I Think I'm Ready For This Jelly
The 80's girl in me is screaming with absolute delight over my find at Target today. You know that section by the front door that has bins of stuff for a dollar? Well, there was a $2.50 section and in it were two shelves of...jelly shoes! I literally squealed. All they had were clear and pink, and I was going to buy a pair of both before Mike reminded me that I hate pink, owned nothing pink, and probably would never wear them. My argument, "But...jelly shoes!" wasn't very strong, so I left excitedly with my clear jellies.
I practically lived in jellies during the summers of my youth. Since they were so cheap, it wasn't hard to convince my mom to indulge me with a pair when we went shopping. Plus, they were the only shoes I had in different colors (everything else had to be neutral to "go with everything".) I especially loved my blue jellies and would wear them until the woven plastic that comprised the upper would wear out and detach from the sole. They're also very light, which means wearing them feels like you're hardly wearing shoes at all (unless you've done extensive walking in them, which makes you feel like you're wearing shoes made of blisters.)
In an effort to capitalize on the nostalgia craze of 80's kids, various trendy stores have come out with reproductions, usually running at least $12 a pair (I saw some at Nordstrom's for $38.) "I guess no one is interested," they mumble as people pass on this chance to relive their youth. They're missing the point! Part of the charm of the jelly shoe was it's cheap price tag. Besides, it's hard to justify paying $38 to relive the fun of running around in your $1 shoes (says a woman who actually bought a $12 pair of jellies and regrets it because they were flimsy and not as well made as the cheaper, vintage jellies.) I remember going to Dollar General and seeing a big bin of jelly shoes in a rainbow of colors and being told, "Go on, get whichever pair you like." That was part of the glory of jelly shoes.
So, today I got the chance to reach into a bin and grab a fantastically cheap pair of adorable shoes again, go home with my bag, slip on my jellies, and dance around the house like I was six. And I did. Jellies so rock.
I practically lived in jellies during the summers of my youth. Since they were so cheap, it wasn't hard to convince my mom to indulge me with a pair when we went shopping. Plus, they were the only shoes I had in different colors (everything else had to be neutral to "go with everything".) I especially loved my blue jellies and would wear them until the woven plastic that comprised the upper would wear out and detach from the sole. They're also very light, which means wearing them feels like you're hardly wearing shoes at all (unless you've done extensive walking in them, which makes you feel like you're wearing shoes made of blisters.)
In an effort to capitalize on the nostalgia craze of 80's kids, various trendy stores have come out with reproductions, usually running at least $12 a pair (I saw some at Nordstrom's for $38.) "I guess no one is interested," they mumble as people pass on this chance to relive their youth. They're missing the point! Part of the charm of the jelly shoe was it's cheap price tag. Besides, it's hard to justify paying $38 to relive the fun of running around in your $1 shoes (says a woman who actually bought a $12 pair of jellies and regrets it because they were flimsy and not as well made as the cheaper, vintage jellies.) I remember going to Dollar General and seeing a big bin of jelly shoes in a rainbow of colors and being told, "Go on, get whichever pair you like." That was part of the glory of jelly shoes.
So, today I got the chance to reach into a bin and grab a fantastically cheap pair of adorable shoes again, go home with my bag, slip on my jellies, and dance around the house like I was six. And I did. Jellies so rock.
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