SHOD, NOT SHODDY Arsenal and Welsh national goalie Jack Kelsey takes a call in plush slippers at home in 1958.
Photo: Getty Images
FOR WEEKS, Jason Tiangco’s dress shoes have gathered dust. The only footwear the 41-year-old digital marketer has slipped on since he began self-isolating in his Toronto home are pool slides—he owns three pairs by the North Face, Birkenstock and Hoka One One. Socks don’t suffice, said Mr. Tiangco, adding that he needs a sole beneath him, even a sandal’s flimsy one, to achieve a productive mind-set: “I just have to [wear shoes] to kind of get that normalcy.” Like countless other cooped-up folks, he’d be lost without his house shoes.
“House shoes” are just that: shoes to wear at home. They could be, but needn’t be, slippers (the house-shoe movement is inclusive). They could, as easily, be clunky Crocs or hygge wool mules or plastic slippers shaped like a largemouth bass. The only rule? You never wear them outside the cloistered confines of your home.
Relying on indoor footwear is not a novel concept. In the mid-1800s, England’s Prince Albert popularized the trend, trading soiled boots once inside for dainty full-backed slippers (much like those in the photo above). In Japan, known traditionally for its room shoes, many households require you to change into nimble slides or ankle-high slip-ons at the front door.
The idea of maintaining a dedicated pair of house shoes resonates differently today, however, with some medical professionals suggesting that coronavirus could be carried on one’s shoes. Though we’re all being pelted with often-conflicting information on how the virus travels, many would rather be safe than sorry. After reading up on that footwear theory, Patrick Bowe, 35, an IT specialist in Lantana, Fla., now leaves his outdoor shoes at the front door and wears a specific pair of house Birkenstocks inside.
“ Now, my office is my kitchen table and, frankly, I want to feel at least a scintilla of decorum while working. ”
John Shin, 27, a paralegal in New York City, has always considered it unhygienic to wear any shoes inside. “My grandfather [and] my father almost made it religious to keep their house clean,” said Mr. Shin. This cleanliness meant that scuzzy sneakers never crossed the threshold. Mr. Shin’s own apartment is so spotless he doesn’t even wear house shoes, preferring to go entirely unshod, even sockless.
I have traditionally subscribed to the same theory, but one month of self-isolation has changed that. Previously, going barefoot once I got home from the office was a way to delineate the workday. I’d punt my sneakers and rip off my socks. Now, my office (if you can call it that) is my kitchen table and, frankly, I want to feel at least a scintilla of decorum while working. And besides, the floor is cold. After a week of frosty toes, I caved and purchased rubbery Merrell moccasins which now envelop my hoofs as I type. The one downside is that they look like something a Marvel superhero would garden in. But who cares? I’m not expecting visitors anytime soon.
I am not alone in valuing the structure of house shoes. As Kenneth Pickart has worked from home these past few weeks, sturdy Birkenstock mules have become his “trying to be productive around the house” shoes, as opposed to his slippers—his “getting ready for bed” shoes. Mr. Pickart, 28, who works at a brewery in Ottawa, takes extra care not to wear his errand-running shoes around the house because his live-in partner is immunocompromised.
Support, of a more literal kind, is key for other house-shoe adherents. “[Going] barefoot I feel like I don’t get the support that I need,” said Joe Campo, 31, a senior manager for a consulting firm in Austin, Texas, who wears Crocs sandals around the house. Though he’s not particularly concerned about dragging germs inside, Mr. Campo noted that rubbery shoes like Crocs are easy to sterilize. “If you get them dirty, they’re waterproof. Wash them off with the hose and you’re good to go.” Mr. Tiangco in Toronto has likewise been cleaning his rubber slides with an alcohol swab or a Lysol wipe. You can’t do that with fuzzy Prince Albert slippers.
When Socks Are Not Enough
Most comfy footwear could qualify as house shoes, but these handsomely accompany you from room to Zoom
From left: Shoe With Natural Rubber Sole, Tweed Sheepskin Slipper, Hydro Moc.
The Traditionalist: Tread softly in felted wool mules by Denmark’s Glerups. Shoe With Natural Rubber Sole, $135, glerups.com
The Toaster: Park chilly feet in Derek Rose’s posh lined slippers. Harris Tweed Sheepskin Slipper, $280, derek-rose.com
The Bouncer: Merrell’s rubber mocs—our author’s pick—look alien but earn an A for comfort. Hydro Moc, $50, merrell.com
The Wall Street Journal is not compensated by retailers listed in its articles as outlets for products. Listed retailers frequently are not the sole retail outlets.
Write to Jacob Gallagher at Jacob.Gallagher@wsj.com
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