Sole searching

What has the world of footsies come to? First, came the Havaianas, Brazilian rubber slippers that swept both the fashionable and the comfort-seeker on their feet. For someone who has seen the ridiculous beeline – all in the name of getting first pick privilege or simply snagging a pair – it was apparent what these imported flip-flops have done to the poor fashionista. It has possessed her, lured her out of her chic platforms and into what everyone else called "comfort zone". In limited stores were in-stock "metallics" or "highs" were bound to fly off the shelves swifter than a flick of Harry's wand, even the most sensible may morph into a demented shopaholic, unremorseful about jostling any competition in sight or, if called for, snatching a pair from someone else's manicured fingertips. I knew the flip-flop fever has escalated into insane retail proportions when Sun.Star travel editor and occasional shopping companion Kristin Lerin began placing long distance calls imploring me to hand-carry her Havaianas from the States back home. She lamented, in a manner only a deprived can, how it takes a James Bond to get hold of a pair of gold or silver high Havaianas anywhere else. Desperation led her to amazon.com. Dutiful friend that I am who incidentally has a good grasp on the clutches of obsession being someone who hordes objects of desire myself, I lugged her prized possessions, carefully tucking these, like fragile China, in between pairs of skinny jeans to ensure that, after running into a rough day at the airport, her Havaianas won't emerge out of my suitcase like some poor, badly-battered wife. But while the Brazilian slippers were the must-have all along in this side of fashion town; half-way around the globe, Ugg was the status piece. When I spotted the Aussie invention prevalently on the pedestrian streets of Los Angeles sometime last year, I prayed – for two compelling reasons – that it won't invade home in similar fashion the Havaianas have. First, furry boots are mortal faux pas in a tropical country where dry spells equate national calamity. Secondly, unless you're Sienna Miller, you can never get away with it. Instead, what I didn't see coming was the "attack" of the Crocs. At a glance, Crocs look frighteningly cumbersome, what with the predator-like side profile which incidentally inspired the name. And without a glimmer of doubt, unattractive. Yet despite its unwieldy looks, Croc fanatics swear by its comfort. Apparently, a pair feels as light as cotton candy that, advocates of this fashion cult promise, it feels walking barefoot. As opposed to "heels from hell", a pair of comfy Crocs may seem like the way to salvation for badly battered soles. But not everyone is born ready to wear Crocs. Would the likes of Victoria Beckham be spotted wearing a pair of wild cherry-colored Crocs someday? I doubt it. Did the former Spice Girl flinch when she had to undergo foot surgery from a platform-caused injury, and give up on heels all together? Not at all. Will this writer, a heel-obsessed strider, ever betray a pair of bondage-like stilettos to become another Croc convert? Until I get to slip these vagabond soles into a pair of bulky-looking, perforated Crocs, I'd probably never know. Yet masochist that I am, I'm pretty sure that – for the time being – I'd rather endure the pleasurable pain of walking in a pair of red pumps than be caught dead wearing what one online article referred to as "hideous comfort". But then again, this is an irrational girl speaking from a bunion-free perspective.