> CD #108: Socks!

Let me start with a big welcome to those of you who’ve recently subscribed to Closet Dispatch. *waves goofily with both hands* This newsletter resembles my actual closet—warm, needlessly sentimental, rather unfocused in what it’s trying to achieve and, every so often, home to a few pieces with real potential.

In the beginning, I wrote these dispatches weekly, but I’ve been somewhat burnt out this year after finally finishing my forthcoming graphic memoir (preorder now!) and am experimenting with going easy on myself, remembering that all I really have to do is live (and keep my children alive), and I don’t owe the world my productivity. I’d love to say that this line of thinking has helped me achieve greater balance in life and freed me from the late-capitalist nightmare we all seem to be trapped in, but mostly I’m fretting about “not doing anything” while running around doing many, many things. In short, this is how it’s going.

But enough about my creativity crisis, let’s talk about socks!

Longtime readers will not be surprised that I think there are two kinds of people in this world: those who love socks and those who hate them. In our house, we are split 3:2. My husband and our 9-year-old both wear socks IN THE HOUSE, even while WALKING ON CARPET, often LONG AFTER THEY’VE COME HOME. This behaviour is mind-boggling to me because I, along with my two other children (who, incidentally, are certified GENIUSES) cast off our socks the minute we get in the door.

Socks feel weird. They slip around on your feet, slide down, bunch up. For some reason, sock manufacturers say a size 6 foot can fit the same pair as a size 9—a total scam. They get ratty fast. They get holes. They deposit lint between your toes. Socks are the worst. I’ve been this way since I was a kid, getting reprimanded by my mother for leaving my socks lying around when we visited other people’s homes. She said it was impolite to go around in bare feet, but that’s probably because she thinks socks are a necessary component to being fully dressed.

But they aren’t. In fact, I once went a full year without putting on any socks. In winter, my mukluks were plenty cosy and warm, and I switched into indoor shoes at work. The rest of the time, I wore flats that didn’t require socks. I eventually did go back to wearing socks occasionally, mostly because my heels were looking a little rough, but I’ll never forget how free I felt that year.

For most of my adult life, I have owned approximately 1–2 pairs of socks at any given time. The only ones I actually liked are these Wrightsocks I found at Mountain Equipment Co-op ten years ago. They fit snugly and never slip or bunch. And they are a dark enough colour to go shoeless through airport security without showing dirt marks. (Another gross feature of socks: how quickly they soil. They are basically ruined the minute you put them on, even if you don’t go anywhere.)

I only drew one of the pair because, as it turns out, socks are also a pain to draw.

In the past year, though, I’ve been trying to give socks a chance. They are trending after all, and the reality is that feet don’t age well. I’m only getting older, so I will probably have to embrace socks at some point to protect my loved ones from unnecessary hardship.

Last month, I came across Mary Roblyn’s poem “13 Ways of Looking at Socks” (inspired by Wallace Stevens’ “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird”), which made me think that maybe socks could be fun?

1.

Even matched, some socks are misfits.

Wrong color or size,

Or just despised.

2.

Do you know how many shades of black there are?

Said the mother of six boys, sorting socks.

3.

Socks as stocking stuffers: swaddled

In shiny paper, tucked in with a candy cane.

Is that all? I said. My father looked away.

Now I know it was everything.

4.

Out, darned sock!

Nothing mended, nothing stained. Not in my house.

Words my mother never spoke.

5.

Elastic gone, socks puddle around your ankles.

You knew this day would come.

6.

sockittomesockittomesockittomesockittomesockittoomesockittomesockittomesockittome

RESPECT

7.

(just a little bit) (just a little bit)

The holes in both socks match, gnawed equally

By some small, hourglass-shaped longing.

8.

We enter and leave this world

Barefoot. Babies pull off socks, and delight in

Toes. Object permanence, eternal life.

9.

But in this life, I’ve folded my socks all wrong

Says the tidying woman. She makes more money

Than God, teaching people how to fold socks.

10.

Your home is the Tree of Life.

Your decor, and wardrobe, are its branches.

Including socks, says the great influencer.¹

11.

Clothes dryers connect, house-to-house

Through sock-engineered tunnels. You lose socks,

Have to buy new pairs. It’s their reproductive strategy.

12.

Change your socks, change your life.

Any questions? (Ted Talk material? No?

Then, never mind).

13.

The Thirteenth Commandment:

Socks always make a nice gift.

“Change your socks, change your life.” We’ll see. Send me your sock recos! Sock it to me, lol.

:) Teresa

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1. Frank Lloyd Wright