Kelly Bertrand tackles one of the truly mystifying moments of the recent zeitgeist – how did Crocs become cool?
I honestly don’t know how this has happened.
Neatly lined up in a row in my wardrobe, three pairs of Crocs – one bone-coloured classic, one jandal-esque option in tan and an inexplicable black platform number – innocuously wait.
‘Who do I think I am,’ I grumble to myself as I select a pair, going against my ingrained millennial instinct to pair my black maxi dress with a strappy tan sandal, not my Crocs clogs that are emblazoned with gold shell Jibbitz. But then, God damn it, I think they look… good. I know they feel fabulous. Am I leaving the house in these?
How did the ugliest shoe every invented become the coolest damn thing to put on your feet? Are they actually even ugly or did we all just pile on in the 2010s because everyone else thought they were ugly? And… am I a Crocs convert now?
How did we get here?
The rise and rise of the humble Croc
Once the business of medical professionals, chefs and kids at kindy, Crocs underwent some kind of unicorn-esque re-invention during Covid when we all decided that in fact we didn’t love torturing our feet with heels, and instead we were in this comfort-dressing vibe for the long haul.
Aesthetically questionable? Sure. Comfy as hell? You bet.
Now you see Crocs far away from their spiritual homes of hospital corridors, commercial kitchens and kids’ sandpits –on runways, at gyms, in the workplace, on tramping trails. Somehow, unlike their pandemic boom buddies such as Peleton they’ve survived and thrived, even when normal life resumed. You’re just as likely to see a Gen Z it-girl rock a wildly bright and croc-jazzled pair as you are your four-year-old nephew whose number-one possession is his bright blue and orange Bluey pair (which I admit I absolutely froth).
Quarterly sales rose last year by 63%. In 2022, Crocs reported a profit – profit – of US$2.7B. Clearly, we’ve collectively decided that these bad boys are the real deal.
Your personal vibe can now be proudly shown off on a plastic clog, your raison d’etre reflected in resin.
It’s a far cry from their former position in the zeitgeist. While they were popular in the early days of the company, which was founded in 2002, they were universally ridiculed for their appearance. In 2010 TIME magazine included Crocs in their list of 50 worst inventions. Still, the brand’s slogan – ugly can be beautiful – found its niche.
So how the hell have we wound up here? It’s not down to one single reasons, fashion and culture experts agree, but one of them certainly lies with fashion’s turn towards individual expression and Gen Z’s approach to trends. Millennial dressing spoke to the desire to conform and to hide behind a universally agreed upon uniform – my era was the tailored ‘I’ve got my shit together BUT I’m still fun vibe which we, for some reason, took to mean peplums, statement necklaces, sock buns and patent pumps. We wanted to look as similar as we could, as skinny as we could, as unremarkable as we could.
Gen Z want to stand out – and hell, nothing makes you pop more than a bright yellow pair of Crocs with Simpsons Jibbits. Your personal vibe can now be proudly shown off on a plastic clog, your raison d’etre reflected in resin.
And then, there was the strategic business decisions – namely, collabs. Crocs got smart and partnered with designers and brands that already had cool clout and youthful influence, most notably Balenciaga.
Since then, collabs with brands such as Barbie, Levis and McDonalds, as well the embrace of celebrities such as Kendall Jenner, Ariana Grande, Justin Bieber and Nicki Minaj have catapulted the Crocs social credit into the mainstream consciousness.
And, apparently, straight onto my millennial feet.
How I became a reluctant Crocs gal
I was gifted my first pair of clogs by an advertising partner – baby pink with custom Jibbitz, it was a RUDE awakening into the Crocs world because pink is… a bold choice for me. ‘No worries,’ I thought. ‘I’ll just use them as house shoes’. And baby did I what – for cooking, housework, gardening, those ugly little fuckers were my constant companions within the four walls of my whare.
Then, a classic clog pair arrived from Crocs’ actual PR in a me-approved colour – bone, with the aforementioned golden seaside Jibbitz that swiftly replaced the pink (don’t worry, my fiancé still proudly wears the pink which I find weirdly attractive). I… went to the dairy in them. Then the supermarket. Then for a beach walk.
Them, as well as my Getaway flip-flops (which have been blowing up on social media recently) and my Dylan platforms, have now wormed their way into my previously unwelcoming heart. I truly have a Croc for every occasion, and I can’t lie anymore, I really do love them because hell, I’m 34-years-old and I just refuse to wear uncomfortable shoes anymore.
If I could afford it I’d by buying them en masse for my upcoming wedding because can you imagine how comfortable and long-lasting your dance floor would be!?
Does loving Crocs make me cool? No, not at all, just like sipping on that god-awful Hailey Bieber Erewhon smoothie didn’t (one of the worst culinary experiences of my life). But it does make me smug, and this millennial will take smug and comfy over cool and chic any day.
I’m a Crocs gal. May the fashion gods have mercy on me.
