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" Velvet slippers are a divisive subject. Some love them, some hate them. And some, like me, just don&amp;#039;t know what to make of them. Part of me says they&amp;#039;re stylish \u2014 louche and luxurious, with just the right amount of rakish charm. The other part? Well, it&amp;#039;s not so sure about all that, and wrestles with the foppish connotations of wearing shoes that are made of velvet. Velvet, for chrissake. Still, I found myself fixated on the question of whether this highly specific footwear \u2014 also known as the Prince Albert slipper, and initially designed as a house shoe for Victorian men hosting formal dinner parties in their homes \u2014 has any place in a modern guy&amp;#039;s wardrobe. So I endeavored to find out.  The process started at the Stubbs &amp;amp;amp; Wootton showroom on NYC&amp;#039;s Upper East Side, where the very helpful Justin outfitted me in what I considered just the right sort of slipper for this sort of experiment. Burgundy. No embroidery. Luxe, but less ostentatious than other models, and \u2014 and this is crucial \u2014 made from velvet, not cashmere or wool or cotton (all of which I considered a cop out, as they felt intrinsically easier to carry off). After getting fitted, my first course of action was to get the hell out of New York. Why? Because it&amp;#039;s the kind of city where you can walk around in a mesh T-shirt with nipple cutouts and garner nary a second glance. In other words: It&amp;#039;s far too easy to push your personal style envelope here. I needed a place that would let me evaluate the sociological impact of my new shoes without a fashion-friendly bubble effect. Next stop: suburban Pennsylvania, for not one, but two parties, one with my own extended family (full of preps, and likely fans), and one with my fianc\u00E9e&amp;#039;s (not so much). Here, a sampling of quotes from those events:   &amp;quot;They&amp;#039;re very fancy, but I like them.&amp;quot; \u2014 my sister  &amp;quot;I feel like if you had tan feet, it&amp;#039;d work.&amp;quot; \u2014 my future step-brother-in-law  &amp;quot;What are those things? Are they slippers? Are they shoes? Oh, they&amp;#039;re kind of both, aren&amp;#039;t they.&amp;quot; \u2014 my mother  &amp;quot;There&amp;#039;s no place like home!&amp;quot; \u2014 my future father-in-law, in reference to my color choice  &amp;quot;Are those Belgian slippers like your Uncle Stevie used to wear? No? Well they&amp;#039;re very close.&amp;quot; \u2014 my aunt  &amp;quot;He&amp;#039;s in the library with those fancy shoes and no socks.&amp;quot; \u2014 my other aunt, informing my mother of my whereabouts at the party  &amp;quot;You might as well strap a neon sign to your head that says &amp;#039;Fk You.&amp;#039;&amp;quot; \u2014 my future father-in-law&amp;#039;s best friend  &amp;quot;You look like you should be standing closer to the fire.&amp;quot; \u2014 my cousin   As you can see, a mixed bag. But I&amp;#039;m calling it a positive reaction overall. Because what I really expected was full-throttle, merciless ribbing \u2014 and possibly a noogie from one of the older cousins. These are, after all, velvet slippers. Not exactly commonplace in Chester County, PA, by my estimation, and not exactly understated by anyone&amp;#039;s. And still I met with approval at best, and only lighthearted teasing at worst. And here&amp;#039;s the kicker, and probably the most important takeaway: I enjoyed wearing them. I always thought loafers were the greatest footwear-specific trick men ever played on the world, allowing them to leave the house with confidence in something so close to a slipper. Turns out, there&amp;#039;s a way to do it with actual slippers. Made from velvet, for chrissake. I felt almost like I was pulling the wool, succeeding in a sort of sartorial slight of hand. I felt like I was getting away with something, which in turn made me feel a little bit louche, and, yes, a little bit rakish. And really, isn&amp;#039;t that the point? "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
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