The origins of the Oxford shoe and why it will never go out of style

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When Harry Hart (Colin Firth) advised young Eggsy (Taron Egerton) to wear ‘Oxfords, not brogues’, in Kingsman: The Secret Service, it sent sartorially-challenged gents into a bit of a tizz. ‘But Oxfords are brogues!’ they cried, looking helplessly down at their feet, questioning everything they had been led to believe. And they weren’t wrong — Oxfords can be brogues and brogues can be Oxfords. The words refer to two different things: ‘Oxford’ relates to the shoe’s construction, while ‘brogue’ refers to its decorative detailing. Put it this way: ‘Oxfords, not brogues’ is like asking for ‘whisky, no ice’. Harry’s directive simply highlights the distinction between a formal and more informal style.

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The Oxford shoe’s origin story is a little murky, but I think it is better attributed to a natural style evolution rather than a single individual. In Regency England, tight breeches were slowly replaced with fuller-cut trousers that were too wide to tuck into the then-usual knee-high boots, but too slim to look elegant worn over the top of them. In about 1825, Oxford University students began cutting their tall and fiddly boots down by hand. The result was an easy-to-lace and shorter boot, and then — after some more trimming — a shoe, quickly branded the ‘Oxoniana’.

It is the Oxford’s mechanics — its lacing system — that defines it, and not its origins or its purpose. The shoes are constructed by stitching the eyelet tabs under the vamp so as not to be visible, forming a slim-fitting thing that sits close to the foot. The most refined style, the Wholecut Oxford, is made from a single, uninterrupted piece of leather. Good Oxfords are subtle, elegant and comfortable; the perfect choice for long engagements.

By the beginning of the 20th century, Oxfords were being worn with sporting clothes and casual attire, and were popular with the rising middle classes who aspired to look like they led a life of leisure. And though the saying goes that the more brogueing on an Oxford, the more informal it becomes, its beauty is in its reliability. It works just as well with casual clothes as it does with a suit. Another phrase parroted around the Oxford is ‘no brown in town’, a viewpoint that brown shoes are too casual for urban, professional environments. However, Euan Denholm of Northamptonshire shoemaker Edward Green believes that it’s ‘a far more interesting choice — certainly a Milanese gent would always choose a brown over black as the shoe of choice to wear with a navy suit.’

And who are we to argue with the Italians?