In Praise of Japanese Work Boots

As I walked the winding side streets of Japan, occasionally I would pass by a group of construction workers on a break. While they would note my presence with a look that seemed to combine bemusement at my incongruous appearance and contempt for my leisure, I was taking note of their unusual footwear. Unlike a North American construction worker’s standard issue steel toed boots, these bandana-wearing builders sported calf length split-toed boots made of cotton. My disbelief that they would wear foot coverings offering so little protection was mitigated by a vague awareness that they would enhance the agility of the workers who seemed to crawl like spiders over homes being built in tighter quarters than a Canadian or American worker would experience.

A few years later I became a homeowner and found myself in the improbable role of avid home renovator. I did a few small jobs wearing running shoes, but found them a bit clumsy when standing on ladders and crawling around in the attic. Recalling my days in Japan, I asked my wife to pick up a pair of 地下足袋 (jika tabi or "dirt socks") as an experiment.

Even though she brought back the correct size for me I found the fit around the big toe a little tight. They even chafe a bit to this day actually, but it’s never been enough to cause a blister. The boots are attached using a clever system of vertical stitching with a long column of metal clasps that are inserted in the loops. The big advantage of this system is that the boots can accommodate any imaginable calf size/shoe size combination. The downside is that the clasps can slip out sometimes, so you might have to stop and adjust them more often than you would with boot laces.

The real revelation was working indoors with them. I renovated two different rooms wearing jika tabi and found their combination of grippy soles, flexible split toes, and breathable fabric perfect for doing everything from painting to laying hardwood floors, even when working in the hottest days of summer. It was as if sheathing my bare feet in unobtrusive socks transformed them into something a monkey would envy. Not only that, they proved gentle on floor surfaces, and allowed me to get down low whether I was nailing hardwood or applying sealer to my front steps.

So if I’ve piqued your curiosity about jika tabi, I would suggest a visit to the Rikio website to see the array of offerings available, including セーフティー (safety) models with reinforced toes. Next, you’ll have to figure out your shoe size in centimetres, which just might be on the label of your favourite running shoes. Based on my experience with the tight toe, if you can’t try them on before buying, you might want to add a half centimetre to your shoe size before ordering. Finally, if you don’t have someone who can buy them on your behalf, you could try a website like Flutterscape or Tenso and pay someone else to buy and ship them to you. I’ve never used either service, so can’t vouch for them personally. 

If you’ve ever worn jika tabi while doing some work around the house, I’d be interested in hearing your experiences. Did you find them comfortable? Would you recommend them? Be sure to let me know if I overlooked anything.

If you liked this blog post, you might also be interested in Never Look a Gift Sock in the Mouth.

Travis Belrose is the author of The Samurai Poet, a work of historical fiction set in 17th century Japan. Learn more here.