I found this ode to clogs years ago in the New Yorker.
I won’t be joining in, though. I’ve never been successful at wearing clogs, although I tried when I was young. They wrecked my feet, I think because I have naturally high insteps. I’m not sure, but for whatever reason, wearing them for more than a few minutes—and actually trying to walk around in them—caused pain. Besides, they weren’t that attractive, although they had a certain cachet.
I remember the first time I ever saw a clog on a human foot other than those wooden shoes on the Dutch in illustrations from children’s books. A friend of mine went off to an artsy college one year before me, and she came back with a micro-miniskirt and suede clogs. The clogs, if I recall correctly, were bright green, which sounds terrible but on her they looked tremendously cool and avant-garde, which they were at the time. No one else had anything of the sort, although not long after that everyone was sporting them (although not in kelly green). As the article says:
Boho-chic crowds of the early nineteen-seventies adopted the clog. The new iteration of the shoe had a leather upper and, often, an exaggerated heel that paired to marvellous effect with hot pants.
(By the way, what’s up with this Britishized spelling of “marvelous” in the New Yorker, of all places? Has New York relocated?)
My friend was nothing if not boho-chic (whatever that means—actually, she was Soho-chic before Soho even existed as a named entity), and she wore them with a miniskirt rather than hot pants, because she wore them years before the early 70s.
Over the years I’ve tried clogs now and then, but never bought another pair. I cannot understand how some people find them comfy. For me, I get the sense that if I were to persist in wearing them I’d end up like the original clog-wearers of Holland:
In the summer of 2011, a team of Dutch archeologists travelled to the village of Middenbeemster, a region best known for its medium-hard white cheese and whose church and adjoining cemetery were being relocated. The group noticed an unusual pattern in the bones of five hundred skeletons, mostly belonging to nineteenth-century Dutch dairy farmers: a preponderance of chips and craters localized in the bones of the feet. Some of the craters were the size of a jellybean, others as large as a piece of Hanukkah gelt, or even a plum. “It was as if chunks of bone had just been chiselled away,” an astonished-sounding Andrea Waters-Rist, Ph.D., one of the group’s co-leaders, said. Her team determined that the micro-traumas were associated with osteochondritis dissecans, a rare type of joint disorder that is linked to overuse or sustained shock. The academics concluded the source to be the rigors of working on the land, and, more specifically, doing so in klompen, the wooden clogs common to Dutch farmers of the time.
Klompen is a great word for them—because that’s what you do in clogs, you clomp.
NOTE: And yes, this post is much ado about nearly nothing. Sometimes you just have to take a short break from heaviness and go light.