When I first saw Ìýin a store, hanging on a rack like a cacophony of ugliness, I swore I’d never own a pair. The company launched in 2002 as a boat-shoe brandÌýandÌýis known forÌýmaking ugly footwear. Former Project Runway star and fashion icon Ìýonce said they made his feet look like hooves.ÌýHe’s not wrong. They’re the least flattering shoes on the planet.

For years I worked as a lifeguard and swim instructor at a summer campÌýin Concord, Massachusetts. Surrounded by teachers and hippieÌýcounselors who donned this cushionedÌýfootwear,ÌýI made a choice to ignore my fellow pool staffers and forego Crocs. They made perfect sense because they were waterproof and closed toe—a camp requirement—butÌýI wore Nike Dunks or Vans instead.ÌýWhen it rained and I walked campers to their parents’ cars, I suffered the consequences: my socks and shoes got drenchedÌýand I’d have to drive home barefoot. My car smelled of wet sneakers for months. ButÌýI wouldn’t dare be caught in those clunkers like the rest of them.

Times have changed, though. Style icon has done multiple collaborations with Crocs. In 2017, Ìýshowed them off with his summer collection. The next year, Balenciaga brought them to . In 2019, the shoes were the .Ìý and Ìýare showing off their Crocs on Instagram. Ìýcalled it the springÌý2020 it shoe.ÌýThey haven’t gotten any less ugly, but they’re more trendy than ever and .

My opinion softened in 2017 when my wife got a pair for working in the garden. (She choseÌýorange so they’d be ugly enough that she wouldn’t be tempted to wear them in public.) The ability to hose them off after weeding and planting made sense—she could get them as dirty as she liked and it didn’t matter. I started putting them onÌýto take out the garbage, to turn the water in the garden on and off, and to let the dog in. My heels hung off the back, but theyÌýwere easier to slide on than sneakers and kept my feet warmer and drier than sandals. Despite my protests, she bought me a pairÌýforÌýChristmas.

I’m conscious of my appearance. It might not always show: my collar pops strangely, my black Vans are dirty and worn, and my pants have small stains. But I know how I’ll be perceived when I leave the house. During quarantine, though, all self-consciousnessÌýhas disappeared. I’ve been wearing sweatpants to the grocery store—something I rarely did before, except for early-morningÌýtrips. But the most blatant disregard for my outward appearance has been embracing my hideousÌýbright red Crocs as something other than gardening or household-chore shoes. I’ve made them an everyday item.

And despite how ugly they are, CrocsÌýserve a vital purpose during these times: they’re perfect for the outdoors. They’re waterproof and easy to clean. They float. They’re cushy and bright.ÌýDuring quarantine I’ve slipped on my Crocs to build a chicken coop and toÌýgo on family walks.ÌýI’ve worn them whileÌýpickingÌýup dog poop in the yard and while washing the cars. I’ve even worn them to get groceriesÌýand to the hardware store.ÌýNothing matters anymore.

In AprilÌýI was supposed to go backpackingÌýin the Green Mountains with some friends—a long weekend away from our domestic lives. The pandemic put the trip on hold. Prior to the world shutting down, I’d planned out my packÌýand Crocs weren’t on the list. Now, I’d rethink that. On the trail I’d wear my boots, but I’d carry my CrocsÌýdangling fromÌýmyÌýpack, ready for me to slideÌýon andÌýlet my feet breatheÌýas we set up camp.

When this is over, I’ll go back to my regular routine. I won’t wear my Crocs to the store anymore and I won’t wear them to my favorite restaurant. But they’ll be there for me when I need them.ÌýI won’t be afraid of the hideous clown shoes. I’ve embracedÌýthem.

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