I like feet. I definitely have a fetish. I love to see a man's

“I like feet. I definitely have a fetish. I love to see a man's bare foot, but it’s got to be taken care of. If they’re not well manicured, you’ve got to wonder what the rest of him is like. I don’t want to get in bed with somebody and feel his gnarly feet.” Thus spoke Brooke Burke, not merely in jest, but with a wisdom hidden beneath humor — a truth about care, self-respect, and the reflection of character in the smallest details. Though her words seem playful, they carry the cadence of an ancient lesson: that how one tends to the body mirrors how one tends to the soul. For cleanliness, attentiveness, and discipline in the visible things of life often reveal the virtue and harmony of the invisible.

In her frankness, Brooke Burke speaks not merely of feet, but of presentation, of the art of honoring oneself. The ancients, too, understood this: that the human body is the temple of the spirit, and to maintain it well is a form of reverence. To see beauty in the body — even in something as humble as a foot — is to acknowledge the unity between the physical and the moral. For the body, like the mind, must be kept in balance, neither neglected nor idolized. Thus, her words remind us that small acts of care — the trimming of a nail, the washing of a heel — are not vanity, but manifestations of self-discipline and self-love.

Consider, for example, the wisdom of the philosopher Socrates, who was known to say that cleanliness was not a luxury, but a moral duty. He bathed regularly, maintained his physical strength, and taught his students that neglect of the body was akin to neglect of the spirit. In the same way, Burke’s lighthearted observation becomes a mirror to this timeless truth: that the external often reflects the internal. When one meets a person who has not cared for his own body — whose feet are unkempt, whose garments are disordered — one may rightly wonder if the same neglect extends to his thoughts, his manners, or his capacity to love well.

Indeed, the feet, humble and often unseen, are symbolic in every culture. They carry the weight of our journeys, endure our labors, and touch the earth that sustains us. In ancient times, to wash another’s feet was the highest gesture of humility and care. Christ Himself washed the feet of His disciples, showing that true love lies not in grand gestures but in tender service. Brooke Burke’s sentiment, though framed in the language of modern desire, resonates with this ancient symbol: to cherish what is lowly, to tend what is forgotten, to see beauty and meaning in the ordinary.

And yet, there is another layer — the idea of intimacy and trust. When she speaks of lying beside someone whose feet are neglected, she is not only talking about discomfort, but about the closeness of love. For intimacy demands care. To love someone is to invite them near — and in that nearness, every detail matters. Neglect in the smallest things can become a whisper of deeper carelessness. Thus, she teaches, in her own way, that to be worthy of another’s closeness, one must first be worthy of one’s own respect. Cleanliness, attention, and gentleness — these are not trivial; they are the foundations upon which comfort and trust are built.

Even in her mention of “fetish,” we find not scandal, but revelation. For to have a fetish, in the language of the ancients, is to find fascination in a part that represents the whole — to see the divine reflected in detail. In this sense, her affection for the well-kept foot is symbolic of mindful love — the kind that notices, that appreciates, that celebrates care as beauty. She reminds us that love begins not in grand ideals, but in attentiveness to the real and the tactile, the physical signs of one’s nature. Neglect repels love; care invites it.

So, my child, learn from this teaching — cloaked though it may be in humor and desire. Care for yourself in all things, great and small. Keep your hands clean, your spirit humble, your heart attentive to detail. Let no part of your being be forgotten, for even the lowest carries dignity. In the way you tend to your body, you announce how you will tend to life itself. And when you meet another — in friendship, in work, or in love — look not only at their face or words, but at the quiet signs of their character, the parts that speak silently of who they are.

For as Brooke Burke reminds us in her own playful wisdom: love lives in the details. The foot, the gesture, the care, the consistency — these small things reveal the soul. Whether in romance or in life, let your every act be a reflection of self-respect and devotion. For those who love what is good — even in the smallest part — will live with grace in the whole.