Flip-Flops

To paraphrase Martha Reeves and the Vandellas, summer's here and the time is right for flip-flops on our feet!

The faultless flip-flop gained an unfortunate partisan connotation during last year's election, when it was invoked to suggest inconsistency — never mind that a flip-flop itself never actually flips or flops, but holds fast to its position in all conditions (with the possible exception of mud)."Thong," once an acceptable alternate term, suffered an even worse fate during the Clinton years, wedged firmly in the most sordid of scandals. Such indignities, for such a perfect marriage of form and function — what else in daily life so elegantly fulfills its role, and so efficiently, than this platonic ideal of summer footwear?

In an age when the raised expectations of fake boobs, waxed torsos, lipo'd butts and steroid-bloated shoulders have brought new anxiety to warm-weather wardrobes, flip-flops take us back to an earlier time when all that mattered was staying cool on a hot day — all the way back to ancient times, when these things were invented. Leave those Manolos on the shelf; for less than a six-pack of bunion pads, you can treat your feet to a pair of flip-flops that'll last all the way to Labor Day — or buy three pairs at once, in different colors, for the ultimate in budget fashion flexibility. Slip them on and start wandering, and the rhythmic smip-smap on your heels becomes a personal beat box for your summer soundtrack.

The humility of the flip-flop makes it easy to overlook its functional superiority. Why render your dogs to the Gitmo-esque hell of sodden socks and airless shoes? Let them breathe free and unbound, and they'll stay blissfully dry on even the hottest of days. Sure, there are other options for open-air footwear, but none can compare. Fancy sandals for men are a risky proposition at best; one strap too many or too few, and you draw all the wrong kind of attention. All too many women's sandals sacrifice comfort for style, leaving their wearers no better off than the closed-toe alternative. Birkenstocks get slimy — you know it's true, you damned hippies. Tevas and the like are prone to tiresome Velcro fatigue. Why beat around the bush? You know what you'd really rather put on.

Admittedly, the flip-flop is not without drawbacks. While it's almost impossible to incur a blister once the essential inter-digital callus has been established, particularly hot or gritty conditions can cause the strap to wear away the skin underneath (but most bodegas stock Band-Aids right at the counter).

Some might complain that flip-flops leave the wearer vulnerable to harm from the shoes of others, like a Prius driver pancaked by an oblivious SUV. Others sniff that they lead to dirty feet and chipped toenails, even that they're inappropriately casual for too many occasions. When did our democratic republic become so high and mighty, that the Jeffersonian beachcomber should hide his toes away from the hard heels and judgmental eyes of the plutocratic wingtip wearer?

The flip-flop is the great equalizer. Their elementary mechanics preclude strutting, and all the money, power and aesthetician-work in the world won't do anything for all those veins. For all their paramount practicality, they also evince a willingness to cast away the trappings of our dollar-driven polity and dream a little — to vote with our feet for the almost-lost innocence of sidewalk lemonade and firefly-gathering.

Indeed, imagine a world in which all wore flip-flops, all summer long — for board meetings and fine dining no less than kite-flying and girl-watching. With all equally exposed, respect for each other's toes would become a matter of survival, a first step toward desperately-needed national reconciliation. No one would be more than a leg's length away from a constant reminder of the virtues of simple, sensible solutions. And even in the midst of the frenzied politico-celebrity media whirlwind in which we live, there always would be one thing in each person's life, unvarnished by hype, that actually does what it promises.

Now that's something to sing about.

— J. Daniel Janzen (dan at clownyard dot com)