THE RISE OF THE UGLY SHOE EMPIRE

Bloated dad sneakers, furry sandals, and open-toed boots. How Deckers Outdoor is making billions selling uglycore footwear

- Kim Bhasin

Underneath the barstools at Doris is evidence of an unsavory fashion trend that refuses to disappear. A mustachioed man in a neon ’80s jacket sits on the patio of the candlelit Brooklyn cocktail bar with his toes exposed, bare feet strapped into sandals. Another guy adjusts his clogs as he waits for a friend to arrive. The bartender, a 24-year-old tattoo apprentice with fringed dark hair and platinum-bleached bangs who goes by “Shivs,” says her patrons love ugly shoes. In the summer, they walk in with multicolored Tevas, Birkenstock slides, and platformed Crocs. As the winter chill sets upon the city, they have their cold-season counterparts, shearling-lined and furcoated. “I feel like ugly things always come back to be cool in the end,” Shivs says.

While uglycore—fashion that scorns beauty in favor of self-affirmation—isn’t new, the collective hangover of two years of barely squeezing a foot into a heel, pump, loafer, wingtip, oxford, or even a pair of ballet flats has intensified an unapologetic love affair with pragmatic footwear. Odd styles once aimed at surfers, casual errand-runners, and the podiatry-prone are now flaunted on Zoom work calls, couture runways, and pretty much anywhere the cool kids hang.

There’s almost a sense of one-upmanship to be the most hideous. Adidas’s $80 Yeezy Foam Runners, which look like perforated marshmallows, are selling out. There are poofy Koolaburra slippers that tuck your feet inside itty-bitty fake fur blankets. Converse’s hybrid sneaker-rainboots look like someone dipped Chuck Taylors in rubber. Balenciaga put high heels on Crocs, for some reason. “Fashion, like art, likes to question beauty rather than simply aiming for aesthetically pleasing designs,” says Carolyn Mair, author of The