UK Edition 
Modern Manners: Wellie boot snobbery
When I was little, though I longed for them, I wasn’t allowed those wellington boots that looked like frogs. You know the ones. Green children’s wellies with bulging, froggy eyes that stick up over the toes. My mother said they were “naff”, which was code for “common”.
Other things that were deemed naff included (but were not limited to) Velcro shoes, any clothing with a logo on it and party bags. At one particular birthday party – I was seven or eight – my guests did not leave with a party bag stuffed with cake, Smarties and plastic toys. Instead, they were each handed a homemade gingerbread man, threaded with a tartan ribbon. Dead posh, gingerbread men.
Anyway, our household embargo on the boots that looked like frogs meant l learnt early on in life about wellington boot snobbery and I feel it’s my duty to pass this wisdom on. Until now, you may have led a pleasant and sheltered existence, untroubled by the idea that you may be wearing the wrong wellies. “What nonsense,” you may be thinking, “surely the wellington boot is a humble item, designed solely to keep the feet dry, irrespective of whether those feet belong to a duke or a dustman?”
Well, not really. The wellington boot was invented by the Duke of Wellington in the early 1800s, so it was never that humble. He wanted a boot which was tough enough for battle but smart enough to sport around town, even to go dancing in should the occasion require it. He duly commissioned his bootmaker, a chap called George Hoby who operated from a shop in St James’s. “If Lord Wellington had had any other bootmaker than myself, he never would have had his great and constant successes; for my boots and prayers bring his lordship out of all his difficulties,” Hoby declared.
I was reminded about wellington boot snobbery recently because I was invited to go shooting in Norfolk by a friend who emailed me a kit list a few weeks before. “Well-worn wellies” was one stipulation. Because the only thing that’s more embarrassing than wearing the wrong wellington boots is wearing clean ones.
Basically, there are two posh types of boot. Firstly, Le Chameau, worn not only by my mother, but also the Duchess of Cambridge. I know they’re French, but that can’t be helped. They are leather-lined, would carry you safely through a nuclear attack and, handily, come in eight calf sizes for those of us who have stockier legs.
David Beckham recently Instagrammed himself in a pair of Le Chameau standing beside Guy Ritchie, who was wearing a pair of Dubarry’s. These are the other grand wellington boot brand, which come from Ireland and are made from leather and Gore-Tex. I have a pair that live in the back of my car, rolling around with Pret coffee cups and sweet wrappers.
Coloured wellington boots made by the likes of Hunter and Joules are all very well if you happen to be Pixie Lott at Glastonbury. But if you aren’t, they are the tiniest bit infantile. Nicky Haslam, interior designer and style arbiter, says children shouldn’t wear coloured wellington boots either – “naff”, he says, obviously – but we live in 2017, not 1817, so perhaps we shouldn’t worry too much about what our children wear to splash through puddles.
Having said all this, I may have to eat my words because not long ago I made an exciting wellington boot discovery: there is an online company that makes frog wellington boots for adults. I haven’t ordered a pair yet because I can hear my mother chanting “naff” in my head. And also because I’m slightly worried that they might inadvertently mark me out as some kind of fetishist.
- See our guide to the best wellington boots currently on the market