Why shedding shoes in a guest's home is tricky, etiquette-wise...

WHEN I moved into my new house over a year ago, a few considerate friends and family members would routinely take their shoes off when visiting, saving the pale grey carpet in the hall, living and dining rooms from being marked with mucky shoes or rain soaked footwear.

I half decided to make this shedding of shoes a rule. But my heart wasn’t in it. Result: a carpet that is frequently saved with a drop of Vanish (surely one of the best ever cleaning solutions).

By now, though, the carpet needs to be shampooed and I just may properly commit to a ‘no shoes’ rule in my gaff to be implemented with an apology (because I’m Irish).

On the radio last week, shoe-shedding etiquette was discussed, with RTÉ’s Sarah McInerney saying that really, taking off one’s shoes in a guest’s house feels “a bit intimate”.

I agree. It’s tricky terrain, coming from usually sensible intentions to do with hygiene and respect for floor coverings.

What exactly is the etiquette? According to Architectural Digest magazine, it is totally fine to ask guests to remove their shoes but the advice is to warn guests before they ever call over.

Really? Yes. It means either a note on the bottom of a formal invitation (eg, ‘Please plan to remove your shoes before coming inside’) or a quick verbal or email reminder. That way, your friends can plan their outfits (and their hosiery) accordingly.

In other words, it’s good to know in advance if you have to leave your shoes at the door so that you’ll wear decent socks or, if barefooted, you can varnish your toe nails as a fashion statement.

It’s rare enough in this country for people to insist on their guests being shoeless. Which is why one such diktat, from years ago, sticks out in my memory.

I called to potter Stephen Pearse’s home in Shanagarry to interview him. As far as I can recall, once I took off my shoes as requested, there were clogs and slippers provided to slip into. That takes planning. Not sure if I’d be up for that level of detail. Which means I could have guests whose feet would skulk under the table, unprepared as they were for exposure.

But when in Rome and all that. Former U.S President, Barack Obama posed barefoot on the grounds of Shwedagon Pagoda, one of Myanmar’s major Buddhist pilgrimage sites, when he visited it. I can’t quite imagine Donald Trump doing the same. In fact, Trump’s naked feet - for some primeval reason - don’t bear thinking about.

It’s the norm to remove one’s shoes when entering a house of worship in the Indian subcontinent and in the Middle East. 

In the Bible, God demanded that Moses take off his sandals before approaching him on Mount Sinai.

The Eastern cultural context of this incident regards shoes as bringing dust into the home and removing one’s shoes “would be a way of recognising one’s personal uncleanness in the presence of holiness”.

Hinduism and Islam also regard feet as being unclean. And get this - it is considered sacrilegious to touch books with one’s feet and an insult to point one’s feet at someone.

In Japan, they go all out when it comes to feet hygiene. On entering someone’s home, outdoor shoes are removed and one changes into indoor slippers. And there are separate toilet slippers into which one changes before entering the bathroom. Outdoors is considered to be extremely unclean by Japanese people - as well as the toilet area. Indoors is kept meticulously clean. It all sounds a bit neurotic, dusting key holes, no doubt.

I’m not known for being an overly particular housekeeper. (That’s putting it mildly. My mother tried her best with me but I think life’s too short to polish.) But I get the need to keep surfaces clean and if my grey carpet gets any more abuse, I’ll be very annoyed. Requests for shoe-shedding then seems like a no-brainer. But it doesn’t come naturally. First, there’s the fear that people will think I have notions. (Did you hear your one? Telling us to take off our shoes? Lady Muck or what?)

There’s also the fear that people will assume I think they’re dirty. (If they’re that sensitive, I don’t really want them in the house.)

A more real fear is the inconvenience factor. One doesn’t want to put people out. Or embarrass them when they’re having a bad feet day - holes in tights, chipped nail varnish or feet that would benefit from TLC.

Maybe I should be a bit Scandinavian about it. There, it’s considered unhygienic and rude to keep one’s shoes on when entering a house, in particular boots or walking shoes. It’s the snow. With me, it’s the endangered pale grey carpet.