Inventory is short here, but imagination isn’t. One long table runs most of the length of the store, with shoes pointing outward on either side, lined up like laboratory subjects or museum artifacts. One side may lean more to machine-made shoes, and the other more to handmade, but if you choose the former, only your fellow shoppers, the other proud dandies who know their Bontoni from their Berluti, would notice.

Everything was worth touching, from loafers to work boots to suede brogues to moccasins. Catching me admiring a burgundy boot, Mr. Taffel asked if I had ever owned cordovan leather shoes with the same curious, conspiratorial tone he might use to ask if I’d ever made love to a Frenchwoman, nodding sympathetically when I told him I hadn’t, then assuring me, “You will.” Hope so.

The gentle hand-holding didn’t stop there. Before I tried on the Aldens, Mr. Taffel had pulled out a Brannock device, measuring my foot for what I believe was only the second time since my teenage years (the other time was by an overeager clerk at Paragon). After confirming that I am, in fact, a 10.5, he acknowledged that not all shoes of the same size fit the same, and encouraged me to try multiple pairs of the same boot.

As I was trying on one shoe, he’d bring over another: a Wolverine 1000 Mile work boot ($325 and $350), or one of the store’s own cordovan loafers ($625). No pressure — he just wanted to share. He spoke of them lovingly, as if each one were a fragile child with huge potential in search of a good home.