CROCS

Ugly is a term I usually try to avoid when describing anything. To acknowledge that something is ugly, I will have to accept that ugly things... people exist. A sore subject, especially when that term was used on me countless times growing up, and I refused to believe that I was ugly—a topic for another day. Today it is all about Crocs.

I rarely go back to things I swore hatred to; I can take back my love—I like that song, "Taking My Love Back" by Ciara and Enrique Iglesias—but never my hate. I hated Crocs. I found them ugly, distasteful, and worse, the people who found appeal in those rubber things that would smell like a condom after a walk under the sun on a tarmac road.

In the mid-2000s to 2010s, my younger brother had them. At their sight, I would sneer in disdain. They would sit by the doorstep, and even when I needed to run a quick errand or activity like watering the vegetables in the backyard, I couldn't fathom my feet touching them. I would rather walk barefoot and risk being pricked by a thorn, a sharp stone, or a broken piece of glass. Any pain or suffering was better than Crocs.

Now, on the wearing and tearing part, whew! They never aged well. They would tear from the heel or from the big toe, meaning they were irreparable compared to ordinary sandals.

However, every story has a turning point. My turning point was unprovoked. My partner had gone shopping, and on his return, he brought green slippers for me and a pair for himself too. However, with his purchase, he also had bought this huge pair of gray and white Crocs. They were huge, double my shoe size—I am a size 36 or 4, depending on your metric system. I stared at them and then at him, wondering whose third pair they were. We both hated Crocs, conservative in the ways we were accustomed to. This is a man who can't wear short-sleeved shirts—how dare he expose his arms?

Seeing those Crocs left me confused because he only wore 'acceptable' shoes going outside, and I couldn't see him wearing those hellish rubbers in the house. The Crocs remained untouched for months. I would just wipe the dust off them and return them to their spot. Sometimes when I did that, I would think, "What a waste of money?" I would turn to him, and he would ask, "What have I done now?" with a silly smile, easing my thoughts on why he even bought them. They aren't expensive, very affordable, but I would think he would have just bought a piece of fried chicken or two bar chocolates for me instead of having to suffer every time I saw them.

Then one day, I couldn't find my other slippers, and I was cleaning. I had socks on, and I was feeling cold. Stepping on the cold floor wasn't a compromise, and I hated the feeling of wet socks on my feet. Begrudgingly, I slipped my feet into the rubber monsters. I looked hideous, I took the first step. My life changed. They were the warmest, most comfortable shoes I had ever worn. I continued to clean, and my feet and socks remained dry and warm. Where had they been all this time?

Quickly, I took a picture and sent it to my partner. I was in disbelief that my feet were finally inside the Crocs, shoes I had sworn to hate until the end. It was at that moment that I finally had my Croc bug bite.

I never thought I would buy, leave alone write an entire article on them. Now I am a reformed Croc hater to a believer. I own more than five pairs in different colors. I no longer have to wonder how a company that made ugly shoes was still in business because I am ready to keep it in business. I love those ugly shoes.