Flip-flops. As a rule, I don't wear 'em. Tevas, on occasion, but I've never won them to work at a job I didn't secretly want to get fired from. I have a pair of those "Hi and yes I play for the varsity soccer team" shoes - pretty flip-floppy, but they're not comfortable and I rarely wear them. I just can't imagine wearing flip flops to work. I think the last time I wore them at all was freshman year, when I surmised that the people who cleaned our dormitory bathroom probably had a pretty solid, time-tested reason for using a hose to do so. Only I called them "shower shoes" then.
But spring has sprung and so the news is filled with stuff on flip-flops. Dante Ferrando of the Black Cat seems to have upgraded their previous "Flip flops? Seriously?" policy to as close to a verboten as you are going to get. It's easy to see the wisdom in this, even if the Black Cat has always been a more sensible rock club than the mid-90's Richmond Flood Zone - squarely in the middle of Richmond's "Yes: we are dipshit U of R fucks and we will mosh to anything" era. Rock clubs, even in ideal circumstances, are just a great place to get yr toesies tromped.
But the ebb and flow of the fashion world has its own tidal pull on the flip flop trend, and so I wasn't that surprised to see this article on Gawker, the same day, reporting on the most expensive flip-flops known to man. Price tag: $400.
PêchePlatinum uses PêcheBlu's patent pending ultra-sports shoe base with hand-matched crocodile straps for magnificent comfort. These ultimate flip flops are for those who want to express their individuality in a world of mass production.
"Individuality," in this case, is translatable as "being a fucking idiot."
But look. Let's for the sake of argument that the forces for and against flip-floppage has played to a draw. What's the tiebreaker? Well, why not simply think practically, in terms to your day to day routine around the city. This evening, as I was waiting for the outbound Orange to pull out of the Foggy Bottom station, a woman came running up to the door just as the door-closing bells were sounding their jingle-jangle. She hit the door, grabbing my attention from the opposite side of the car. She managed to get one of her arms and one of her legs in the car, but, seeing what she was up against, she wisely pulled out of the car. Unfortunately, she left something behind:
Unfortunately, as I was unused to watching people's feet, I didn't notice that her flip-flop had come off until the doors were well closed. I didn't know what to do: I moved to the door and sort of half-heartedly waved my hands on it, in the same way that one does when you lock your car keys in the car and imagine that if you wave your hand just so you might magically open it or something. The train pulled out of the station. So, I resolved to be a kind-hearted soul. I took a picture, picked up the show and put it in my messenger bag, and am now using this forum to say: "Foggy Bottom shoe losing lady! Your shoe is safe! I have it." It was only after I got off the train that I realized that now everyone on the train probably thinks I am a dirty foot fetishist.
So there you have it. Flip-flops. They're just bad for everyone.