The Curious Case Against the Indoor Shoe

There are few things more revealing about a civilisation than what it does with its shoes.

The Japanese remove them with the solemnity of a minor religious ceremony. Scandinavians abandon them at the door as naturally as they take off a coat. The British, however, tend to regard shoes as permanent anatomical attachments: things that accompany them from pavement to kitchen.

We wear shoes indoors because we have always worn shoes indoors, which is generally the least convincing reason for doing anything.

Consider where they have been. Pavements decorated by dogs with poor table manners, public lavatories, petrol station forecourts, supermarket car parks and that mysterious sticky patch outside the pub which no one wishes to investigate scientifically. Then, with the unquestioning loyalty of a spaniel, they follow us home and are invited to stroll across the carpet.

The carpet, meanwhile, absorbs all this like a long-suffering aunt.

There is something faintly absurd about spending Saturday afternoon attacking the kitchen floor with antibacterial sprays, scented wipes and enough chemical weaponry to sterilise a small operating theatre, only to march across it an hour later wearing the very shoes that have spent the morning negotiating the high street.

But cleanliness is only part of the argument.

Shoes are, of course, a splendid invention when you are outside. Pavements contain broken glass, nails, chewing gum and puddles with ambitions. Indoors, however, unless your sitting room has recently become a building site, the hazards are rather less dramatic.

There is also the small matter of the feet themselves. These are complicated pieces of engineering, containing bones, joints, muscles and ligaments that have spent millions of years evolving to walk upon the Earth. Yet we spend much of our lives squeezing them into pointed leather containers, synthetic trainers or rubber sandals, then wondering why they occasionally behave as though they are staging a protest.

Taking shoes off allows the toes to spread and move without seeking planning permission. It gives the feet a brief parole from their daily incarceration.

And then there is the increasingly popular subject of earthing, or grounding.

The basic idea is straightforward. Thanks to the 6,000 bolts of lightning that hit the earth every minute, it has become electrically conductive. Consequently, any direct contact between the body and the ground allows electrical charge to equalise between them.

This translates into many health benefits claimed by some enthusiasts – better sleep, reduced inflammation, improved circulation and a general restoration of whatever it is modern life has apparently misplaced.

The broader therapeutic claims remain open to debate and require stronger evidence than is sometimes offered by people standing barefoot in a meadow.

But the basic principle is not particularly mysterious. Put an insulating layer between yourself and the Earth and you reduce direct electrical contact.

And modern footwear is exceptionally good at insulation.

Rubber and synthetic soles are designed to cushion, protect and separate us from the world beneath our feet. This is enormously useful if that world contains broken glass, sewage or a puddle outside a public lavatory. It is less useful if you wish to make direct electrical contact with the ground.

In that sense, the modern rubber-soled shoe has turned each of us into a small private island. We have covered the Earth with concrete, carpets, vinyl and laminate, then placed our feet inside insulating footwear for good measure. Humanity spent most of its existence in direct contact with the natural world and has now developed a remarkably efficient system for avoiding it.

Older leather soles may be somewhat more conductive under certain conditions, particularly when damp, but they are hardly a reliable substitute for bare feet. Thick rubber and synthetic soles, on the other hand, are generally intended to do precisely the opposite: keep whatever is beneath you from reaching whatever is above.

None of this means you should throw your trainers into a hedge and spend the remainder of your life wandering barefoot through Tesco. Shoes exist because civilisation, for all its faults, has invented broken glass.

But when circumstances permit, there is something wonderfully uncomplicated about taking them off. Walking barefoot on grass, sand, soil or stone reconnects the foot with the surfaces for which it was originally designed. Whether you regard earthing as an emerging physiological science, an intriguing but incompletely proven theory, or simply an excellent excuse to take your shoes off, the practical result is much the same.

Your feet get some fresh air.

There are, admittedly, dangers. Bare feet and British gardens have an uneasy relationship. There are thorns, slugs, stones and the occasional forgotten rake. Indoors presents fewer hazards, although anyone who has encountered a piece of Lego in the dark will know that domestic life has its own weapons programme.

The British are also culturally suspicious of bare feet. They suggest yoga, retirement, camping or someone who has begun using the word grounding without irony. Socks are acceptable, provided they are not too interesting. Bare feet in company can still produce the faint social discomfort normally associated with being caught in one’s dressing gown at noon.

Yet the advantages of a shoe-free home are difficult to dismiss. Floors remain cleaner. Carpets accumulate less of the outside world. There is less grit travelling mysteriously from room to room like a tiny geological expedition. And there is something psychologically satisfying about crossing the threshold, removing one’s shoes and acknowledging that the day’s negotiations with traffic, commerce and humanity are temporarily over.

Outside is where we put on armour. Shoes are part of it. Indoors ought to be where we surrender.

Perhaps that is the real point. We have become so accustomed to separating ourselves from the natural world that we barely notice the layers: concrete, carpets, floor coverings, socks, rubber and plastic. We are insulated creatures living in insulated houses, complaining occasionally that we feel disconnected.

Taking off one’s shoes will not necessarily cure insomnia, inflammation, stress or the accumulated disappointments of modern life. Anyone claiming otherwise should probably be asked for rather more evidence.

But it may keep the house cleaner. It may give the feet greater freedom. And stepping barefoot onto grass, sand or soil occasionally may provide something that requires no grand theory at all: a pause.

The Earth beneath your feet is not selling anything. It has no subscription service, no loyalty scheme and no newsletter.

Take off your shoes.

Your carpet may not thank you. Carpets are notoriously reserved.

But your feet might.