy.
