What a croc

I suppressed the desire for years.  Yes years.  I swore I would never ever ever buy a pair of Crocs, brand name or otherwise.  Swore up and down they are the ugliest footwear to hit the market since duckies and Uggs.

Remember duckies?  Yeah, they were homely and became as geeky as fanny packs.  Yet everyone had to own a pair.  Forget rubber boots and deck shoes; mash them together and get a pair of useless duckies.  At least when the army boot craze hit in the midst of grunge, and everyone trotted off to army surplus stores for boots, I was able to use those steel toed monsters to protect my toes when I did firewood.

I am embarrassed to say these ones inhabit my house.

Uggs?  Those were the sloppy, suede boots women began wearing in the summertime (some still do.)  I really don’t know why people didn’t begin wearing Crocs in winter thereafter.

I suppose you can guess where I’m going with this.

Yes, I bought a pair of Crocs.

In my defense, I didn’t buy a brand name pair and spend oodles of money on said footwear.  Rather, I found the crocs at Dollarama and paid but two dollars for them, plus a little change in HST.  So for $2.26 cents I finally had a pair to call my own.

Yes, I am now the owner of a pair of purple plastic shoes.

They all look the same, brand name or not.  Doesn’t matter how much you try to dress them up with little trinkets and pins, they still look like the bill of a platypus punched with holes.  The most creative Crocs I’ve seen are slipper-crocs, in which something fuzzy is stuffed into the body of a Croc so your tootsies don’t get cold.

I don’t wear my new Crocs often.  Truth be told, in summer, I wear flip-flops, nothing but flip-flops so help me flip-flops, slapping my way through an office, the house, or school.  It’s the feet-freedom I adore, the fact my feet aren’t imprisoned in socks, caged by shoes, punished by heels.  If there weren’t so many broken bottles around and organisms like athlete’s foot, I would go barefoot all the time.

Times being what they are, I need flip-flops to assure me of some safety.

However, when flip-flops are not at hand, or when I would rather scuff than slap, I reach for my nameless Crocs.  They’re lightweight and easy to jump into before taking out the garbage or emptying the litter box.  Clean up is a breeze; as they’re plastic, you can dump them into a bucket of Mr. Clean and disinfect them.

Though I have admitted I bought a pair of plastic shoes, you’ll be hard pressed to find me wearing them frequently.  Like sweatpants, I believe they should only be worn at home where no one can actually see you.

Down the road, when my grandchildren ask about the fashion of my day (and I hope they will ask such questions) I will be able to say yes, I owned a pair of plastic shoes.

I also have owned the following: duckies, fanny packs, gimp bracelets, army boots, oversized flannel shirts, babydoll dresses, and neon colours.

Fashion isn’t always about looking your best; it’s about participating in your culture and understanding that some things just become emblematic of a time.  It’s okay to be sheeple.  That’s how we bond.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go tease my hair, maybe get a perm.

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