On the Slipping Morals of Our Times and the Preponderance of Cluggs

We live on the slippery slope of where good judgment meets capitalist values and demolishes classic values. Once it could be said that designers and artists and urban planners, trained in the fine nuances of their craft, erected only monuments to what historically had been proven just and blessed. Strength and guidance was available to anyone witnessing and passing by a stone pillar, a hand-sewn and inscribed text, a treated leather boot. Now: not so.

The Ugg was one thing. A cross between a llama and a garbage-bag sock, dyed pastel colors to pair with miniskirts, they at least have the virtue of warmth.

The clog, on the other hand.

The clog is a staple of Europeans and gardeners, eternally doomed to be cool enough to experiment with but weighty enough to never quite make it on the runway. One can truly respect the clog: it knows its place, and persists. It's made of simple materials and has a sturdy past.

But meet the Clugg.

A fur booty with a wooden bottom and pronounced heel? Metal tacks edging two-tone fur? What are those yahoos who call themselves designers trying to suggest to their blind-bought audience?

You can't wear them in snow: they are MULES. They don't have a BACK.

You can't wear them to garden. They are SUEDE.

You can wear them as a walking shoe. NO YOU CAN'T! They have a frickin' honky heel!

Couture has a reputation for the extreme, the unwearable, the beyond-expensive. Things you can't walk in or move in become objets desire because most people simply can't justify them or the accessories and drivers they require. Fair enough if we're talking about a Comme de Garcons frock or Christian Louboutins (leaf-colored satin, please).

BUT WE ARE TALKING ABOUT CLUGGS.

They are not actually ATTRACTIVE. They don't look good on a foot; they don't look good in a dog's mouth as his chew-toy; and I feel for whomever is destined for them once their owner stops housing them in their closet real estate. Now, I believe in reusing and recycling. So take those bitches apart and make candle holders if you have to. Dildo cozies if you have to. Planters, tongs, a 3-D bust of Lincoln. Because I don't want to see them anymore in their original state.* Make me wonder where that wood came from.

*Neither does Krista McDermott. She so wisely invented the dang term for those tarsal-toasters.