black socks: an ode May 27, 2008

I love black socks.

To begin with, I hardly ever wear socks intended for women. They’re small and flimsy. I have big feet and am hard on my clothes. I prefer men’s socks. Men’s socks are durable. They’re big in the feet and long in the legs. You can pull them most of the way up to your knee.

But most importantly, men’s sock are warm. Those suckers are thick. The white ones are good, but the black ones… man, those men’s black socks are something else. So warm. So snugly fitted to my feet. I can just look at them and feel my icy feet thaw.

Cold-footed women, arise! Why do we persist in buying these flimsy women’s socks, or the bulky wool ones that stretch out our shoes and put cable-knit lines in the skin of our ankles, when this sockly wonderland is only an aisle over? Relief is at hand, my friends, in the form of men’s black socks.

Black socks conjure up mountain hikes in peak fall foliage season, peeking out the tops of brown leather hiking boots with a practical sense that all is right with the world. They sit patiently in the closet during the summer months, just biding their time in the knowledge that soon they will be slipped onto chilly toes to be held in front of the fireplace as their wearers joke about the weather with Heart’s “Dreamboat Annie” spinning on the turntable.

Black socks belong in the realm of Christmas spiced pecans, long men’s sweaters worn over leggings around the house, testing soup recipes, and friends dropping by with extra firewood.

Black socks are the baked macaroni and cheese of the hosiery world. I’m wearing them now. And you, my friend, I ask only that you take me at my word and experience it for yourself.