Fancy footwear? What a Croc(k)

Staff Writer

ILLUSTRATION BY MAGGIE REUTER

DearCrocs, For some time now I have seen you lurking. Near the dirt and out of my regular line of vision, you hide. But I see you there. You, in your awkward shape. Like tiny boats you pathetically float along on the feet of those who so stupidly give in to the comfort you offer. But I know you, Crocs. I know your comfort is just the beginning. You are like the Venus Fly Trap that entices its victims with those alluring bright colors. Vibrant pinks, purples, greens and blues draw the eyes of the many who have seen you and couldn’t pull themselves to look away. Instead, they took you home. Have you no shame? You must understand how ridiculous you make people look. Their feet blown up to twice their size, as though bees had attacked beneath the ankle. Holes, sporadically yet perfectly placed, all over the top. You claim the holes’ significance in the name of ventilation, but I see beneath the lies your dark sole holds. It is merely a tactic in your methodically laid plan. Those holes, your magnificent colors and your large, disproportionate size to the human foot are all pieces to the puzzle. And you, Crocs, like an epidemic, have spread into countless lives without prejudice. From country to country you move. No matter the race, age or profession, you attack. And now you have even greater wind beneath your faux-plastic wings. You parade about with the logos of favorite football teams, with stickers and buttons attached. You’ll stop at nothing, will you Crocs? Then you expanded! You made purses, sneakers, boots and sandals for men, women and children alike. The children, Crocs? That’s going too far. At least adults have the free will and understanding of how gigantic and embarrassing they appear when they wear you. What they don’t understand is that once you are on their feet, you have ruined them. Forever, the peers of those who wear you will look on their friend, their brother, their sister who has allowed you to become a part of them with horror, with pity — and often with laughter. You think I can’t see you, but I do Crocs. I see you lurking as you have done for so long now, on the feet of family members or just passersby. But I will not give in. I may not know your plan yet, but I will. I know that this must make you angry. I’m sure now that I have confronted you this way, I will see you even more. Try as you may, I will not succumb to your manipulation. I am too strong for your child-like tactics, and I will not be enticed by shiny colors, buttons and bows. I refuse to throw my dignity to the wind, despite the thousands who already have. I will see you soon, dear Crocs. And when I do, my fury against you and all you have done to the people who wear you will be released. I can no longer stand your existence. I see you, and I hate you. I would crush the toes of those who enable your existence, but unlike you, Crocs, I will show mercy to their feet. But my search to unveil why you have come here and done such awful things to the innocent and unsuspecting will not stop. I am determined to understand how you have flourished when so many hideous and fake shoes have failed before you. And when I do, I will stop you, Crocs. Somehow, I will make sure you never hurt another person again. Until then, Nicole Bednarski