IвЂ™ve always self-identified as a statement dresser, so I wondered: Who am I to turn my nose up at Crocs? IвЂ™m someone whoвЂ™s always prided myself on seeking out items with a bit of ugliness (my favorite find is a garishly tie-dyed blouse made from an upcycled wedding dress), so why canвЂ™t I extend the same open-mindedness to those porous rubber shoes? Why canвЂ™t I view their eccentricity as something to appreciate instead of rebuff? Thus, I decided to re-visit the shoes I once loved - and what I found took me completely by surprise. This aesthetic turn-over was an awakening, of sorts, for me. Maximalism eventually hit the mainstream, and with it came a slew of bold, in-your-face trends. This stance of mine held steadfast for many years, but then, much later, fashion changed its tune.

So as I grew up, I defected camps, going from a pro-Crocs fan to an adamant hater. I began to view them as too ugly, too weird - too much everything. But I came of age in an era where streamlined minimalism set the tone for the fashion trends, and it greatly affected how I viewed my wardrobe, starting with those hot pink Crocs I once adored.

I spent many nights dreaming up ideas for Crocs outfits: One day IвЂ™d style them with rainbow-striped tights and a blush pink tutu, the next with my favorite pair of black jersey gauchos. They were bright fuchsia and always plugged with an array of Jibbitz charms - little fruit motifs, fake gems, a black and white blurb that read, вЂњWhatвЂ™s Up?,вЂќ which, IвЂ™ll have you know, was a crowd-pleasing conversation starter in the fifth grade.

Crocs slides