Sophia Webster

Sophia Webster & Bibi Blossom Stockley-Webster

Founder & Creative Director, Sophia Webster. London

By: Meagan Wilson
Styling: Meagan Wilson

When we say every shoot we do is different, we mean it. You never know what you're going to get, and we like it that way: variety is the spice of life, et cetera. And occasionally, on the other side of our Coveteurs' doors lies the most serendipitous of photo opps. Like recently, when, after spending the entire drive out talking Mother's Day, we walked into Sophia Webster's East London home and were greeted by not only the designer herself, but Bibi, Webster's just-under-eight-months daughter, perfectly content in a baby bouncer in the kitchen, wearing her very own pair of Sophia's pint-size flats. See what we mean?

Brain-meltingly adorable babies aside, Webster's home was more or less exactly the way you'd imagine it to be: a pineapple and flamingo motif bedecked creative clubhouse, with healthy doses of neon and all-over print. Everywhere. Oh, and shoes. Lots of them. By which we mean, at the very least, a few hundred pairs. You know what we always say about occupational hazards. And besides, it was reassuring to see that Webster very much walks the walk in the most literal sense—leave it to a female designer to make stilettos you can actually walk in.

That's not to forget about Bibi, though (as if—you seriously think we would?). Sophia had taken care to ensure that Bibi was every bit a mini-me—right down to their matching shoes, her burgeoning collection of tutus and pastel Kenzo faux fur coats (seriously). It makes sense, then, that Webster's empire is a bit of a family affair. Her husband is the managing director of her company, and Bibi's arrival served as divine inspiration for Sophia launching her 'mini' collection (her pregnancy-sparked creativity didn't stop there: that trio of watercolor paintings in Bibi's room? All Sophia). Translation: the little girl lucked out, and hard—it doesn't get much better than being born into having custom shoes at your fingertips (or toes, rather). Bibi, call us in 16 years—we're going to want in.