In a world increasingly driven by speed, scale, and shortcuts, true craftsmanship tends to stand out quietly. Not through noise, but through consistency, integrity, and time.
Few makers embody this more fully than Julian Imrie.
Known for his work with Double RL and Mister Freedom — and now through his own label, Chico Imrie — Julian’s boots are the result of a lifetime spent not just learning a craft, but questioning how and why things should be made at all.
What follows is less a traditional interview, and more a conversation — about boots, certainly, but also about philosophy, process, and the long road that leads to making something well.
Where It Begins
For Julian, the story does not begin in a workshop — it begins much earlier.
As a child, he was already drawn to the shape of boots. Not in a technical sense, but in a way that is hard to explain — an instinctive appreciation for proportion and form. A pair of wellington boots bought on a trip to Italy left a lasting impression, not because of what they were, but because of how they looked.
That early sensitivity to shape would later become central to his work.
But the path was not direct.
Before bootmaking, there was art school. Sculpture. Photography. Woodwork. And perhaps most importantly, time spent living and working in close-knit, self-sufficient communities in the United States — environments where making things by hand was not a lifestyle choice, but a necessity.
It was there that something shifted.
A respect for durability. For usefulness. For objects that serve a purpose and are built to last.
Boots, naturally, sit right at the centre of that idea.
Learning Without a Map
Julian never followed a traditional route into shoemaking.
There was no formal apprenticeship in the classic sense. Instead, he built his knowledge piece by piece — seeking out last makers, visiting factories, learning directly from people who had spent decades in the trade.
From Northampton in England to heritage boot manufacturers across the United States, he approached the craft the same way he approaches design: through observation, repetition, and refinement.
That background is still visible today.
There is no sense of decoration for its own sake. No unnecessary detail. Everything has a reason to exist.
From Workshop to World Stage
His first major breakthrough came in the late 2000s.
What started as a small, three-person workshop quickly found its way into Double RL — where his early designs, including the Bowery boot, sold out almost immediately.
Around the same time, he began working with Mister Freedom, developing what would become the Road Champ — a boot that combined material innovation with a deep understanding of how leather ages and evolves.
Working closely with Horween Leather Company, Julian helped develop leathers designed not to remain perfect, but to change — to crease, shift, and gain character through wear.
That idea remains central to his work today.
A boot should not stay the same. It should respond to the person wearing it.
What Matters — and What Does Not
Ask Julian what matters most in a boot, and the answer is not branding, or even aesthetics. It is function. Not in the narrow sense of utility, but in the broader sense of how a boot works with the body over time.
Fit is non-negotiable. The last — the form around which the boot is built — is where everything begins. It determines how the foot sits, how weight is distributed, and how the body moves.
In his work, this goes beyond standard sizing. Subtle adjustments — a straighter inner line, a balanced heel, a shape that encourages the foot to function naturally — all contribute to something that is not immediately visible, but becomes obvious over time.
You do not just wear the boot. You feel it.
The Process
Every Chico Imrie boot begins the same way: with a block of wood.
Julian carves each last by hand, refining the shape until it meets both visual and functional requirements. From there, patterns are developed directly on the form, adjusted, reworked, and tested.
The process is collaborative. In workshops across Italy and Mexico, he works closely with a small network of highly skilled craftsmen — last makers, pattern cutters, technicians — each contributing to different stages of development.
It is not fast. And it is not meant to be.
Some designs take years to fully resolve. Others are abandoned entirely. Out of dozens of iterations, only a handful make it through to production. That is part of the process.
Where It Gets Difficult
If there is a point where things become most demanding, it is in the transition from idea to execution. A line that works on paper does not always work in three dimensions. A shape that looks right does not always feel right. And a boot that feels good in the workshop has to hold up in the real world — across months, years, and different conditions. That tension — between idea and reality — is where most of the work happens.
The Boots at Burg & Schild
The collaboration with Burg & Schild feels, in many ways, inevitable.
Founder Kay has spent decades immersed in the world of heritage footwear — from building one of Europe’s most respected retail spaces to assembling a significant archive of historically important boots.
When he and Julian met, it was not about starting something new. It was about recognising a shared understanding.
The two models now available at Burg & Schild — the Coppola and the Fellini — reflect that connection. Both are rooted in the language of early work and service boots. But where the Coppola leans into structure and presence, the Fellini moves towards a slimmer, more refined silhouette — referencing earlier workwear forms from the late 19th and early 20th century. They are variations on the same idea. Not replicas of the past, but continuations of it.
What You Notice Over Time
The first thing most people notice is the leather. The way it catches light. The density. The surface. But that is only the beginning. Over time, other details begin to emerge. The way the boot creases — not randomly, but in response to movement. The way the shape holds. The way it feels after a full day of walking. These are not things you see immediately. They reveal themselves slowly.
After They Leave the Workshop
Once a pair leaves Julian’s hands, the process is not finished. In many ways, it is just beginning. A well-made boot is not complete when it is sold. It becomes complete through use — through the life it is exposed to. Walking. Working. Travelling. Changing. If there is one thing Julian hopes for, it is simple: That the boots are worn. Not preserved. Not protected. Used.
Final Thought
In the end, what defines a great boot is not just how it looks on a shelf. It is how it performs over time — how it becomes part of someone’s life. And that is something no shortcut can produce.
