What is Barefoot ?

Barefoot (bare – barefoot, naked or empty; foot – foot), barefoot walking, barefooting.

Well, another modern trend. But if we consider human evolution, newborns aren't born shod. They don't wear socks in the womb, nor booties—let alone stylish sneakers for those little future athletes. They don't even have hooves to protect their delicate little feet. Yet that urge to shoe the sensitive baby foot as quickly as possible, to keep it from getting cold or injured... Once, I even saw sexy plush baby loafers with a leopard print and a heel.

In today's world, walking barefoot is trendy. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say there's a mania brewing—both in the positive and negative senses. Everyday folks and experts alike—whether shoemakers or healthcare pros—have split into two irreconcilable camps. On one side are the barefooter enthusiasts; on the other, the defenders of traditional footwear. And in between, stumbling around in confusion, are those who sometimes stick to the classics and other times just dash out barefoot.

Let's try to calm the passions a bit and take a look at the human body from the bottom up, starting with the feet. The foot is a complex apparatus. It consists of numerous bones connected by joints and ligaments, with short and long muscles involved in its movement, linked via muscle fascia to the rest of the body. (Space for a detailed anatomy lesson will have to wait for another time or place.)

Essentially, the foot functions like a cat's whiskers or an insect's antennae—its job is to map the terrain and send info to the brain via countless nerve endings, like: "Watch out, you're walking on hard ground—kindly stop stomping, or you'll end up like an invalid with an artificial joint... or several."

Or: "You're walking on moss—do you even realize what a delight that is? See, if you didn't stomp so much, how wonderful it would feel?"

Or: "Heads up, pothole!" We could pause here at that pothole. A well-trained foot sends the info about stumbling into a hole to the brain so quickly that all the relevant body parts react in a flash and prevent the ankle from twisting out of control.

It's fascinating to watch little children. Take a close look at their bare feet sometime. Their toes really act like antennae, constantly feeding info to the brain. On one hand, this forces it to quickly adapt muscle work; on the other, it teaches and lets the child gain more and more movement experiences. The legs of a small child are in constant motion on their own, and we nosy physiotherapists use them to gauge whether the kid is developing well and what awaits them once they stand on those little limbs.

An older child's or adult's foot already has its bad habits. And if it doesn't get enough chances to practice "reading" the surface while walking, that ability falls asleep—or even atrophies. Such a person then stands out with stomping steps, collapsed arches, joint pain, backaches, and various misalignments of the lower limbs shaped like letters such as X or O.

This brings us to today's punchline: Barefoot shoes train our feet. And in turn, our brains too. For me—as both a regular person and a physio—another key feature of barefoot footwear is its respect for the foot's natural shape. These "non-shoes" are so wide in the toe box that they don't squeeze the toes together and allow them freedom. This is a hugely important trait. Almost daily, someone insists to me that they absolutely don't wear narrow shoes in the toe area. In 100% of cases, I just hold their own shoe up to their foot, piggies down. Then the dear complainers marvel at how their big toe and pinky stick out beyond the sole. And it's precisely this constant pressure—often for most of the day—that triggers that stiff back feeling, hip pain, thigh aches, calf cramps, and foot discomfort. For many women, it can even link to headaches.

And why should you believe all this from me? I'll share my own experience—one that's now over a decade old. I've always worn mostly low shoes (except for that high-platform phase when my friends nicknamed me Cinderella). Low, but narrow. Every day, I looked forward to the moment I'd get home and could finally kick them off. Until one day, I had a wild idea: leave the shoes at home. Back then, it was doable, so I went barefoot for three days. The feeling was priceless. Not only did the daily back pain I'd been dealing with vanish, but I also earned the status of a social outcast—or rather, a sociable one who just couldn't afford shoes. So I bought my first pair of barefoot shoes. Partly because it started seeming unhygienic to the people around me when I'd move barefoot in places where they wore shoes—like shops or pubs. Funny thing: it didn't strike me as unhygienic that they walked in shoes where I'd been barefoot.

And why should you believe me? I feel like writing: Because I'm a physiotherapist, and we always know best! But I won't... You can believe me because I'm fascinated by the human body and constantly gather theoretical and practical experiences. I experiment on myself. And I only pass info along once I'm sure it works.

Article written for peerko® by experienced physiotherapist Mgr. Martina Miklovičová