“Do you exist in shoes or live in Tevas?”
So read a 1993 Rolling Stone ad for the sandal that conquered pop culture, charging in on the feet of every mountain climber, laid-back mom, and music-festival rager that year. Atop a mid-air kitesurf, the ad’s shoes seem to siphon athletic experiences into spiritual ones. “When you die, they'll put you in a nice suit and shiny shoes,” it quipped. “As if death didn't suck enough already.”
When Mark Thatcher invented Tevas in 1984, fashion couldn’t have been further from his mind. The Philadelphia-born Grand Canyon river guide was looking for a sandal that would stay on feet during water sports, and strung a velcro watch strap through a pair of flip-flops. Thatcher sold the shoes out of the back of his truck, according to Jason Bertoli, Teva’s current product line manager, and it wasn’t long before they caught on among athletes of all varieties of outdoor sport.
So, how did Tevas go from a river guides’ uniform to being the “shoe of choice” at Lollapalooza 1993 (according to Entertainment Weekly, which also gave a fashion shout-out to dumpers, “those huge, baggy shorts favored by skateboarders”)? The short answer is that people started wearing the shoes when they weren’t doing sports. According to a flurry of trend pieces published that year, Tevas became go-to sandals not only for “deadheads and bohemians,” but for anyone touched by the “back-to-nature-craze sweeping the country.” By 1998, the shoes had become so ubiquitious that “mildly appalled Europeans came to see them as the '90s equivalent of the unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and necklace of cameras that used to identify the clueless American tourist abroad,” one writer put it.
The truth is, from the beginning, Tevas have provoked strong reactions, not unlike sister brand Ugg (both are owned by Deckers). It's not just that the sandals signify unapologetic comfort, but also a kind of indifference about trends. Ironically, as the '90s progressed, anti-fashion fashion turned out to be one of the decade’s most significant trends. “You see a long-term interest in ‘authentic,’ ‘real’ clothes that are not part of fashion,” said Valerie Steele, chief curator of the Museum at FIT. “[In the mid-90s], there’s a shift from Versace towards grunge and Helmut Lang. Kate Moss and the waif replaced the Glamazon.” In other words, even as Tevas w
So read a 1993 Rolling Stone ad for the sandal that conquered pop culture, charging in on the feet of every mountain climber, laid-back mom, and music-festival rager that year. Atop a mid-air kitesurf, the ad’s shoes seem to siphon athletic experiences into spiritual ones. “When you die, they'll put you in a nice suit and shiny shoes,” it quipped. “As if death didn't suck enough already.”
If the whole thing seems a bit metaphysical (or, as Teva-wearers at the time might have put it, heady, dude) it’s by no accident. In the ‘90s, Tevas gained popularity not so much as a shoe, but as a mindset. The sandals took utility and made it a lifestyle: If you were interested in “living” rather than simply “existing,” you would let your toes and your spirit run free (in Tevas, of course).
The resurgence of Tevas has been pegged to several sources—normcore, the '90s renaissance, the fact that we at Opening Ceremony have just released our second collaboration with the brand (which, by the way, is pronounced Teh-va). But, once you look at the history of the shoe, it’s clear that it signifies more than just millennial nostalgia. From the beginning, Tevas have been a radical (and let’s face it, at times controversial) fashion statement, transforming comfort and utility into a signature aesthetic.
The resurgence of Tevas has been pegged to several sources—normcore, the '90s renaissance, the fact that we at Opening Ceremony have just released our second collaboration with the brand (which, by the way, is pronounced Teh-va). But, once you look at the history of the shoe, it’s clear that it signifies more than just millennial nostalgia. From the beginning, Tevas have been a radical (and let’s face it, at times controversial) fashion statement, transforming comfort and utility into a signature aesthetic.
When Mark Thatcher invented Tevas in 1984, fashion couldn’t have been further from his mind. The Philadelphia-born Grand Canyon river guide was looking for a sandal that would stay on feet during water sports, and strung a velcro watch strap through a pair of flip-flops. Thatcher sold the shoes out of the back of his truck, according to Jason Bertoli, Teva’s current product line manager, and it wasn’t long before they caught on among athletes of all varieties of outdoor sport.
So, how did Tevas go from a river guides’ uniform to being the “shoe of choice” at Lollapalooza 1993 (according to Entertainment Weekly, which also gave a fashion shout-out to dumpers, “those huge, baggy shorts favored by skateboarders”)? The short answer is that people started wearing the shoes when they weren’t doing sports. According to a flurry of trend pieces published that year, Tevas became go-to sandals not only for “deadheads and bohemians,” but for anyone touched by the “back-to-nature-craze sweeping the country.” By 1998, the shoes had become so ubiquitious that “mildly appalled Europeans came to see them as the '90s equivalent of the unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and necklace of cameras that used to identify the clueless American tourist abroad,” one writer put it.
The truth is, from the beginning, Tevas have provoked strong reactions, not unlike sister brand Ugg (both are owned by Deckers). It's not just that the sandals signify unapologetic comfort, but also a kind of indifference about trends. Ironically, as the '90s progressed, anti-fashion fashion turned out to be one of the decade’s most significant trends. “You see a long-term interest in ‘authentic,’ ‘real’ clothes that are not part of fashion,” said Valerie Steele, chief curator of the Museum at FIT. “[In the mid-90s], there’s a shift from Versace towards grunge and Helmut Lang. Kate Moss and the waif replaced the Glamazon.” In other words, even as Tevas w