The Chanel thigh-high leather boot. The Christian Louboutin peep-toe stiletto. The coach cork wedge. The periwinkle Croc slide. You be the judge: which one doesn’t belong?

The Croc is an embarrassment to shoe closets everywhere. I’m not contesting their comfort, or practicality, or – shudder – visual appeal, for these things are all subjective matters, and I’m not about telling people what to wear. What I am about, however, is keeping rubber pasta strainers with ankle straps out of the apparel genre we call “shoe.” You wouldn’t throw Twinkieson a plate of gourmet petit-fours, so how could you possibly call the Croc a shoe?

Whatever happened to the good old days, when everyone wore one-of-a-kind leather masterpieces handmade by the town cobbler? Crocks and their kin have reduced the word “cobbler” to nothing more than a streusel-covered fruit dessert. I’m willing to overlook those rather f rightening machines with suspension apparatuses lodged into the heel we’ve come to call “Nike Shox,” , but the eeerie, unisex, one-for-all nature of these rubber concoctions known as crocs just screams “WE WERE MADE IN A FACTORY!” Where’s the personality? And no, a pair of neon green Crocs with little beads shoved into the holes does not constitute personality.

Sure, they cover the foot, and sure, the ankle strap can move back and forth, but what the Croc seriously lacks is the innate, organic, foundational autonomy that other shoes – like the Converse Chuck Taylor, for example – automatically provide to the wearer. Thus, the inherent fault of the Croc.

The Official Croc website is a visual Flash feast for the eyes, meant to mirror the iconic annoyingness of the shoe itself. if you can make your way around the colorful information-bubbles zooming past your cursor this way and that, you’ll find the Croc catalog, plus a list of reasons why you should get some (since the normal human brain is not biologically designed to be attracted to something so distasteful,) plus a charming little history about how the Croc came to be (“It all started in Boulder, Colorado . . . Blah, Blah, Blah . . . we want to take over the world . . . blah, blah, blah . . ..”) Eventually, you’ll find the Beach, the original Croc clog, accompanied by a fun little scrolling color tab that boasts the 78 trillion color options you have.

It all seems like your average shoe website . . . that is, until you read the Beach’s product specifications: “antimicrobial?” “buoyant?” “made with crostlite PCCR material?” Sounds more like a household cleaning sponge, really, than something you’d slide onto your foot and actually wear in actual public. I searched the Croc website for an elaboration on what this “PCCR” stands for, and was unsuccessful. Therefore I was left to guess for myself the meaning of the acronym.

“Purple Crocs (are) Criminal, Run!”

“Please Carry Crocs (to the trash) Receptacle”

“Palatable? Crocs Certainly aRen’t)

Deny it all you want, but it’s all there, substantial evidence that the Croc is not, and, as long as it contains PCCR, never will be, a shoe. Its lacks individuality and uniqueness, and cultivates this creepy one-size-fits-all mode of dressing and think, countering the entire idea behind Democratic Dressing. If you simply must wear plastic on your feet, try some rubber rain boots, or resuscitate the “Jelly” sandal of yore.

And remember, when discarding your Crocs, don’t litter. Take them to the nearest Croc recycling plant, or get creative and use them as planters for an herb garden. Ask your doctor about post-Croc treatment options.