Shoeless Rick Rubin

 

Creative acts are all around us, in many forms, and most of them don't even involve the circus. Just look at me wiggling my big toe in this palatial room with cathedral ceilings and skylights. What I’m saying, without saying it, is that creativity cannot be ignored. We rely on our hands because that’s what we’ve been taught by glad-handers and well-armed individuals. I consider my toes, stronger, stranger and smellier fingers. I can’t write with them – yet. But I can hit a snare drum, bang a clutch and grip the corners of expensive Persian rugs while on holiday. Some people ask me, why I don’t wear shoes. I answer their question with a question. 

 

Did the first human being wear shoes? Were they Nikes? Were they Asics? Early primates were constantly running for their life from predators. Because fight or flight wasn’t about arguments with an airline concierge. 

 

The great artists of France’s Chauvet Cave weren’t wearing flipflops and argyle stocking. They were connected to their canvas in a profound way. Socks and shoes are middle management, getting in the way between truly understanding the world. I don’t want anything obstructing that. Why did I import heavy slabs of Italian marble for each of my seventeen bathrooms? It wasn’t to not feel the floor as I gaze into my own reflection for three hours each morning.

 

Whenever someone raises the issue of fungus, I smile and shift the subject to mushrooms. How sweet, how savory, how important they are to the modern dining experience. The choice to bring these delectable little snacks from the forest floor to our dinner plates was a revolutionary one. It took courage and creativity. Imagine if toadstools were left to be the stools of toads? The enterprising amphibians' seating loss was our spiritual gain. 

 

Creativity cannot be understood with footwear. I know this will disturb sneakerheads and bootlickers everywhere, but it’s the truth. And if you really hate the smell of feet? 

Light some incense.