When I first saw in 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 brandandis known formaking ugly footwear. Former Project Runway star and fashion icon once said they made his feet look like hooves.He’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 campin Concord, Massachusetts. Surrounded by teachers and hippiecounselors who donned this cushionedfootwear,I 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—butI wore Nike Dunks or Vans instead.When it rained and I walked campers to their parents’ cars, I suffered the consequences: my socks and shoes got drenchedand I’d have to drive home barefoot. My car smelled of wet sneakers for months. ButI 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, showed them off with his summer collection. The next year, Balenciaga brought them to . In 2019, the shoes were the . and are showing off their Crocs on Instagram. called it the spring2020 it shoe.They 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 choseorange 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 onto 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 theywere easier to slide on than sneakers and kept my feet warmer and drier than sandals. Despite my protests, she bought me a pairforChristmas.
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-consciousnesshas disappeared. I’ve been wearing sweatpants to the grocery store—something I rarely did before, except for early-morningtrips. But the most blatant disregard for my outward appearance has been embracing my hideousbright red Crocs as something other than gardening or household-chore shoes. I’ve made them an everyday item.
And despite how ugly they are, Crocsserve 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.During quarantine I’ve slipped on my Crocs to build a chicken coop and togo on family walks.I’ve worn them whilepickingup dog poop in the yard and while washing the cars. I’ve even worn them to get groceriesand to the hardware store.Nothing matters anymore.
In AprilI was supposed to go backpackingin 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 packand Crocs weren’t on the list. Now, I’d rethink that. On the trail I’d wear my boots, but I’d carry my Crocsdangling frommypack, ready for me to slideon andlet my feet breatheas 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.I won’t be afraid of the hideous clown shoes. I’ve embracedthem.