Jennifer Horgan: I just can't toe the line when Irish people ask me to remove my shoes in their house

I find being asked to remove my shoes when I'm a guest in someone's house rude and infantilising. It’s one of my pet peeves

I perfectly understand an adult asking a horde of children to remove their muddy boots before climbing a carpeted stair. Small children are gloriously feral. They can’t be expected to notice when they’ve trawled through mud and scum and dog poo. Picture: Denis Minihane

When she asks me to remove my shoes, I know two things: I like my host less than I did before, and I probably won’t be coming again.

She says it nicely to be fair, calling from the kitchen.

“Would you mind leaving your shoes at the door, please?” I suppose nobody would have the gall to say it directly.

“Take off your shoes,” sounds so aggressive. And yet that’s exactly what is being said.

Anyway, although I mind, I don’t have a choice. I take off my shoes, and I resent it, having to tiptoe like a bold child into the kitchen.

The evening plays out as you’d expect. Never again, I say to myself on the way home. I am never calling again.

I can’t help it. I find being asked to remove my shoes rude and infantilising. It’s one of my pet peeves.

Now, I perfectly understand an adult asking a horde of children to remove their muddy boots before climbing a carpeted stair. Small children are gloriously feral. They can’t be expected to notice when they’ve trawled through mud and scum and dog poo.

Adult guests are a completely different story. When I dress myself and leave the house I don’t expect anyone to order that I remove something from my body, unless on medical grounds. I’ve no issue with adding a party hat or a sombrero should the need arise — just don’t ask me to remove anything.

Please don't get me wrong — I’m not an asshole. I’d feel and behave differently if it were a cultural or religious thing. It was the norm to remove shoes in Abu Dhabi when I lived there, and we all came to respect the practice. 

It’s not a cultural norm in Ireland. It never was a cultural norm. Plenty of us are only a few generations away from sleeping in close proximity to farm animals. In an Irish context, I view the custom in a singular way: people have lost the run of themselves.

A cultural practice is knowable in advance too — that’s the difference. If someone from another part of the world invites me over, or with a distinct heritage, I can predict the removal of shoes and plan accordingly. I can wear socks. I can wear socks without holes. I can avoid my sniffier footwear.

When it’s a colleague with a heritage that stretches from Bishopstown to Ballincollig, the request is a surprise, and it’s annoying. More than annoying, it feels hostile, like I’m being put in my place.

Sadly, from what I can make out, the shoe removal fad is only getting worse, particularly among the middle-class parents of young children. It’s presented as a hygiene measure. Some little darling might decide to lick a floorboard, you see.

Well, unless said darling has a genuine health concern, I say, let them! Children are meant to encounter and build an immunity against germs and bacteria so we keep a balance. We pass our shoes over the doormat, wash our hands before eating, and clean our floors regularly. That’s life! And adults are generally reasonable human beings walking on footpaths, not sloshing through sewage.

I mean, I understand the hygiene concerns but every social encounter is a hygiene disaster.

It’s probably more important that all visitors wear masks before shoe removal gets a look-in. Breathing is a far more dangerous prospect, surely. If we’re taking every precaution, guests should probably retreat to a separate room to eat and drink and then return to you for some lively (thoroughly masked) conversation.

Continuing with the hygiene logic, the removal of the entire bottom half of clothing also makes sense. Who knows what lurks on those clothed bottoms! They may have sat at bus stops or in taxi seats, never mind collapsing onto pissed-on park benches.

What about the children, you say? Do they really need to see grown adults in their underpants? Well, we’re doing it for the children, aren’t we? To protect them. Maybe people asking for the removal of shoes are gateway hosts. Maybe at some point in the future all social gatherings will look like swinger conventions. No shoes. No trousers. No problems!

The hygiene argument is valid, yes, but it’s also overblown. Better to welcome the guests as they arrive and clean your floors afterwards.

But if the fear of bugs is stronger than your desire to have company you should listen to your gut and not ask people around to socialise. You’re clearly someone with standards that prevent you from relaxing in company.

You might even be one of those ‘maxxers’ whose children do one thousand activities a day so every smidge of talent is checked and exhausted. You’re probably down with the Steve Bartletts of this world, the podcaster who claims three days of his life were destroyed after he imbibed a couple of glasses of wine.

Because I do think this has to do with an inability to chill. I’m reminded of a snippet of an interview I heard from the New York Times this week with actress Robby Hoffman, who linked money with an inability to be hospitable. 

Having grown up poor, she sees a big difference between poor and rich houses. “The rich,” she said, “they have the biggest fridge but nobody can go in the fridge,” but, “Poor people know how to chill. The house is a shithole; it’s a dump. But it’s Friday night. People are back from work, school’s out, whatever it is...It’s a lot more comfortable to hang in the poor house than when I go to the rich houses.” 

Hospitality means being chill, surely. But my final point against being asked to remove my shoes is even simpler. I like my shoes. I pick them myself. I like to wear them. I choose to wear them for a reason, and yes, one reason is that I have unbearably ugly feet. My little piggies are not for public viewing. 

"Summer is a challenging time for them, particularly the smallest, who really struggles when exposed. My summer footwear is chosen expertly. Take a look next time you meet me. You will see four little piglets on show, not five. Yes, the four exposed toes are stumpy and unappealing too, but they have nothing on my tiniest one. To call it a toe is misleading. It’s more like a baby mushroom with a nail.

Please don’t create a situation where I have to show you.

And what about the smelly-toed among us? The hairy-toed? The people who want to appear a lot taller than they are in generous heels?

What's your view on this issue?

You can tell us here

Asking someone to remove their shoes communicates more than you might realise. It can make people feel uncomfortable and resentful. If it’s really important to you, please send a message to guests before they arrive. Tell them you’re a no-shoe household. Give them a chance to pop on a pop sock, or cancel.

By being honest about how uptight you are you might even manage to chill, and your guests might manage a second visit.