From Target Trash to Treasure

By Anne K.

There was nothing I dreaded more than the sound of my mother cranking the faucet of our shower on a Sunday afternoon. It marked the start of “wash day,” an hours-long labor of love experienced by little black girls around the globe. My mother and I found ourselves in a wicked dance, her trying to wrestle the knots from the tight coils of my hair as I squirmed away in agony. She shampooed, conditioned, and twisted as I sat hollowed and resigned in the back corners of the tub. The ramifications of this ritual extended far beyond our silent Sunday dinners in which I’d stare at my mom in utter betrayal. It also accounted for my complete hatred of showering. I bathed reluctantly and always in anger.

These days, there is no pair of shoes that I don more frequently than my red, Target shower shoes. They are worn in conjunction with my candy-striped IKEA bathrobe, creating a grotesquely jarring ensemble of clothing. They squelch. They squeak. And they are so bright it hurts to look at them for long. My dorm floor is closely acquainted with their hideousness, and girls frequently remark on how embarrassing their coloring is. And in truth, they are embarrassing, but not because they are a glaring fashion faux pas. Everytime I slide my toes into their poorly crafted, cheaply sourced rubber, I am reminded of my failure to act sustainability when I can.

I acquired the shoes a day before I was meant to move into my freshman housing. I had dragged my mother to the Target in Downtown LA, babbling about the many purchases I needed to make to be prepared for college. She dealt with my ramblings and my cart was soon spilling over with bedding and writing utensils. I thought I had conquered the store, and arrogantly swaggered into the check out line. That was until my mother whispered that I certainly would not want to go barefoot in a college shower. It was then that I realized my great mistake and sprinted back to the red abominations.

They are constructed using 100% Ethylene Vinyl Acetate, a non-biodegradable material derived from fossil fuels. This means that if not disposed of properly, their time on this planet could far outnumber my own by hundreds of years. And unfortunately, proper recycling does not come without its challenges. Most mainstream facilities don’t accept EVA foam because of its complex composition, which makes disposal an intricate, costly process. The mere five seconds it took to buy these shoes will have ramifications that last for centuries.

But, I refuse to purchase another pair of sustainable shower shoes. Buying new items, even eco-friendly ones, can often lead to more environmental harm than not buying at all. Producing new goods is one of the primary drivers of climate change, with the average product creating emissions 6.3 times its own weight. The fact is, manufacturing requires massive amounts of resources and energy, no matter how “sustainable” an item might be. Allowing needless consumption to be a cop out for our eco-mistakes goes against the goal of true sustainability. Instead, we must focus on reducing our consumption, repairing old items, and reusing our purchases.

Thus, I plan to remain with my ugly shoes till death do us part. From college housing to post-grad apartments, I owe it to the planet to act as thoughtfully and intentionally as I can with my rushed purchase. And perhaps a little foolishly, it’s nice to have an item that brings my mom back into my showering routine.