Slippahs

Living the vida local, or, "What 'rubbah slippahs' means to me."

A family friend recently mentioned "rubbah slippahs" on her facebook status.  She was disappointed to hear them called "flip-flops" on the new Hawaii 5-0 TV show,  bummed because anyone who calls Hawaii home does not refer to them as flip-flops.  I think her respect for the authenticity of the show sort of plummeted.

My guess is that the actors and writers of the show may have known that, to be authentically Hawaiian, they should call flip-flops "slippers," or, more accurately, "slippahs."  I bet that they also knew that if they called them by that authentic name, people from the other 49 states and parts of Canada would be really confused, and might mentally lose track of the plot while they were trying to figure out what crime was committed in fleece-lined bedroom footwear.  If you have grown up in the continental United States, you most likely think that's what slippers are.  You might even think a slipper is a fancy dress shoe, like Cinderella's glass slipper.  And, if majority rules, then you are right.  I recognize that comparatively few people define slippers the way us Hawaii folks do.

Not rubbah, but still slippahs.

I must tell you firstly why I think the term flip-flop isn't used in Hawaii.  When worn properly, slippahs are not onomatopoetic (see my post on onomatopoeia from August 9th, 2010) in that way.  Flip-flop is the cutesie, perky sound that slippers make when people who are not comfortable in them, who are not used to them, wear them.  It happens when people use the toe-scrunch method to keep slippers on their feet.  When people do this, it is exhausting to the feet, and entirely against the point of wearing such easy footwear.  It causes an uptight little "flip" sound as the toes scrunch and bring the bottom of the slipper snapping up into the heel.  It is a hallmark of discomfort.  A truly experienced wearer of rubbah slippahs knows that the best way to keep them on is to use the force of friction provided by dragging them against the ground each time you take a step forward.  This is the lazy-foot method.  As I've lived in many places on the U.S. mainland, once in a while I see people who look like they could be from Hawaii.  I'm often tempted to say "Howzit?" or "Aloooha!" but I resist until I have watched them walk in their slippers.  If the person exhibits proper slippah wearing technique, I can both see it and hear it, and know without a doubt that my shaka will be reciprocated.

Having spent the majority of my life in warm Hawaii, and the last few years in cold Michigan, I have noticed that there is an underappreciation of the rubbah slippah here in the midwest.  I would like to speak out boldly about the beauty, utility and symbolism of this footwear.  As you read what I write, you will probably think I am joking.  I won't be!  I'm nothing if not earnest in my love for all that the rubbah slippah represents. As I tell you what "rubbah slippahs" mean to me, don't be surprised if you sense my tears falling, for winter is coming to Michigan and as wonderful as they are, my rubbah slippahs don't keep the snow off my feet and thus will be relegated to back/bottom of the closet until next May.

Rubbah slippahs are the minutemen of footwear.  If you need to go outside, it takes less than a second to slide your feet into the pair closest to you, and you are ready for your trip to the store, the school, the garage, the garden, the neighbors' house, the church building, wherever!  I wore slippahs to a friend's party the other night, and when we had to leave in a hurry to get home to the kids,  I was ready to go in no time.  My hubby, on the other hand, had worn his shoelaced dress shoes.  I stood there for a good 2-3 minutes in the doorway of our friends' home, as Charles did the whole Mr. Rogers routine to get his fancy shoes on, and our hosts felt obligated to stand and watch and make small talk until we were actually out the door.  In case of emergency there's just nothing better.  If a loved one is in trouble, you can slip your slippahs on and be at the ER, the police station, the bus stop, wherever, without wasting a single second on finding socks, deciding which shoes to wear and putting them on.

Rubbah slippahs are smart.  Some people think that such casual footwear is slipshod and lazy.  I have to disagree.  It's so much more efficient to spend less time in shoe putting-on, so that you can actually spend more time doing important work.  And they're so practical!  If your shoes-and-socks shoes are wet, they're going to stay wet for a good long time and may cause you some real problems.  If your closed-toe shoes get a rock in them, you have to stop (the whole group if you're with one), sit down, untie your shoe, dump the rock out, put the shoe back on and tie it up before you can continue.  A wet slippah dries within seconds of continuous wear in dry conditions.  And a rock in your slippah?  It flopped out of the shoe in the very second you noticed you had stepped on it.  I recently read an article about how bare feet are the best athletic shoe.  They did studies and everything.  Guess what?  Rubbah slippahs are the next best thing to bare feet!  Your feet may actually feel better with less molly-coddling instead of more.

Happy Feet!

Rubbah slippahs are clean.  Yes, clean!  I know that feet in slippahs may be exposed to more dirt than feet in shoes and socks.  First of all, this is much less true if slippahs are used correctly.  When you use the toe-scrunch method I advised against, you actually tend to scoop dirt up and fling it towards your body.  When you use the lazy foot method, you keep dirt in its place.  Secondly, there's dirt, and then there's dirt.  Slippah-clad feet may be more dusty, it's true, but feet asphyxiated in shoes and socks for any length of time have their own kind of nastiness.  It's that warm, dark environment of the inside of the shoe that invites bacterial growth and odor.

Rubbah slippahs are versatile.  I have seen slippahs on mountain hikes, on motorcycle footrests, on beaches, in stores and other places of business, in church and everywhere else.  Sometimes a slippah will make it to several of these places in a single day.   Slippahs go with shorts, pants, swimsuits, dresses--everything but the ultra formal and ultra fancy.

Rubbah slippahs are humble.  I love this most of all!  If you are wearing them, everyone who encounters you knows that you are not hung up on impressing them, and they can therefore worry not a bit over whether or not they are sartorially up to snuff.  A person wearing rubbah slippahs will never be judging you on the basis of the cost or brand of your clothing or outward appearance, and you can therefore relax in their presence and just be you.  Powerful stuff, right?  And there's more:  Feet are not pretty things, generally speaking.  If you wear slippers, you expose your feet publicly.  It is a great exercise in vanity reduction.  Some people have lovely feet, some people's feet are not as nice to look at.  So?  You learn by being part of a slippah-wearing community that those piddling little details don't matter a bit.   And slippahs are a great equalizer.  The cost difference between the cheapest pair of slippahs and the most expensive pair is very small.  We are all humble when we wear slippahs.  In my current place of residence, there are people who think slippah wearing is disrespectful, but it's exactly the opposite.

Rubbah slippahs symbolize the qualities I love most about life in Hawaii.  They are the same characteristics that are so lovely to encounter in people: being down to earth, unphased by the unimportant,  at ease, warm, open, breathable.

And that's what rubbah slippahs means to me!

Feet on vacation.  Can you count the number of rubbah slippahs in this photo?