Growing up in Sweden I have a very natural relationship with clogs. As a child, the clog was always the right thing to wear. Easy to put on and easy to take of. Parked next to the front door was a mountain of clogs, at least one pair for each family member. And as you might be well aware of, a good Swede takes of their footwear at the front door. Still, there were times when the clogs had to stay behind. One of those occasions was tree climbing. A tree, according to my mother, should never been climbed in clogs: ‘too slippery, darling’. The other event that had to be clog free was football (and I mean football, not rugby!). The reason for this sport to be clog free had little to do with the fact that you might twist your ankle or slip or find it hard to run. Oh no, the biggest danger with playing football in clogs was the risk of the other players. When kicking the ball your clog might fly of your foot and hit somebody in the head and cause great injury! So, us clog-wearing Swedes are very considerate people.‘But how can a piece of wood on your foot be comfortable?’ I often get asked.Well, it’s a bit like jeans. Before the pre-distressed, acid-softened, beyond-vintage, homeless-chic versions were cluttering the jeans market. I’m talking back in the ‘olden days’ when new jeans could be parked standing up by themselves in your room while you had a shower. Those blue jeans that made your thighs have a slightly sick blue tint for a couple of weeks before it got washed out. Clogs are like those good old jeans, you have to break them in, put your mark in them, and make them yours, with pride. And once you’ve done that, you can never look back. So really, every time you see somebody wearing clogs you are witnessing a beautiful thing, you are seeing a person who has domesticated a piece of wood and fallen in love.
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