The other shoe drops

I bring this up because it took about 30 years for me to encounter something else that scared the beef jerky out of me just as much as that ventriloquist’s dummy. At an otherwise peaceful day on the beach, I saw my first pair of Crocs. I didn’t scream, but I do remember spitting up my Diet Pepsi and thinking that the bright orange clogs were rather — what’s the word I’m looking for here? — hideous.

I’ve since become a vehement and outspoken opponent of the $30 foam shoes (therapy has helped with the “Magic’’ trailer, thanks for your concern). I thought my protests had finally started to reach people when, in 2008, Crocs began posting big financial losses: The company lost $185.1 million and its stock fell 76 percent. I was hopeful that the end of this scourge was near. But earlier this month, the company reported its revenues increased in the first quarter of 2010. Curses! Foiled again.

Despite my long-standing grudge against Crocs, I’m adult enough to applaud the company for its latest move, which is to launch a new line of shoes that don’t look a thing like rubber Crocs. Of course, they could introduce a line of shoes made of Kleenex boxes, plastic bottles, and Reynolds Wrap, and I’d applaud it as an improvement. But instead of simply sitting around and insulting the company, I decided that I should try the new shoes and help get behind the company’s move away from the scary, rubber shoes that have tormented me for years.

Despite all of the mean things I’ve said about Crocs, the company’s vice president of product, Dale Bathum, actually responded to my questions, explaining that the new, non-rubber Crocs are meant for “an afternoon barbecue or a weekend baseball game.’’ There are also dressy women’s styles, complete with kitten heels.

I didn’t wear the non-rubber Crocs to either a barbecue or baseball game, but I decided to test drive the new-style Crocs at work, and on a few strolls along Newbury Street. The first pair I wore was a canvas shoe called the Melbourne. The whole time I wore them, I feared that the creepy new Croc mascot, the one that looks like it escaped from an anti-foot fungus ad, would pop out and start grabbing at my big toe.

I was safe from creepy mascots. I was also safe from dirty looks. No one paid attention to my espadrille-esque Crocs as I paraded along Newbury. So I started stopping people in the street and asking them if they would have guessed that I was wearing Crocs. “Seriously?’’ said a gentleman who would only identify himself as Frank. “I never would have guessed Crocs. I thought they might be slippers.’’

The truth is — as much as I hate to admit it — these shoes were comfortable. I next tried out a style called Santa Cruz, a blond, suede loafer that looks like it could be manufactured by Merrell or Clarks. It was equally comfortable, although a friend asked me if I stole the shoes from Rosie O’Donnell’s closet. Wearing the Santa Cruz along Newbury Street, there was minimal fuss. I immediately give the stink eye to anyone I see wearing rubber Crocs in public, but as far as I could tell, I received no dirty looks in suede Crocs.

Again, I was conflicted by all of this. My entire experiment felt akin to trying to forgive a reformed criminal. For years, the company has offended our eyes and contributed to what Tim Gunn refers to as “the slobification of America.’’ However, I have to commend the company for trying to move away from the rubber clogs that have filled my nightmares. The new Crocs are stylish — and comfortable as all get out — but I’m not ready to part with my “Friends don’t let friends wear Crocs’’ T-shirt quite yet.

Christopher Muther feels guilty for saying nice things about Crocs, and can be reached at muther@globe.com.