…to clog or not to clog…
Right on the heels of a post about simplifying comes a post about a purchase.
*…hypocrisy, party of one…*
Actually, it isn’t because I balanced the scales with a deposit at Hoodwill that more than made up for it, but that isn’t the point of this story. Please, indulge me.
As I’m sure you all have seen, clogs have made their grand re-entrance on to the world’s fashion stage. I’ve seen them everywhere: runways, blogs, more blogs, a few magazines, etc. I never have understood their appeal. Honestly, I think they’re one of the most tragic looking shoes to ever be cobbled. Ever.
That said, if I see anything enough times, I will become intrigued by it (see my Chloe Doc obsession of yesteryear). If I’m intrigued enough, I’ll consider buying it just to see what all the hullabaloo is about. It doesn’t happen very often, but it does happen.
In the case of the unfortunate-looking clog, this intrigue was met with some fierce opposition. Ever since I first learned to walk in shoes other than sneakers, I’ve cultivated a (possibly irrational) fear of mules. I mean, it’s half of a shoe. HALF of a shoe. I grew up playing a fair amount of sports and ankle support was considered paramount. There is no ankle support in a mule. A mule doesn’t really support anything. It’s a toe shield with a heel. Now, add that to having the great misfortune of seeing several ashy, cracked heels flopping up and down, unlucky women walking out of their mules, and unluckier ones twisting their poor, unsupported ankles because they were left elevated and naked unto the world.
Scary, scary stuff.
For weeks, I’ve seen pictures of Chanel clogs, pictures of Jeffrey Campbell clogs, pictures of chicks wearing newly purchased Jeffrey Campbell clogs because they can’t get Chanel clogs, and my mind always wandered to the place where I couldn’t understand why people were so obsessed with these strange-looking shoes that led to pain and suffering.
And then I went to Hoodwill.
A while back, I made a pact with myself that if I wanted to try out something trendy or strange and found it in a Goodwill, I could purchase it practically guilt free. It’s saved me a ton of money from not having to pay retail for something that I’m probably not going to be wearing for a long time and I’m supporting the whole Goodwill jobs mission. Everybody wins!
While I was browsing the racks, I saw them. I saw a pair of clogs. BONGO clogs. I haven’t seen a Bongo item of clothing since I was in junior high school. And Bongo was here. In clog form. In my size.
“This HAS to be the universe fucking with me,” I thought.
I showed dudeguy.
“Meh,” he shrugged.
I left them on the rack and instead bought a 70’s knit cardigan and some vintage glasses that are currently being fitted with lenses. Dudeguy got a gray wool D Squared trench coat. I’m still wondering who dropped off that coat. If you knew where I lived, you’d understand.
We went home and I was still perturbed by what I’d found.
“Dude…they had CLOOOOOOGS. Why do I even want these shoes? They’re ugly.”
“You’re going back tomorrow, aren’t you?”
“You know I am!”
I went the next morning and the clogs were still unclaimed. I picked them up and walked over to the cashier. He told me they were 25% off. I gave him $6 and was on my way.
I don’t know why I have them; I don’t know what I’m going to wear them with; I don’t know if I’ll wear them at all, but damn if it doesn’t feel good to spend $6 instead of $125 on an experimental piece of clothing.
Even better, I didn’t fall out of them when I wore them around the house. Not once.
The moral of this story: if you’re iffy on something you want to buy, NEVER pay the retail price. It is thriftable. I promise.
Other moral of this story: everything you thought was true in 7th grade probably isn’t anymore.
