Crocs. Never has a piece of apparel inspired such emotion with the general public. Owners of the flamboyant footwear rant and rave about comfort, practicality and the ability to purchase shoes in any and all colors ever conceived by man. Detractors claim that the hideous design should be banished to eternal damnation’hellip;or at the very least to Wyoming or something. The way I see it, Croc owners are heroes walking among mere mortals.

Allow me to play devil’s advocate for a minute. Sure, your feet may look like a box of Lucky Charms threw up on them, but they feel incredible at the same time. Call me crazy, but the trade off of comfort versus style is one I am willing to make. One could argue that the issue is really the self-effacing versus the self-aware. If you care enough to place comfort second to style, you are wound too tight.

Just look at the anti-Crocs: the most stylish, high fashion, designer footwear marketed to the hoity-toity elites also happen to be the shoes that pretend as if your feet don’t have any bones inside. The debate over Crocs is really just a microcosm of the conflict between the spoiled and everyone else. Croc wearers stand for the normalcy of society, in stark contrast with the privileged few; not only should they be free of critique, but the brave owners should be praised for sacrificing their reputations and a sex life to further the ideologies of the less fortunate