Shoes On or Off Indoors? A Gentle Inquiry
Growing up in Ireland, the rules were simple. Shoes stayed on your feet, slippers were summoned at night, and there you were in your pyjamas and dressing gown, sitting by the fire with a cup of tea or, for the older ones, a wee nip. Feet were cosy, tucked, safe. Guests wore their shoes. Bare toes on someone else’s carpet? Out of the question.
These days, some houses in Ireland have shifted. Guests are now asked, politely but firmly, to remove their shoes. Slippers still exist, of course, but this ritual has become far more common than in my childhood. In theory, I like the idea: it feels clean, considered, domestic. In practice… I have not quite committed. There is the question of socks, plain, patterned, or adventurous, and the nail situation, which brings me, inevitably, to the feet themselves.
Feet, I’ve realised, are complicated creatures. How much should one invest in them? Do you treat them like a portfolio of assets, worthy of exfoliation, cream, and occasional pedicure dividends? Or do they remain the quiet, long suffering members of the household, trapped in socks and shoes, longing for the rare liberation of a dance across the living room carpet, their heroic sacrifice largely unnoticed?
If we are asking this of our homes, why stop there? Should the shoes off movement infiltrate offices, schools, universities, boats, planes, trains, and dare I say, places of worship? Imagine a lecture hall filled with the quiet shuffle of socks on polished floors, or commuters on a train shifting nervously as one foot nudges another. There is something absurdly charming about it, if also faintly terrifying.
In short, the etiquette of shoes is evolving, Some houses in Ireland now ask for shoes off at the door. I haven’t fully embraced it yet, but I like the idea. In the meantime, I’ll keep one eye on my socks, the other on my toenails, and continue to ponder whether, someday, I might be brave enough to ask my guests: “Shoes off, please.”