Dear Uggs,

Dear Uggs,

U-G-L-Y, you ain’t got no alibi. You, Uggly.

Alright, so maybe that was a little bit harsh. Listen, I know you’re comfy. I once was a victim to your said comfy-ness between the ages of 14-17. But that was during the phase when Miley Cyrus could still kinda sorta be considered a role model for young girls, Twilight was the biggest selling book of 2008, and George W. Bush was our president. Look, I’m not saying I’m perfect, we all make mistakes, but it’s about learning from said mistake.

I’m sorry, but Ugg boots you were and still are a mistake.

 Shhhhh. Calm down before you start getting your laces in a knot (see what I did there?) and bbming every girl you know to defend your honor.  Listen, I GET it. You are convenient; you’re like walking on a cloud made from the fur of a baby lamb. I don’t have to think, I just have to slip you on and go. But guess what else is really, really convenient? Not going to class at all, and that way I would be saving baby lambs from being all naked and what not. And don’t you dare tell me you’re practical.You know who’s also warm, fuzzy, and convenient? The hairy frat boy in my Ecology class, but do you see me calling him to come over? No. Why? Because common sense is mighty practical and regrets are not.

Living La Vida Loca

Yes, I know. Surfers from Australia wear you! Australia! The fashion capital of kangaroos! Well, in case you haven’t noticed, I attend an east coast college in the good old U. S. of A. You’re about as relevant in my life as once closeted Spanish, Puerto Rican pop singer. Oh wait, Ricky Martin wears you? Go. Figure.

 Just for a moment, put yourself in my shoes. You make me look like an Ewok. (Are you made from Ewok fur? Because I’m pretty sure George Lucas isn’t considered a fashion icon and I think they’re endangered, though don’t quote me on that.)

Now, I know you’re just trying to keep me warm. Uggs, trust me, I appreciate it. But in your constant battle with the freezing cold, are you even thinking about the consequences of your actions? Your insulation traps in my feet, making them prisoners in your sheepskin pen, unable to breath and when I eventually free my feet from your furry ways…well,  my feet start to smell similar to Ewok or George Lucas, himself.

Channeling my inner Ewok as a young girl…

And what the heck am I even suppose to wear you with? Leggings? Yes, let me call attention to my cankles. Hold on really quick, let me grab my North Face so I can be completely camouflage around campus. Don’t even get me started about girls who wear shorts and Uggs, you ladies, are a walking oxymoron. Which leads me to my next question…if Tom Brady wears it, should I even think about wearing it?

Look, maybe it’s my love for moccasins that makes me loathe you with a passion of a thousand burning suns. Maybe it’s the fact I would much rather spend 150-200 dollars on food, rent, something that rhymes with smalcohol… Call me crazy.

Team Save the Ewoks, 

CTL

P.S. Tell the Von Dutch trucker hat, and the jean mini skirt Paris Hilton says “That’s hot”.