Socks are powerful objects.
Think about it.
They provide warmth, protection, aesthetic value, privacy.
No outfit is complete without a matching pair of socks.
Going sockless somehow makes one feel more naked than foregoing a shirt or a blouse.
What makes you feel as stupid, as pathetic, as vulnerable as a toe sticking out?
Socks are such a big part of our lives that they have sparked controversies still being battled through: Socks before or after underwear? Socks with sandals? Socks on or off during sex?
What other wardrobe component has the power to affect your life in the same manner? What else is this complex?
I believe socks will take over the world one day. That they will dominate our fashion, and we’ll be wearing socks in lieu of pants, shirts, skirts, and sweaters.
Our socks will become statements in themselves, our projected identities birthed from the bottom and keeping to the bottom. We will no longer have cause to look up, and so will miss each other’s smiles, lash flutters, and blushes. All that’s left of us will be our taste in color, length, pattern, and weave. A sharp turn of the heel will replace a smirk, a rise on tiptoes will be the next generation’s kiss. In effect, we will all become The Powerpuff Girls’ Miss Bellum.
But what am I saying? It’s already begun.
From the archives:
I Drink Coffee Now - And other symptoms of love.
Can I Beat Hemingway? - Ten very short stories.
And what of the anger of the missing sock? Separated against their will, destined to the solitude at the back of the drawer, always hopeful its mate will show up. Or worse... discarded. Destroyed.