Somebody posted a picture on another GR flip-flop thread of some black Havaianas (how is that pronounced, btw?) with cute little silver skulls on them and I bought them from Amazon. And I love them and wear them constantly. Kiss my white pancake ass.
I read that whole article with sincere intent to learn why flip-flops would gross someone out. I get it if you don't like the way they look, but gross you out? So the author talked about ff wearers acting like they're already home and taking their ff's off on the train but that would be gross no matter what kind of shoe was involved. Then the author talked about how they're not good for your feet. Ok, probably right, but that's not gross. The author talked about the slack, lazy attitude the ff's seem to imply but again, that's not gross.
Um, Tevas and Crocs? That doesn't deserve a response. A heel strap and a buckle make sandals acceptable? Why is the author so concerned with the shoe wearer being able to run or step backward? I never even think about other people doing that. I'm also not thinking about how they might step on a nail at a construction site or encounter a pool of motor oil. A strap on the back of your sandal isn't going to help you if you step in dog poop. Your argument is invalid.Of course, the same might be said of any flat, thin-soled shoe—but as soon as you slap a heel strap and a buckle onto that sad, flapping sole, my objections disappear. Individual sandals and clogs are subject to scrutiny as to their wearability and visual appeal: Tevas and Crocs may be aesthetic abominations unto the Lord, but at least they perform most of the basic functions of shoes. They permit the wearer to break into a run or take a step backward when needed (who can predict when you’ll need to sprint to catch a bus or help a friend move his couch on short notice?). And with their thicker soles and foot-harnessing straps, they at least go some way toward protecting the feet from the most egregious aggressors in the outside environment: broken glass, loose nails at construction sites, wads of gum, pools of motor oil, piles of dog poop, puddles of human effluvia. (If this unappetizing imagery is skeeving out you flip-flop loyalists, welcome to the mental world of everyone who looks at your feet.)
If some podiatrist chased me down in an airport trying to save me from my cute havaianas, I'd thank him to mind his own business after I punched him in the mouth.