Mario Batali's Crocs

What's wrong with this picture? Well, if you allow your eyes to take in the full view of this rather unappetizing specimen of a man, you will notice something unusual on his feet.

Besides the garish bright orange color, what else seems out of place about these shoes? Consider the fact that the feet inside these shoes are standing on the red carpet of a formal charity event in New York City. Yes, those are Crocs. Yes, they were paired with a blazer and tie. And, yes, they are the only shoes Mario Batali EVER wears.

Just what exactly ARE Crocs, first and foremost? They are "an all-purpose shoe for comfort and fashion," according to the company statement. While the "fashion" part is questionable, there can be no doubt about the comfort of these oddly-designed shoes. Naturally, these kinds of shoes are popular with the following types of people: Dog trainers, Children, Stay-at-Home Moms, Frazzled College Students, Tourists and...Overweight Celebrity Chefs. Or, perhaps, simply just ONE overweight celebrity chef named Mario Batali.

So what is Batali's obsession with them, and more importantly what makes him think it's OK to wear these supremely casual shoes to a formal event? Upon further digging, it was discovered that Batali is not a mere fan. He is a Croc whore, if you will, with a line of his very own designs for the line.


And after the hot Food Network studio lights shut down and Babbo's closes for the day and there are no more charity events to attend, I picture this man with his giant, bloated belly in his sleek chef's kitchen, warbling around in his crocs, rummaging through his Sub-Zero fridge for some late night munching. I see him pulling out a salami and some whipped butter, getting a loaf of bread and sitting at the table, his legs spread wide apart, making little sandwiches and piling them in his mouth, one after another—pinkies curled out—and then licking his fingers, followed by a loud burp. I picture him waddling to his bed and sinking into his cal king plush mattress, his long, thin red hair falling loose at his shoulders, scratching his beard and his crotch, and then snoring himself into dreamland, shiny orange crocs eternally by his bedside.