Looking for more wool slippers our editors swear by? Treat your feet to these.
When I was a kid, I received more pairs of slippers than I could count—always for the holidays or a birthday, usually from a relative I’d see once every five years at a family reunion. Without fail, they’d wind up in the “re-gift” pile shortly after being unwrapped. Back then, my beef with slippers boiled down to one of three recurring issues: size (usually too big); wearability (usually too clunky); and smell (usually too sweaty).
Lately, though, I’ve been questioning my anti-slipper stance out of sheer necessity. It’s freezing outside, and plodding around my Cincinnati pad barefoot simply isn’t cutting it. Plus, I refuse to spend another winter picking dog hair off my socks.
Enter the Kyrgyzstan-based slipper specialists at Kyrgies, who craft their no-frills house shoes by hand using centuries-old felting techniques. Each pair is made with just four materials, including anti-microbial Kyrgyz wool, which prevents them from smelling like a middle-school locker room, and nifty silicone grips, which prevent you from involuntarily moonwalking across hardwood floors.
The marled gray color and wool texture look killer with cozy sweatpants and breezy linen PJs, but what really sold me is their dead-simple aesthetic—no obnoxious collegiate logos, no beer company slogans, no real branding at all.
I typically wear a size 10 in sneakers but go down to an 8 or 8.5 in proper leather shoes. The size 41 fits me close to perfectly, with a hair of room in the back to accommodate extra-thick wool socks. The best part about them, though, is how exactingly they’re engineered for indoor wear. Kyrgies also sells two slightly heftier silhouettes for those early-AM dog walks, but there’s something deeply reassuring about wool slippers designed specifically for the home. I run a shoes-off-at-the-door household, thank you very much; leave that rogue sidewalk grime where it belongs.
At this point in the winter, Kyrgies should consider adding a fifth material to its product description: my feet, which might as well be glued to their slippers. The wool feels like tucking my toes beneath their very own weighted blanket, and while they don’t look like stereotypical “dad slippers”, I’ve enjoyed leaving them by my bedside to slip on in the morning—a move cribbed from every ‘90s dad in every ‘90s movie.
Mea culpa, family members who shall remain nameless: if one of y’all had gifted me these all those years ago, my toes (and our relationship) would be in much better shape.
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