A tri-fecta of fugly. Not worth it even if you find it on the clearance rack. Seriously. Walk away.

Found these fuglies at Ross tonight. Even Kegan (our 16-year-old who typically dubs anything high and trashy “hot”) jumped on the “oh, hell no” bandwagon. To be fair, I’ve been known to opt for comfort over style when it comes to footwear, and feared perhaps I was behind the style curve. So I asked my worldy hubs, Eric, what he thought. “Baby, I grew up in New Jersey. In the ‘80s. Let me just say, no effing way.” And there you have it.