How hideous rubber shoes became summer's most unfortunate fad

Fashion is cyclical. Fall follows spring, solids follow prints, Tom Ford follows publicity, and every so often plastic shoes make an unfortunate comeback. Flip-flops, Tevas, the loathsome jelly sandals of the '80s: All had brief moments in the sun. Last summer, however, belonged to Crocs, the clunky rubber clogs that were—like meth labs—suddenly everywhere. Six million pairs were distributed to the populace in 2005, when total sales topped $100 million (up from a paltry $1 million in 2003). The company went public in February, and Crocs, Inc.'s $1 billion market cap now surpasses Earthlink's. Talk about irrational exuberance.

How did this happen? When did it become okay for women, children, and James Gandolfini to skulk around in cartoon-mouse footwear?

Composed of a proprietary substance called Croslite—an antimicrobial resin that (contrary to anecdotal evidence) resists odor—the clogs were originally marketed as a boating shoe but soon found a following among an audience as diverse as pharmacists, teachers, chefs, and children. Unlike other suspicious clothing fads, however, Crocs didn't start off as a coastal phenomenon, according to Michael Atmore, editorial director of Footwear News. "It was definitely a heartland story, and then it moved to the coasts," he says. "It took an awfully long time for Crocs to come east, I thought, and I'm not really sure how strong they're going to be in New York."

In short, the cheap, brightly colored, strangely unisex, and disturbingly cross-generational gunboats quickly tore through Red State strip malls, where they were positioned (preferably near the exits) as an impulse buy. "The surprising thing is that there have been other products like this before," says industrial designer Yves Béhar, who has designed a line of sandals for Birkenstock. "I think [the people at Crocs] just made them more consumable—a little bit like a Popsicle."

Pushed by a 2005 ad campaign that ran in Vanity Fair, Rolling Stone, GQ, Men's Journal, Real Simple, and Time Out New York—plus invidious celebrity displays—the malleable mules invaded San Francisco, L.A., and New York earlier this year. "The New York City private-school kid ain't nobody unless she owns a half dozen," says veteran trendspotter Marian Salzman, an executive vice president at ad agency JWT. "And us yuppies have three or four pairs we claim as gardening shoes, but really they are a fashion alternative to last year's flip-flops."

This was not just the summer of Crocs; it was the summer of the Crocs sighting. They appeared everywhere, from Us Weekly to the New York Post. Patient zero of the phenomenon is carrot-topped celebrity chef Mario Batali, whom a Crocs spokesperson calls one of the company's first "brand ambassadors." He isn't on the payroll, but he reportedly owns 30 pairs—all in orange—that he cleans in the dishwasher (attention Babbo diners!), and his visible patronage lends the shoes the professional-grade aura prized by the urban Bobo. Meanwhile, the list of stars spotted wearing the clown kicks includes Matt Damon, Jennifer Garner, Teri Hatcher, James Gandolfini, Jack Nicholson, and Al Pacino. A- and B-list saturation has become so complete that the tabloids have turned to sightings involving celebrities' children, with a recent issue of Us Weekly featuring a diptych of the shoes as worn by the spawn of Kelly Ripa and Laura Dern.

Such popularity has, of course, spawned knockoffs. Crocs Inc. has filed suit against 11 different companies—outfits with names like Holey Soles Holdings and Acme Ex-Im—for violating its patents. There's even an iPod-like aftermarket for replacement straps, cheesy charms, and plastic gewgaws you can fit into the holes (or "ventilation ports") in your plastic—or, um, "Croslite"—shoes. Jibbitz, the Boulder-based first-mover in the Crocs-mod market, rings up $2 million a month in sales.

Crocs also recently cut a deal with Disney for a cutesy character-themed line, and the clogs were featured in Extra's Gift Lounge at the Emmys. Crispin Porter + Bogusky, the ad agency of the moment, famous for hip campaigns for Mini, Volkswagen, and Burger King, recently celebrated the opening of its Boulder office by buying a thousand pairs—complete with the agency's logo—for its employees.

"They represent a kind of democracy in shoes, and they're something of a backlash against increasingly expensive shoes," says trendspotter Lucian James of San Francisco's Agenda Inc. "Once you get trends where people are interested in more and more expensive shoes, you find people stepping off that bandwagon into something that is completely the opposite. These shoes jump into that niche."

Consumers, however, have taken the backlash against Crocs—or the backlash against the backlash—into their own hands. Ihatecrocs.com, a website founded by two Canadian teens, demonstrates that Crocs are, among other things, disturbingly indestructible. In a homemade video that appears on the site, the shoes eventually succumb to flames after being riddled with a wide range of fireworks. Manolo the Shoeblogger, meanwhile, declares Crocs to be shoes from "a hypothetical dystopian future, one in which inmates must be dressed in the footwear least likely to be useful in the popular uprising against the regime."

"I have to say that these things are hideous!" adds Jay Escobara, cofounder of New York-based design collective Saenai. "Crocs personify the 'eclectic' person who really isn't all that different from the Kmart shopper but pretends to follow the trend in hopes it might place him among a group of people and/or lifestyle."

Ugliness might be the secret of Crocs' success, however. Last year's print campaign—which smacked of Volkswagen's legendary ads from the early '60s—even featured the tagline "Ugly Can Be Beautiful." "I think the ugliness is a big part of it," says James. "They're very much a statement against sexy shoes, and it's an interesting statement to make, to step away from any kind of looking good, to do things for comfort rather than style."

If aesthetic considerations alone can't stop Crocs (and what James calls the "grim" scenes of entire families dressed in the things), what can? Perhaps only Crocs themselves. How many people can have them before nobody wants them—like trucker hats or Uggs or (gulp!) jellies? Crocs, like Lance Armstrong bracelets and Nicole Richie, feel like perfect fodder for a future episode of VH1's I Love the 00s, which is sure to arrive sooner than you think. James warns that unless the company comes up with another idea by next summer, Crocs could easily become "the Von Dutch of footwear."

Fortunately for us, winter is just around the corner.