Michael C. Hall, Dexter, and the Butterfly Crocs I Never Meant to Buy

I never thought I’d own Crocs. My wardrobe leans black, goth-inspired, and carefully curated—definitely not playful clogs covered in butterflies. And yet, one morning, there they were on my feet, bright against the dark tiles of my kitchen.

The reason wasn’t fashion. It was Michael C. Hall.

For six months I’d been deep in a Dexter spiral—rewatching episodes, devouring interviews, and even following Hall’s band, Princess Goes. Somewhere in that hyperfixation, I stumbled on a video of him bouncing across the stage in a pair of Crocs. In a flash of childish delight, I hunted down my own pair online. I told myself they’d stay hidden at home. But comfort has a way of rewriting the rules, and soon enough, I was wearing them everywhere.

Seeing Myself in Dexter

Here’s the strange part: Dexter has always felt like a mirror. Not for his darker tendencies, but for that sense of being wired differently. He moves through the world with a set of invisible rules, building elaborate systems just to pass as “normal.” For me, as someone who is neurodivergent, that resonates. It’s the constant push and pull between what feels natural inside and what the world expects from you.

I’d long wondered why every win for Dexter felt like a win for me. Looking back, I realize it’s because I didn’t have many of my own wins socially, and seeing someone like him—someone like me—succeed fed the dopamine my brain was always chasing.

When I watch Dexter, I don’t see a killer. I see the quiet labor of masking—the endless effort to smooth your edges until you almost disappear, just to fit the puzzle.

Crocs as a Symbol

And so the Crocs became more than shoes. They’re a symbol of the impulsive, curious, unfiltered side that ADHD often brings to the surface. They clash spectacularly with my outfits in the same way ADHD sometimes clashes with my carefully constructed routines. Yet there’s harmony in that clash, a reminder that identity isn’t about consistency, but about embracing contradictions.

What makes them irresistible isn’t just comfort—it’s the dopamine hit they carry with them. For a neurodivergent brain, those bursts of joy, whether from Crocs, a hyperfixation, or a song on repeat, feel like sanctuary. Looking at them brings me an internal joy, for now, a bright little fix that quiets the noise and lightens the weight of overthinking.

Why Dexter Resonates

Dexter isn’t just a show from the past anymore. With Dexter: Resurrection bringing Michael C. Hall back to the role this year, and Dexter: Original Sin exploring his beginnings, the story feels alive again. But what makes it resonate isn’t just the new plot twists—it’s the way Dexter embodies the conflict of living with a brain that doesn’t fit neatly into the world. For those of us with ADHD or other forms of neurodivergence, there’s recognition in that struggle. We see ourselves in the careful rules he builds to survive, and in the way every small win feels monumental.

So yes, Michael C. Hall made me buy butterfly Crocs. But really, what I bought was a reminder that identity doesn’t have to be consistent.

I first explored this story on my blog Small Sanctuaries, where I write about the intersections of pop culture, identity, and the small moments that keep us grounded.