Except for one outburst this time last year, I've expressed my sheer hatred of Crocs by ignoring them at every opportunity.
I was sure they'd come and go as quickly as Uggs, but my problem now isn't that they're still around: it's that the kid now knows what they are and makes reference to them on a semi-regular basis.
Some of her friends have Crocs, and so they talk about them. If being fugly and annoying and fugly some more weren't reason enough to destroy them all--and believe me, it is--Crocs' are now implicated in the kid's first significant encounter with peer-over-parent brand influence. I'm not gonna take that lying down.
So I hereby call for the immediate confiscation and shredding of every Croc in North America. If some foreign Crochead tries wearing some into the country, I call on the TSA to finally make themselves useful by confiscating them and sending them to Phoenix or wherever all the knitting needles and my $20 tube of Kiehl's shaving cream went.
But let's look on the bright side. Last night after dinner, when the kid said, "She has Crocs with sparkles on," on the playground, I hatched a no-lose plan: we'll repave the playgrounds of America with safe, cushy, shredded Crocs. Out with the woodchips, in with the CrocChips. If they want a cleaner, smoother surface, they can have Croc Mat. Of course, this means you'll have to take off all the Jibbitz doodads that have been stuck on there. Don't want anyone stepping on those.
The TSA can't do this alone. We need volunteers to set up a giant Crocs Box collection point at every park, playground, and mall entrance in the country. For the first week, just politely invite people to throw their shoes in on their own. But after Labor Day, it'll be time to start "helping" them off.
Croc On [rob walker in nytmag]