As published by Esquire:
We ran into this guy from across town not too long ago. Had the shiniest dress shoes we’d ever seen. Like slick patent leather but on salarymen’s calfskin. Asked him how he did it. He wouldn’t tell us. Said it was his maternal grandfather’s secret. Said maybe, just maybe, he’d write about it for us. fI we paid him. Which we did. We didn’t have a choice: Those are his shoes there on the right. And this is his story.
“Morgan, son,” my grandfather, Guy Wiggins, said to me years ago, “only Communists, Yankee carpetbaggers, and middle managers wear unshined shoes.” Guy is a southern gentleman who speaks in life’s great gospels. And like another plainspeaking southerner, old president Truman, my grandfather was an artillery captain in the Army and not unfamiliar with having his boot in some dark places. But whether it was there on a private’s backside, sunk into the red carpet of the First Baptist Church, or striding through the town square in Andalusia, Alabama, my grandfather’s size 1A shoes always sported his trademark sheen. A man’s-man shine. A radiance. No, a luminosity. A luminosity on which I’m prepared to shed a little light.
All it takes to have shoes that sparkle like his is water, wax polish, some old rags and cloths, and a strong and highly functioning elbow. Now, pay attention: Remove your shoelaces so that the tongue and eyelets can be shined. With a rag and the highly flammable chemical of your choice Guy prefers kerosene strip the shoes of dirt and old wax.
This first step (A) the key to the entire regimen requires either a spray bottle or a camel; humans do not have enough spit: Open a tin of wax and shower it with water. That’s right, the wax itself. The brand is irrelevant; just make it wet. Using a small, moistened brush-not a sponge, a cloth, or, God forbid, a
“dauber”-slather a generous base coat of damp wax over the entire shoe. Don’t be shy.
Now fold in half a densely woven rag that has been washed a dozen times or so. With both your index finger and your that-was-my-lane-you-bastard finger held together, faceup, drape the rag over and twist it around them, gathering the excess with your thumb. (This may sound overly complicated, but Guy insists that two fingers make a shine.) Wet the cloth.
Wet the wax. Wet the shoe. Now, with the rag, begin to apply more wax to the existing base (B). Do not let it dry; the wax should smear easily. If your rag leaves little droplets of water, you have either too little wax or a crummy cloth. Continue this process, always applying more wet wax and paying particular attention to those crevices where your shoe bends, until a moderate to high shine is achieved (C). You may have to repeat this step many times (Guy has been known to spend a half hour on it), depending on the quality of your shoe leather.
If streaking and a haze develop, you’re not using enough wax or water (D).
Once you have created a substantial glow, dampen a plush, well-worn towel (think Hilton, not Motel 6) and, with a rapid back-and-forth motion, buff the shoe to a brilliant shine (E). Then, with an extremely soft, damp cloth a sweatshirt turned inside out works well), finish the job, pressing lightly. After you’ve painted the edges of your shoes with liquid sole-and-heel trim (Guy uses the stuff from a sponge bottle but applies it with a discarded toothbrush), you have a pair of kicks with an unparalleled luster.
It’s not as sophisticated as those cordovan-caressing buffing machines. And it’ll require more labor than the Army’s expectorant routine.
But if you follow Guy’s instructions just once, you’ll know those methods are a waste of elbow grease, because no other can surpass the results of the Wiggins Technique.
-MORGAN MURPHY