Manolo Blahnik is gregarious, gracious and very Vreelandish

Some callings are fate; a few are chance. Seldom are they direct diktat. Manolo Blahnik's parents wanted him to be a diplomat; he himself studied art and delved into costume design. But in 1970 the autocratic American Vogue editor-in-chief Diana Vreeland told him to "go make shoes". So he did. He still does.

Born in the Canary Islands to a Czech father and a Spanish mother, Blahnik had no formal footwear training – he once joked that he didn't need it because he had the best taste in the world. But when, as he started out, he realised he'd created heels that lacked any support, he cringed.

Today his shoes are acclaimed as some of the finest in the world. A perfectionist, he carves every heel last himself: extravagant rococo creations that have elevated Blahnik to singular-appellation status – "Manolo". Sex And The City made that Christian name household.

At 73, Blahnik is gregarious, gracious and very Vreelandish. His favourite word is "divine". Among the things he thinks are divine: the classicist Mary Beard; Cecil Beaton; Dior ball gowns; the films of Luchino Visconti; the colour red. He thinks Goya is divine, and that he is the finest painter of shoes ever.

If Blahnik could have designed any pair of shoes from history, he would have liked to devise the bejewelled sandals worn by the Babylonian kings. His own creations come close. The variety of Blahnik's Manolos are dazzling – embellished, flamboyantly, with silk and fur, with embroideries and spangles and tassels. The silhouette is crisp and clean, like a work on canvas.

If he were a painter, though, he would be Fragonard. The slipper slipping off the foot of Fragonard's maiden in his painting "The Swing" could easily be a beribboned Manolo. In 2006, Kirsten Dunst's Marie Antoinette was shod in Manolos for Sofia Coppola's biopic. Who else's shoes could you possibly choose?