There’s a fashion fight afoot to shod your feet in the heat. James Mitchell is ringside Living La Vida Loafer, as he marshals the talk and walks the walk.
Right now, feet are hot. And as the mercury rises, only a fool would accept a compromise between comfort and style. So, let’s start by busting the oldest myth in the book: socks and sandals. There is an advert currently running for the Rail Delivery Group featuring four friends on a train journey mocking ‘Harry’ for the crime of wearing socks with his sandals – it’s “the mullet of footwear”. Well, just as the mullet has made a comeback with younger men, don’t be surprised to see an army of Gen-Zers marching towards you with crisp white socks and strappy sandals this summer.
As a Wham fan, I love a white sock, but other colours are available. Fashion has its own phrase for this, the ‘pop’ of colour. If, perhaps, your sock is a fuchsia pink or a cobalt blue then it ‘pops’. Like a teenager saying ‘like’ once you spot it, it begins to grate. Other quantifiers are wilfully ignored. Snap and crackle for starters, but dash, splash, slash, blaze, burst and bolt are waiting in the wings. Touch, tinge and highlight can all do the job. But once you ‘pop’ you can’t stop, and its ubiquity has been ensured by the enthusiastic uptake of social media influencers, marketeers and creative directors in fashion adjacent industries.
Don’t let that put you off the concept, though, it can be a great way to break up or enliven an outfit. But avoid contrived eccentricity. The British Ambassador to the United States during the Iraq war, Sir Christopher Meyer, wore crimson socks every day for 20 years. It was his chosen motif. In his gossipy memoirs, DC Confidential, he decided to pick a fight with the then Deputy Prime Minister, John Prescott, dismissing his diplomatic skills and his grasp of foreign policy. Prescott fired back with both barrels questioning Meyer’s integrity and independence before memorably dismissing him as a “red-socked fop”. As gangster rapper Fiddy Cent might have observed, it was time for Meyer to “pop, pop off”. Despite his knighthood, Meyer’s pop had irreversibly turned to plop.
My introduction to the sandal came courtesy of west country shoe behemoth, Clarks. With its single buckled strap and two large cut outs for breathability there was something of the Mary Jane about it, but all I really knew as a young child was that I didn’t like them. Years later as a 16-year-old at school in Street, Somerset, I got a more intimate look at their production. As a conscientious objector to the Combined Cadet Force that commandeered campus on Friday afternoons, I joined a group of other refuseniks in an activities programme designed to mould us into better citizens. I remember very little of what we did, but do recall going on a tour of the town’s major employer, Clarks. There were hundreds of people doing skilled jobs amidst a cacophonous noise and the overpowering, heady aroma of glue. As I left, I felt both giddy from the glue and proud to be the owner of a pair of Clarks crepe-soled sand-coloured suede desert boots, bought previously at one of several discount shops on the high street. Those brothel creepers were some of the most comfortable shoes I’ve ever worn. Lightweight, supple and very good looking with jeans or combat shorts (with white socks) they were ideal summer loving footwear.
But Clarks isn’t a story with a particularly happy ending. After the Clark family fought off a hostile takeover bid in 1993, new management was brought in and responded by positioning the company as a British Heritage brand. At the same time, they moved the actual production of the shoes to the Far East to cut jobs and costs – ironically diluting both the heritage and the Britishness of their offering. The boardroom shenanigans continued when the pandemic hit in 2020, and the Clark family ultimately ceded control to the Chinese company Viva Goods. In contrast, when the German shoemaker Birkenstock was taken over by LVMH (Louis Vuitton Moet Hennessy), the world’s largest luxury goods conglomerate, their strategy to building a heritage brand was to maintain tight control over production quality in Germany while moving its image upmarket through high fashion collaborations with Dior and Manola Blahnik, introducing the 1774 premium collection, and only expanding distribution through higher end retailers who would not look to cut prices or profit margins. Schadenfreude may be as ugly as an in-grown toenail, but you can hear the laughter all the way from Saxony.
There’s also been a battle for hearts, minds and soles in the sneaker market. A summertime staple for most men, the variety on offer can be bewildering. More modern styling with mesh uppers and thick, often air-pocketed foam soles keep feet cool and cushioned from a bumpy ride. No wonder Mylene Klass and Frank Lampard have embraced this corner of the market, hawking their favourite slip-on Sketchers to aspirational oldsters everywhere. But Adidas and Sabastian Sawe proved at this year’s London Marathon that shoe technology can also aid an elite athlete to break the fabled two-hour barrier. Fashion had already taken notice, with Balenciaga quickest out of the blocks in 2017 with their market disrupting Triple S sneaker. It was Creative Director Demna’s vision to drive the chunky sneaker, dad-shoe aesthetic to the limit. In doing so he added around three inches to the wearer’s height and lifted himself into the role of Creative Director of Gucci in 2025.
But the trend cycle dictates that what went up must now come down, and the latest looks are ultra-low profile. The origin is a direct crossover from women’s recent rediscovery of the ballet pump. You can see this in Dries Van Noten’s flat, snub-nosed taupe and salmon, satin covered sneaker. If that leaves you questioning your masculinity then I pity you, as it’s a minimalist beauty.
What, then, is left for us to consider? The humble flip flop is a forever favourite for most, but I find a thong between my toes as uncomfortable as I would a strip of dental floss running between my buttocks. For me, a thong in any form is just plain wrong. I favour a leather slider with a moderately cushioned sole, but the pair I had were pinched while I was on a spiritual retreat. As I was finding myself, they were finding themselves a new owner. I had even worn those slides to a wedding in the intense heat of a Roman summer. The couple are still – as far as I know – together, so no harm done. A safer and more tasteful option may be to opt for a soft-leathered loafer (if the back end is collapsable you can create a mule for added ease) or even a spectator shoe. Before its untimely closure, Oxford’s legendary Duckers on Turl Street offered bespoke examples of these contrasting canvas and leather rascals originally popularised by sports writers.
Otherwise, the barefoot and naked option remains upon the table. Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, but if you do, some advice: remember to slip, slap, slop liberally and for the sake of the rest of us, get a pedicure. And with that, it’s my turn to pop off.
