I’ve seen at least three articles online this week complaining about Crocs. It seems people thought they were so ugly, there was no way they could stick around. Lo and behold, they’re still here, much to the horror of the fashion police. One writer even admitted to teaching his son to make fun of people who wear them.
Woe to the incessant whiners who defile their vocabularies daily with bitter complaints about shoes they don’t have to wear. Just the sight of them! So hideous! They’re like holey clown shoes! Only dorks would ever wear them, right?
Well, I must be the queen of Dorkopolis, because I love my Crocs. In fact, I need to replace them, since I’ve worn off the treads on the soles. No, I don’t think they’re pretty — or even cool. I don’t wear them to make other people happy. I wear them to give my spine and my feet a break.
I can’t tell you how much I care about what other people think of my choices in footwear when I’m not wallowing in pain all night with a backache from wearing pretty, fashionable shoes. Because I don’t. I’m sure I could try to care less, if I wanted to. But I just can’t do it.
I was born with scoliosis — that is, an S- shaped curve in my lower spine. People can’t really tell if they don’t examine the one shoulder that’s slightly higher than the other, the one leg that’s slightly longer, and the fact that I try not to run because I look like a double-jointed giraffe when I do. The worst part is when it flares up and I can’t think about anything except how much my back really, really hurts.
Compounding the issue is how much I walk. I love walking — it helps me clear my mind and gives me lots of opportunities to take pictures of bugs. But if I walk a couple of miles in the wrong shoes — like I do when I can’t find my Crocs — I will be feeling it until I can force someone to give me a massage.
Of course, I’m guilty of going out to concerts and clubbing in high-heeled boots with my friends. No, I don’t wear Crocs to go dancing — they are the suckiest shoes ever for that. It’s like putting two plates in a mud puddle and trying to ski on them. But my feet hurt quite a bit at the end of the night. Lucky for me, I have a husband who loves to rub them. Making a habit of it, however, is not recommended.
One thing that really bugs me about Crocs, though — aside from being impossible to dance in — is how much static electricity they generate. I constantly have to ground myself before touching anything metal, and I’ve learned to touch the back of my wrist to the freezer doors at the store before opening them. Fewer nerve endings there than in the fingers. But I suffer though the electro-shock grocery experience because I need my spine. I use it every day.
So if you have nothing better to do with your time than complain and moan about someone else’s footwear, I suggest you find a more interesting hobby. Like theta-orthodics, or perhaps sports medicine. Or maybe just, well, minding your own wardrobe.