The smell and attendant shame got worse, and I began to think that maybe I just wasn’t a slipper person after all But the smell and attendant shame got worse, and I began to think that maybe I just wasn’t a slipper person after all. Having paid a high price for the slippers, I continued wearing them. I tried stuffing them with deodorant sneaker balls, but could fathom no real or satisfying way to wash them. Eventually the slippers started to reek, the vinegary scent of fermenting dead skin and toe jam. All that animal hide and hair made my feet sweat. The footbed was indeed cloudlike and dreamy and they felt luxe and toasty, but after a few months, the spell was broken. These sheepskin booties lined with lamb’s wool have that minimalist, “natural” vibe I associate with white women living a life of effortless grace. I invested $100 in LL Bean’s bestselling Wicked Good Slippers. After becoming a parent in my 30s, I realized I needed to get serious about the need to be as comfortable as possible during the years’ worth of nights spent at home. In my teens and 20s, I messed around with Totes and Isotoner slippers, and swiped the complimentary terry slippers from hotels.
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