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New Zealanders call them flip flops. Germans call them heelshclappenclogs and Australians call them thongs.

Up until recently I avoided them. They shout lower socio-economic means with the same volume as a Guns ’n’ Roses tattoo on a single mother. But Emergency Contact’s influence and Sydney’s weather conspired to make me drop that prejudice and I have been wearing thongs in some circumstances, every now and then, over the last couple of years.

I am still of the opinion that, unless at a derivative celebrity wedding, bare feet are better than thongs. With bare feet, the implicit message is, “My shoes are around here somewhere,” whereas thongs say, “I‘ve made my choice and this is as good as I can do”.

But, there is a time and a place and I have become complacent.

Here’s an unlikely sentence. My first thongs broke and the new ones aren‘t as good.

Who knew there was such a thing as “shopping for best thong”? In the realm of the thong, I felt you might as well say, “This esky is not heat resistant enough. Talk to NASA about heat shielding.” Savile Row Bespoke Thongritidge - that's where I’m going next.

So, in the spirit of keeping local jobs local, here’s a tip to thong manufacturers. Where the hole for the central mainstay goes, that bit that sits between the big toe and the second toe? It’s important. It should be placed sort of symmetrically. You web-toed circus freaks.