There is a battle raging deep in my soul, one that threatens to rend asunder my long-held aesthetic identity: I want a pair of Crocs. Yes, the ubiquitous footwear, which come in every shade of hideous and make Birkenstocks look like Prada.
The lingering idea was cemented as I limped through last week, having hurt my foot, I determined through a bit of self-diagnosis on the internet, by simply walking. (I am falling apart!)
Unlike other Croc supporters, I am the first to admit that these are certainly some of the most hideous shoes ever invented. Ever. Still, I find myself eyeing them on the street, trying to picture myself in a pair.
Which is why I was happy to read this article in the Times on Sunday. If they cannot be beaten, then must they not then be joined? Can I hold out? Or should I just give in and then shroud every mirror in my home, in mourning for the sense of style I once possessed?