Your days probably look quite a bit different right now. Mine certainly do. I’m showering on my lunch break, writing stories from the backyard, baking bread between phone calls and spending my weekends underneath my car methodically sniffing out all the small noises that I’ve been putting off silencing. I’m not even wearing real pants right now.
But, yes, I am wearing slippers.
Still, calling them “slippers” may be reductive. Sneakers? Camp shoes? Sleeping bags for your feet? All fair game, but unlike my jeans that never go on, my Teva Ember Mocs never come off.
When I wake up, I slide each foot into its insulated Moc, where a knitted collar gently secures each in its place. From there, the slip-ons comfortably transport me from sitting at my desk to sitting at my bed to sitting on the couch to even sitting at the dining room table. A microfiber lining means they’re soft with or without socks. And crucially, an antimicrobial treatment means—no matter how little I shower and how much I wear them—the Mocs have yet to pick up a stink.
But with an EVA foam midsole and tough rubber outsole, the Ember Mocs expertly straddle the line between staying comfortable inside the house and outside it. They offer enough support and traction for close-to-home adventures like mowing the lawn, towing the trash cans to the street, working in my garage and even venturing to the grocery store. I just flip up the collapsible heel on each and the Mocs are primed and ready, fitting as snugly as everyday shoes.
Though dress codes now feel like constructions of the past, wearing my Mocs to the post office seems like socially acceptable practice, too. The quilted stitching and rubber bumper around the front half of the shoes is enough to pass them off as everyday footwear. (Yes, I wipe them clean before reentering my home.)
This was, of course, not my intended purpose for the Ember Mocs. After spying them en masse at trailhead parking lots, climbing crags and hiking shelters this past year, I picked up a pair of what I thought to be strictly wilderness-bound camp shoes and joined in on the fanfare. (No, Teva isn’t paying me to write this, though I wouldn’t mind a steady supply of Mocs.)
In the brief off-the-grid use my Mocs saw prior to their unexpectedly perfect transition to around-the-house shoe, they were everything I wanted to bridge the gap between pulling my toes out of a sleeping bag and waiting for the morning chill to burn off. They stood up to gravel campsites while still being simple to slip on quickly for a late-night bathroom break. And at just a hair over a pound for a pair, they became be my go-to camp shoe for backpacking trips and wintertime hut trips, too.
But for now, this versatile slipper-sneaker-camp shoe-sleeping bag may be the best fashion statement of social isolation. And when we get the green light to head farther from home, you can bet my Ember Mocs won’t leave my feet, even if my regular pants need to go back on.