I had just laughed merrily — OH HO HO HO HO HO, thusly — at A Little Pregnant’s post about Crocsâ„¢. In general, Crocsâ„¢Â are an easy punchline. Any hacky would-be jokester with a modicum of fashion sense can do a little spew about Crocsâ„¢Â and we will all nod sagely. They are hideous. They are a symbol of having given up; they are adult infantilism in action. WE KNOW. But A Little Pregnant made me feel unfamiliar new laughy feelings about Crocsâ„¢, and this is an achievement in our jaded age.
(A quick note to those of you [my 11 readers] who wear Crocsâ„¢: I don’t mean to insult you. I’m insulting all the OTHER Crocsâ„¢Â wearers.)
Maxie has hand-me-down Crocsâ„¢, and I let her wear them. Because she loves them. And hey, free shoes. But I always refused to buy my children new Crocsâ„¢. Even when they begged, mewling piteously. Because my children are a reflection of my klassiness — accessories, much like handbags — and their tackiness shames me; the membrane between self and spawn is so sheer as to be invisible. Is my tongue implanted in my cheek like a Jibbitzâ„¢ in a Crocâ„¢Â hole? Not as much as I might wish.
I have always felt that it’s a short hop from Crocsâ„¢Â to eating your own poop. I wouldn’t go so far as to quote Project Runway’s Laura Bennett, who doesn’t EVER wear jeans (“When you’re 42 years old and have five children, it’s just a short slide into sweatpants and a minivan, so I just don’t go there”) but our choices make us human. I understand wanting to be comfortable. I understand wanting our children to feel Empowered and Have a Vote on their Fashion Choices (though as a parent, you have to beat that out of them). And I appreciate that we all have different taste, and I believe in letting a thousand flowers bloom, unless they are flowers made of fully molded Crosliteâ„¢Â material. There are cute ballet flats, sneakers, clogs, sandals. WE MUST CLING TO OUR HUMANITY.
And then my foundations were shaken to their core. I got a back-t0-school press release from the Crocsâ„¢Â people…and this little-girl shoe is cute.
Now what? I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know what’s real. Does this mean J.Lo is an awesome singer, Stephenie Meyer is a good writer, and BP is a responsible company?
I was looking at this blog for 30 seconds when Willa headed for my computer like a heat-seeking missile. “What are you looking at?” she asked, her eyes gleaming at the Crocs. She is beyond upset because she has outgrown her size 10/11 hand-me-down Crocs and is too small for size 12/13 (what is with the skipping sizes? Do Australian children’s feet grow in double sizes?). Anyhow, I don’t think the shoes are that cute. And they’re still made of rubber. And they lack the holes all over, which make them breathable, which is the only reason I can justify allowing my kids to wear rubber shoes in the heat. That and the fact that they’re not just waterproof but water repellant and Willa bitches about the feel of wet sandal, post sprinkler. My fragile flower.
p.s. To answer your questions, no, No NO!
On the one hand, on the list of questions, I’m with Gayle, even on the caps. On the crocs, well, Elliot has a pair shaped like dinosaurs, complete with tail. They’re not the brand-name crocs, mind you, but they’re the only water shoes we could manage and they’re not quite as awful as the straight-up variety. And yet, I have to say, when it comes to shoe choices in general, considering Helen’s typical sparkly, Sparkly, SPARKLY shoe-preference, I’ve disassociated myself from the footwear for kid and mostly keep myself focused on: (1) steering clear of Merrill slide-on shoes; making sure that my reusable totes do not include a Public Radio option; having a raincoat other than my husband’s (in this I have failed a thousand awful failures).
All that said, I think the Mary Jane crocs are kind of cute, or at least cute enough. Then again, don’t listen to me, my girl wears some seriously ugly shoes.
Now I am having laughy feelings myself, not least because of the jaunty â„¢ after every mention of Crocs and associated materials.
It looks so festive there, like a fetching little hat. Figure out a way to tilt it at a rakish angle and the fashion world will beat a path to your door.