To clog or not to clog

So for probably the first time in my life, I jumped on a major trend bandwagon. Sure I’ve flirted before with potentially cringe-worthy items (see: harem pants, which I still love, Birkenstocks at age 14, which I don’t), but mostly I’ve stayed away from scary one-season wonders. (Having said this I firmly believed leggings would be such a wonder. Evidently not) But this week I did, even though Garance and the sensible side of my brain told me not to.

I bought clogs.

Yep. Back in September you would have been greeted with a firm ‘um, no’ if you even mentioned the word clogs. Their appearance on Spring 2010 runways failed to convince me. Chanel? Nope. Louis Vuitton? I love you Marc, but no. Even the current love of my fashion life, Alex, couldn’t convince me.

Alexander Wang Spring 2010. No thanks. Source: style.com

But slowly, slowly, the clogs have been calling me. And the culprit is a little closer to home. For the past few weeks it seems like I cannot turn a corner without seeing a pair of Funkis shoes on some effortlessly (or not so effortlessly) stylish foot. My first reaction, as foreshadowed above: blech. But somehow they grew on me. Not sure whether it is my sudden return to summer and style, post-SE Asian holiday or whether the indoctrination of fashion has finally caught up with me. Have I simply seen them so many times on so many cooler-than-your-average feet that the pure ugliness has been overcome?

Whatever the case, turning up to my second day of summer subject (ugh, don’t get me started) on Tuesday to find my friend with a gorgeous yellow pair on her feet sealed the deal. Post-brainstrain I jumped on a tram and hot-footed it to GPO, where the pair of my dreams were waiting for me in Gorman. A few days later and I am officially a slave to fashion, wearing my new bronze babies out in the rain. What have I done?

My babies

Gorman clogs. Worn with American Apparel shirt, Otto jeans.

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