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Upon first arriving in Dunedin, I was pretty positive that Kiwis didn’t have feet. Every person that passed my flat was cruising on some form of wheels, whether that be a bike, a longboard or a skateboard. Although this phenomenon lasted for a few hours, a quick walk to the post office proved my theory wrong. I was suddenly very aware of the barefoot nature of Dunedin residents. Bobbing in and out of stores, it became clear to me that leaving your shoes at home was not considered as unsanitary, dangerous or disrespectful as it is back home in the States. By the end of my walk, I had joined the footloose masses and was childishly going in stores just for kicks (or lack thereof).

While I have yet to muster up the courage to attend a lecture barefoot, I am already dreading my return to a country that denies my basic human right to publicly free my toes of the oppressive confinement that are shoes. Allowing people to be barefoot may seem like a trivial matter, but from what I have experienced of this country it seems to be fairly representative of the personal responsibility that is allotted to New Zealand citizens. If you choose to go shoeless and end up stubbing your toe, stepping on a shard of glass or contracting a horrifying foot disease, that’s on you. If you visit Rotoroa and get a bit too excited about the gurgling geothermal pools, there won’t be a cast-iron guardrail to catch your fall. If you find a trampoline in the bush and decide to go for a jump, there’s no need call up your friendly neighbourhood lawyer when you break your arm.

Unlike America, New Zealand takes advantage of a concept that parents have successfully implemented for centuries. If your kid wants to do something questionable, you don’t stop them. Everyone’s gotta learn from their mistakes and successes — and if things do go awry, there will likely be a band-aid and a glass of milk nearby.