An Appreciation of Leather and Polish

My shoes, to the casual observer, look presentable. True, they’re scuffed and smudged, but that’s to be expected of a pair of black leather Bostonians exposed daily to the sidewalks of New York.

By Wall Street standards, however, they’re unacceptably shabby.

That’s why I’ve settled into a chair at Eddie’s Shoe Repair, in the underground concourse at Rockefeller Center in Manhattan, to receive a Wall Street-style shoeshine. Men in business suits sit on either side of me, thumbing through newspapers or tapping on their smartphones, as workers buff their footwear to a high sheen.

This is a cherished ritual for the financial set, from lowly analysts to managing directors. Over the years, the banks have grown bigger, the bets have gotten larger and the pace of business has become quicker â€" but many on Wall Street still insist on cramming a shoeshine into their schedule.

“I come here about three times a week,” says Kevin D. Bancroft, a 27-year-old financial adviser with Merrill Lynch Wealth Management, in a gray suit and violet tie. “They’re the best.”

Appearances are paramount on Wall Street, and not just for meetings with clients. This is a world in which the “tie label check” â€" an unapologetic inspection of the designer of a colleague’s neckwear â€" is as common as a straphanger stealing a glance at what a fellow commuter is reading.

But inside bank offices, the culture of shoeshines is changing. While traders were once accustomed to having their shoes polished at their desks, a factorylike approach has become increasingly common, with workers collecting shoes to be shined elsewhere.

Eddie’s and other shoeshine parlors have sought to fill a void, attracting bankers from firms like Barclays and Morgan Stanley who crave an old-school, 15-minute experience.

“It’s the philosophy and the mentality,” says Hugo Ardaix, the owner of Eddie’s, who works behind the counter with his sister, Maria.

Last year, Mr. Ardaix says, he was invited to send some of his workers to Morgan Stanley â€" an opportunity that, to some, might seem like a boon. But Mr. Ardaix, 57, declined.

“They don’t think about quality. They don’t think about long-term relationships,” he says of shoeshine workers inside big banks, who are typically independent of the firms. “They do two minutes, a little water, and they want to collect the money. It doesn’t work that way.”

Sitting with my oxfords propped on brass footrests, I am casting about for something to do with my hands. A worker hands me a copy of The New York Post, which I browse casually as Segundo Sicha, a 33-year-old Ecuadorean immigrant, begins a multistep process.

First, the shoelaces come off, allowing access to the shoe’s nooks and crannies. Then Mr. Sicha uses special fluid to remove any previously applied polish â€" a step that, in my case, hardly seems necessary.

To moisturize the shoes, Mr. Sicha applies a coat of cream and rubs it in with a brush. Once that’s complete, it’s time for the polish.

With his fingers wrapped in a rag, Mr. Sicha uses circular movements to massage the polish into the leather, reaching even the backs of the shoes. Then a brush, and another round of polish.

To develop an understanding of the leather, and to learn to hold one’s fingers “in a certain way,” can take several months, according to Mr. Ardaix, who grew up in Uruguay.

But to me, the technique is almost invisible, as I switch from reading The Post to checking e-mail on my iPhone.

Mr. Sicha produces a clean cloth, sprays it lightly with water and begins to buff the shoes. After several rounds of this, he coats the edges of the shoes with instant wax.

Finally, after another round of buffing, it’s time to put the laces back on.

Mr. Ardaix’s shop “gives the best shoeshine in New York and nationwide,” Vernon E. Jordan Jr., a senior managing director of Lazard, said in a letter last year.

“Its closest competitor is a shoeshine in the Atlanta airport where my classmates from high school provide a great shoeshine,” Mr. Jordan said in the letter, which was written to Mr. Ardaix’s landlord and reviewed by DealBook.

For all its well-to-do clientele, Eddie’s charges a relatively low price â€" $2.50 â€" for its service. By comparison, it’s not unusual for shoeshine workers inside banks to demand at least $5, plus a tip.

Mr. Ardaix, who catches a 5 a.m. train to work each morning from his home in East Fishkill, N.Y., says that making money is not as important to him as building relationships with his clients.

But the workers depend on tips, and customers are expected to be generous.

With my shoes shinier than they have ever been, I feel a need to show Mr. Sicha my appreciation. So I hand him a $5 bill.

After he thanks me, I press him to tell me how my tip compares with what he earns from Wall Street customers. It turns out it’s middling, even on the low side.

Sometimes, Mr. Sicha says, he gets $10. And, I ask, what about $20?

“Like, once a year,” he says.