To Croc. . . or Not?

With sunny Spring firmly in its stride (with gentle hints of the summer to come) PoshMum thoughts were turning to. . . no, not love, but the thorny problem of footwear. It was now far too warm for her favourite suede boots, yet a tad too chilly for summery footwear like Birkenstocks, Scholl’s and sparkly flip-flops. What was a fashionable girl to do?

Resourceful as ever, PoshMum flung the kids at Jerzy with a barked order to deliver them to Dulwich Park, hopped into the Volvo and high-tailed it to the North Cross Road. The NCR, once grotty and grim is now such a burgeoning fashion haven that it rivals the fabulous Northcote Road – a fact that she frequently drew to the attention of her ‘between-the-Commons’ Clapham friends in their zillion pound houses. ‘Who needed to schlep all the way to the newly congestion-charged Kings Road when footwear was plentiful in the Dulwiches, (East and West?)? And this way she could make a lightning raid on the boutiques and display her new purchase on the school run all on the same day. Utter perfection in her opinion.

PoshMum deftly positioned her vast, (and now unfashionable) car (got to think of that carbon footprint!) into the tiniest of spaces outside ‘Stella b’ with surprising skill. Striding over to the window, she gazed at the mouth-watering display of ballet flats in gorgeous, candy colours. PoshMum immediately fell deeply, deeply in love and decided to purchase two pairs on the basis that they were far cheaper than her usual ‘French Sole’ slippers – in fact, she was practically saving money! Making a mental note to bring this to the attention of PoshHubby, (whose Jermyn Street brogues cost at least £250 a pop), she smiled at the pretty girls inside, and was heading for the main display, when a wicker basket holding a veritable rainbow of Crocs caught her eye. Crocs! Until now the fashion jury that sat in stern judgement in her head was ‘hung’ on the merits and demerits of Crocs. Crocs were quirky, cute, came in pretty colours and they were undeniably comfortable (like wearing squishy, rubbery pillows on one’s feet). But PoshMum was firmly of the belief that ‘beauty was pain’ (‘il faut souffrir pour être belle’). In her jaundiced eye comfy shoe wearers were like ‘Saffy’ from Ab Fab, or heftily built matrons who had simply ‘given up’; weren’t they?

She had first spotted Crocs on the feet of a Von Trapp-like family of five in Orlando two years ago. Staring in slack-jawed amazement she had decided they were not for her. Then one of her hippest, coolest mum friends strolled into the playground looking cute in her skinny jeans, pretty blouse, and bright green Crocs. PoshMum had seized the moment - ‘Ah, yes – those are Crocs! Saw them in the States last year; they are totally cool you know.’ she had explained airily (and lengthily) to the playground Croc virgins, wondering all the while if she dared to follow Cool Mum’s lead and get herself a pair. While she dithered, these mad, funky shoes sprouted everywhere like multicoloured mushrooms - now she had pretty much missed the fashion boat, a thought that filled competitive PoshMum with pangs of dread. What to do? Unable to decide, she spent a full hour modelling a purple pair all around the shop. Trying to get a grip, she took a long, hard look in the mirror, and resolved for once and all that these Croc things were too ‘nursey’ and ‘orthopaedic’ and therefore not for her. (But she soothed her ‘fashion craving’ with the purchase of one dazzling pair each for Children One and Two).

Satisfied (and relieved) that this long-running fashion dilemma had at last been resolved, she set off home. But then, all of a sudden there was Cool Mum walking insouciantly through the Village on her way to the Park; she looked sexy and young (the magic words!) and on her feet she sported a brand new pair of red Crocs. PoshMum, a formidable woman who usually knew her own mind (and everyone else’s) was thrown into complete disarray, and with one screeching u-turn she made for the nearest Croc shop (which was Biff), abandoned the car at a crazy angle by the kerb and rushed across the road, heedless of all traffic, to bag herself a pair immediately.

She wore her new blue Crocs all evening, ostensibly to show PoshHusband; she even wanted to wear them to bed - they were so divine! Orthopaedic or not, ‘Saffy’ types and hefty matrons aside, she no longer cared. Besides, Cool Mum had set the acknowledged seal of ‘cool’ on them, some of which was sure to rub off! All cool is cool, even if obtained vicariously!