I’m freezing. My fingers are like Otter Pops. I don’t understand people who take Alaskan pleasure cruises or dream of one day setting foot on Antarctica. Why? I don’t even have the urge to walk over to Vidiots and finally rent “March of the Penguins” or “Happy Feet,” regardless of how cute/sweet/amazing they are.
I realize that daytime temperatures are in the 60s, and my cousins in Chicago would think the weather warm enough to run barefoot in the surf, but they would be wrong. It’s cold.
I want to cocoon myself in my duvet and emerge when the lows reach 80.
Last weekend, I finally bought my first pair of Uggs. I had to. My toes were so cold, I thought they would break off.
My mother has had Uggs for more than a decade. When she got them, I couldn’t help but thinking how Ugg-ly they were. Yes, they were warm, and great to wear around the house, but she wasn’t actually going to wear them where people would see her... was she?
And then the Australian sheepskin boots became all the rage, prompting National Public Radio to call the 2003 phenomena “Ugg mania.”
They come in more than 100 styles, and if I was at all patient (and if I could find them in an American size 8), I would have ordered the Wahine, a brown boot embroidered with flowers. But I am not patient. I am a popsicle.
I walked into the shoe store, pointed to the mid-calf black boots, and asked for my size. I tried one on, first tucking the leg of my jeans into the boot, and then deciding that my jeans were too bulky and that my feet looked disproportionately Sasquatchian to my body. I pulled the leg of my jeans on over the ankle of the boot and looked at my foot in the mirror. It was the look potential love interests give each other in a movie. That salesman had it too easy. I even bought the water and stain repellent. (Maybe I’ll even remember to use it.) If my Uggs last as long as my mother’s, I figure the cost works out to $12 per year. That’s not counting inflation. Really, if you think about it, these boots are paying me to wear them.
I took off my Converse, put them in the refrigerator-box-sized box, and wore my new boots out of the store. Halfway down the street, my socks had slipped most of the way off and become crumpled underneath the arches of my feet. It was not comfortable. I sat down, took my socks off, and stuffed them in with my Converse.
When I got home and took my Converse out of the box, I saw that my Uggs came with instructions: “Ugg Footwear should be worn barefoot to maximize the benefits of sheepskin.” Ah, now you tell me.
The instructions also warn, “As with any deep, rich shade, some dye transfer may occur onto light clothing or furniture, etc.” “Etc.” is Aussie for “feet.”
Black feet are a small price to pay for regulating one’s body temperature. As I licked the whipped cream off my Peppermint Mocha Trio latte — nonfat milk please — and inspected the scarf selection at Anthropologie, I found myself wanting to try out the new outdoor ice skating rink. Not enough to actually go ice skating, leaving the warmth of the store and putting down my hot coffee, but enough to think that on a freakishly warm winter day, I might be willing to trade my Uggs for a pair of skates.
MARIEL HOWSEPIAN digs black coffee, fairy tales and a man in coveralls. She lives in Santa Monica and
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on December 7, 2007. Read the original PDF.