A Love Letter To My Uggs

By Betchen Wieners

My Dearest Uggs,

I have had numerous footwear love affairs throughout my life, but none of them have ever compared to what I have with you. Every October, I feel giddy as the temperature begins dropping because that means two things: 1) I don’t have to shave my legs as routinely as I had been all summer and 2) you and I get to rekindle our romance. Now here we are in late February, and it still feels like the first day of fall.

The constant piling of snow and temperatures reaching record lows have caused me to rely on you in a way I never thought possible. You are the only thing keeping me from dying a sub-zero death alone in my under-heated apartment. You’re there with my through my treks to the gym (aka the convenience store to buy more wine), Netflix marathons, weekends at my parents’ house, etc. You even get into bed with me sometimes…depending on how much wine I have. My feet love waking up in your warm, wooly embrace.

I remember when we first met. It was fall of 2005, and my Jessica Simpson slouchy black suede boots were doing little to protect my sensitive skin from the harshness of winter’s chill. And then I saw you…the ugliest thing I’d ever seen. I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to spend $250 on something so hideous (except maybe girls wanting to hide their cankles), but something drew me to you. Despite my better judgment and exceptional mid-2000’s fashion sense, I slipped you on. What happened next was nothing short of magical. Call it true love, call it the miraculous power of sheep skin, but once you were on my feet, I knew I never wanted to take you off. At last, my love had come along.

However, every relationship has its ups and downs. Sometimes you start to smother me and I just can’t handle the heat. As the snow starts to melt and temperatures start rising to non-life-threatening levels, I browse my closet for something a little less restricting. In college I was able to pair you with Nike running shorts so we could spend more time together throughout the spring, but my employers (and my own common sense) won’t allow that anymore. You just don’t give me the freedom or flattering style I need in warmer weather. It was nice while it lasted, and I’ll always have a special place for you in my heart, but to quote Olivia Pope, we will never stand in the sun together. The important thing for you to know is that it’s not you… it’s me.

Just know that much like the many insecure, non-self-respecting girls of the world, I’ll always keep coming back. Once the summer sun retreats, dooming me to months of freezing temps and pale skin, you’re the one I’ll come crying to. You’ll comfort me like you always do and we’ll spend another winter curled up on the couch watching Bravo re-runs. I won’t judge you for making my feet smell, and you won’t judge me for eating an entire party-size box of bagel bites in one sitting. If that isn’t real love, I don’t know what is.

Weather changes, fear of dying an old maid and basic fashion sense may keep us apart, but you are always on my mind. I may even risk a higher utility bill by dropping the air conditioning to 57 degrees on a hot summer night just so we can be together one more time… no one will ever have to know. But until then, let’s enjoy these last few weeks together and just never forget that the booties, wedges, and flip flops will come and go, but you will always be my first shoe love.


The Betches




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