Among all the types of neighbors who can turn collective ownership from merely annoying to utterly nightmarish, the most formidable may not be the one you would expect. More than the party animal who opens their windows every Saturday night to blast French rap, the fitness enthusiast doing endless sets of burpees in their living room or even the animal lover in charge of a pack of barking dogs, the true menace in any apartment building is the clog wearer.
While these shoes now come in a variety of stylish variations, many models are still defined by their thick wooden soles, each step producing a noise akin to the sticks knocked backstage in a theater before the curtain rises.
Living beneath a clog admirer who does not refrain from wearing them indoors can quickly make you feel like you've bought a ticket to a performance destined never to begin.
But in their boundless generosity, the clog owner rarely limits the impact of the noise they make to only the neighbors below. Each morning, if they prefer to bound down the stairs rather than take the elevator, they flood the common spaces with a clatter that is likely to disrupt the late risers' chance to sleep in and give others the impression that jackhammer work is starting in the building.
So, beyond any aesthetic considerations (we have nothing against clogs themselves) and unless you live on the ground floor, we strongly advise you to think twice before buying a pair. If you've ever felt irritation welling up at the sound of an overly loud motorcycle or a garbage truck dumping glass, then you know that reason dictates that we not add noise to noise.
More than just a matter of social etiquette, this is all really about common sense. Clogs, which appeared in France between 1,480 and 1,520, were rustic, sturdy and inexpensive, designed for peasants and craftsmen to wear in the countryside, in fields or workshops. Their place has never been in the city, in poorly insulated apartment buildings, on your feet and above our heads.
Translation of an original article published in French on lemonde.fr; the publisher may only be liable for the French version.