I hate myself. For twenty years I’ve avoided the cult that is the “Croc crowd.” More, I hate myself for loving these flip flops.
I hate that they are so damn comfy.
I hate that they are very practical.
I hate that they don’t look terrible.
And I hate mostly because I’ve been actively reviewing what other styles are available.
Not since “New Coke” has there been anything as divisive as Crocs. Even nihilists have strong opinions about Crocs.
Nothing says, “I’ve given up on life” like Crocs. My biggest fear was immediately getting a Dad-bod, gaining 15 pounds, and taking a deep interest in online poker. Like the robust individual who’s given up – Look down here, “oh these are SOOOO crazy” – I’m terrified I’ll spend my Saturdays’ at my kid’s soccer events way more emotionally invested in the outcome than those actually expending calories in said activity.
This footware embodies everything wrong with middle America, yet everything right. They are SO comfortable, there are no worries, they look good enough and I can’t really complain; and hell yeah, I’m drinking an entire bottle of chardonnay disguised in a Gatorade bottle at the PTA meeting. Yet you somehow can’t Zen in Crocs; something about these polyifaildatchemistry shoes that creates a barrier between one’s soul and the earth.
Let’s face it, these are not the go-to for high fashion; actually, they’re off the mid, and low fashion lists as well. A quick review of the word:
ɪmˈpɒsɪb(ə)l/ adjective: impossible not able to occur, exist, or be done. "Stylish Crocs" synonyms: fugly; antonyms: Hermes, Yves Saint Laurent
Now the good stuff:
Upon joining my foot to these icons of chemical engineering, the first thing I noticed…
“Double comfort soles” – Oh my God. It’s like walking on Unicorn tears of joy. If these plastic wonders were “Triple comfort” I’m pretty sure they’d be illegal in 19 States; in fact, they’re most likely a felony in Alabama – putting these on will not only make you want to sip a fine moonshine on a Sunday morning, they also incite a fair bite of bear wrestling behavior. (I hear you can plead it down as long as you are caught doing it for fun and not money).
Styled by an injection mold “artist”; one day she’s designing pot holders, the next Crocs. There’s no love here in the design, but there’s also no hate.
As you see in many of the reviews, my big complaint is frequently the lack of any real traction when wet. These polymer jobbies excel in the water, they offer excellent traction between the foot and the soul and in turn the ground regardless of moisture.
The right amount of down force with the thong. Exactly zero slippage. I could trail run in these; wait no, back that dad-bod problem.
Got ‘em dirty; throw them in the shower, the washing machine, screw it – you can run these through an industrial car wash.
I have to say, as I walk out of the house these are always in the top 2-3 of my selection.
Damn it, I hate myself.
So – Have I told you about my Crocs?!