Did anyone read about a new assault on Florida’s official state footwear — the flip-flop? That’s right. You heard me, the flip-flop.
It stems from an American College of Sports Medicine study, which found that the quiet, unassuming flip-flop can actually lead to lower leg pain and a change in stride if worn too often.
The college was careful how they worded their press release, and I appreciate that. No condemnation of the footwear, or calling for its outright ban. No, they understand the hornet’s nest they would have walked into. The picketing, the angry phone calls and maybe even riots. You can take away our guns, our voting rights and maybe even processed cheese snacks, but I’ll be damned if you’re going to take away our flip-flops. Not here. Not in Florida.
You’ll have to pry them from our cold, dead hands.
I don’t know if the flip-flop is actually the official state shoe, but it ought to be. Why not? I bet you could find some pretty compelling numbers that show its importance to our economy. Millions must be sold here every year, and it’s a part of our culture — the laidback flip-flop culture that makes us unique. That plus mosquitoes and fried shrimp at breakfast.
It says more about Florida than some of our other state symbols. Tell me what the sabal palm (the official state tree) or the northern mockingbird (the official state bird) has done for us?
Did you know there is even an official state soil? No joke, it’s Myakka soil. Why do we even need a state soil? And if we can have a soil, why can’t we have an official footwear? A flip-flop will keep your feet from touching Myakka soil, and your toes cool at the same time. That deserves some recognition.
We might need to make it official if the poor little feller keeps coming under these kinds of attacks. First off, many Floridians are proud of that altered stride that flip-flops cause — it takes years to perfect. It’s kind of like you’ve been riding a horse for seven days straight. You turn your knees outward, never completely straighten your legs and walk around like a chimpanzee with a rash. That’s what makes us true Floridians distinctive, if not crippled.
And who’s afraid of a little lower leg pain? It’s the price you pay for our laidback lifestyle. Rum and cheap beer will rot your liver. Too much sun will give you skin cancer. Getting run over by your friend’s boat will kill you. But we still do it.
I personally have four pairs of flip-flops, each with their own specialized and unique function. One is for dressy occasions, with nice leather straps and fancy soles. Another is for everyday — good, but not so snooty or high-brow. The third is for working in the yard or other manual labor. I’ve been known to wear those up on the roof, drawing gasps from my brother, who is strictly a boot man. He’ll wear work boots to bed and shower in them.
The fourth pair is quite old and grungy, and I keep them tucked deep in the back of the utility room for emergencies, say if there were toxic sludge or a radiation leak.
That’s the pair my wife asked if she could throw away. Originally, she thought they were a dead animal and poked them with a stick. They were covered in lint, dog hair and something that had leaked from who-knows-where. I told her they were just having a mid-life crisis and still in their prime.
Don’t underestimate the flip-flop.
To be fair, the study really just said not to overwear them, and to get new pairs often. But even that is a little much to expect of us Floridians. We wear them year round, even if it snowed. And some flip-flops are handed down from one generation to the next. I think I still have a pair that my grandfather wore as a boy — there are holes the size of sewer grates worn through them. But they’re still good.
Don’t take our flip-flops, America. We’ll take the lower leg pain, all for a distinctive walk you won’t find anywhere else but here in Florida.