Fashion crime of the decade

Don’t get me wrong – I have nowt against Uggs per se. I’ve had a trusty, chocolate brown pair for three years. I actually did one of my stealth, last minute, Topshop trips to acquire them. I realised that I needed them to host a house party in, shortly before my guests arrived: Tooting Bec to Oxford Circus and back in less than an hour (under the premise of ‘popping to Balham to buy some nibbles’).

On a practical level, I have never suffered a cold foot, or slipped on a pavement/highly-polished surface, under the protection of my Uggs. In a fashion sense, their ugliness appeals to me in a perverse way. I like wearing them with pretty, thigh-skimming dresses, and popping them on with my harem pants, like a snow bound MC Hammer. I go to the corner shop in them on inappropriately mild spring days, convinced I’ll get snapped by a Paparazzi and the following week in LOOK, the fashion desk will caption me; ‘Still loving her Uggs, after all these years.’ And they make my legs look thinner.

What bothers me deeply, irreconcilably, about Uggs is not my own much-loved pair, or the bizarre fashion choices they have influenced me to make. My beef is with women who continue to wear them when they have warped. Women who are happy to lumber down a high street with their instep melting into the pavement, the exposed failure of their orthopedic function crying out for corrective shoes. I walk behind them every day, recoiling in horror; they must know, and if not, somebody should tell them.

I’ve heard it said that only fake ones collapse, but frankly that’s bollocks. I’ve seen the evidence. You would think, given my wonky shoulder issue (much more of that to come in forthcoming entries) that I’d be a prime candidate for the fallen arch, but I examine my Uggs regularly and, unbelievably, it seems that I have escaped this mortal curse. For those who haven’t, Uggs are an absolute no-no. It’s footwear’s equivalent of spandex on thunder thighs. If and when your Ugg boots do collapse, buy another pair for the love of Christ. Do not continue to wear them so the world’s attention is drawn to your malformed heels, grazing the concrete.

Under pain of death, fashion friends, I nominate this as my fashion crime of the decade.

But what will the tens/teenies have in store? Stay tuned.

Written by Johanna Payton