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I’m an Ugg Slut For Life.
Chestnut & Magnolia Starbucks.
It’s a devotion.
Some people grow cynical about the things they loved when they were younger, I didn’t with Uggs. Other shoes can try to seduce me, the weird statement sneaker, the ballet flat comeback, the “cool girl” kinda overdone? Prada loafer that only looks cool if you’re 5’10” and in Paris. The second the weather even thinks about turning at a slight overcast I’m back in a Ugg boot like a loyal suburban mom leaving hot yoga. The fashion world can call it whatever it wants; normcore, nostalgia from the Hollister & Aero era, ironic comfort, post-2008 redemption arc... I don’t care. I’m not wearing Uggs ironically. I’m not wearing them to make a statement. I’m wearing them because the sole of my foot deserves softness cunt. Uggs are the one shoe that I will always fall back on or honestly pick and have no shame: I want to look like I didn’t try, but I also want strangers at Whole Foods to fuck off. I want cozy, but I still want to be that bitch in line at the coffee shop. I want ease, but never at the expense of comfort. They are indoor-chic, outdoor-coded. And let’s be clear Uggs don’t age.
They just get more accurate.
If you know, you know, where Uggs and a Juicy track suit at the Magnolia Starbucks was a lifestyle in itself. It wasn’t a costume, it wasn’t a trend, it was simply what the girls wore. Pink velour, chestnut Uggs, maybe the oversized sunglasses pushed up like a headband, hair in a flat-iron pony, and a venti iced caramel macchiato even if it was 37 degrees and we were 13. The moms wore it. The older sisters wore it. The teens who thought they were “grown up” wore it. It was the closest thing the Pacific Northwest ever had to a uniform. It was effortless aspirational to us all, that little cultural pocket is burned into my brain as the purest representation of casual female confidence before Jersey Shore ended & “athleisure” got rebranded by marketing teams.
Every year the fashion cycle tries to shame us into suffering some rigid leather, pointy toes, the trauma of breaking in a real boot, while I literally have baby soft feet and blister embarrassingly easy. Never tricked me into thinking I had to “break them in.” Yet every year Uggs rise back up. My closet could literally burn down and I could rebuild from one pair of denim and a pair of Ultra Minis and I’d still have a personality. They’re the only shoe that makes sense in a world where TikTok still tries to sell me ballet flats in December. If I’m going to be a slut for anything this forward, its a fuckn Ugg shoe, boot, mini, midi, maybe sparkle bow one day. The second it drops below 60, every girl who claimed she “doesn’t like them” starts Googling chestnut Uggs like she’s filing a missing persons report. Uggs are just core to my personal operating system. Uggs are the only shoe that still feels like my truest form, even as my own style gets more opinionated, more edited, more adult. There’s a reason Uggs outlast every microtrend cycle... I mentally scream from the rooftop.
So yes - I will always be an Ugg bitch.
Not just because it’s
Because it’s fucking correct.