I'll admit that I am in the category of thinking Crocs are a funny looking shoe but oh so comfy! I wore my mary-jane bright red Crocs to Bible study one day and with a tone of incredulity tainted with disdain Mink asked, "Why are you wearing those?" I felt the need to defend my shoe choice - they are super easy to clean after slopping around in the mud which is my back yard. The New York based author of this article revels in her dislike for the Crocs and makes no guises of her viewpoint but did she have to dis the Northwest along with my beloved shoes? I did find it quite interesting to get an east coasters opinion on the Northwest. Obviously she won't be wearing Crocs anytime soon or visiting the Northwest. And maybe we are the better for it, we can blissfully stay in our happy green counter-culture bubble.
Comfort and function were always the main Crocs pitch. The shoes' original home was Boulder, Colo. The early Crocs customer was probably a Pacific Northwesterner who liked to boat or garden—this was a niche shoe, after all. He or she was drawn in by the "no slip" grip on the sole, by the aerating holes, and by the featherweight heft of the thing (a pair weighs a mere 6 ounces). The clunky look was not a drawback (this is the region, after all, that brought us grunge), and many customers were pleased that the shoe was made of a proprietary nonplastic resin formula (known as Croslite)—it was, as one testified, "vegan." Because the material is soft, bacteria-resistant, and has a strangely "natural" feel, the Croc fits in with the Northwest's typically green and mildly counterculture ethos. Soon nurses, doctors, cooks, painters, and other workers who stand on their feet all day had discovered Crocs and found them to be life-changing.