Wardrobes are like life in that often it’s the little things that can make a difference. For instance, my life would be vastly improved if my house wasn’t riddled with balled up worn socks left adrift by my husband under the sofa, stuffed behind a radiator, behind the bathroom door or sometimes just abandoned in the middle of the living room.
So far all the new year new marriage articles I’ve read haven’t addressed the errant sock conundrum (a pass-agg splinter group) but could you get divorced over socks? I’ll report back before slider season.
My six year-old will scream the house down if she comes across a sock she deems to be “itchy”. A nadir was reached last year when she decided she wanted black socks for school. We are now drowning in three sizes of black socks, pairs wrenched apart from each other, languishing in the wrong drawers. Parted pairs are the bane of my life.
The worst thing about socks taking over my domestic sphere is that I hate socks. I will wear a sandal (no hosiery) for as long as I can beyond autumn, and yet here we are in the depths of sad-sock-winter. I can’t stand the way a bad sock runs down the foot or shuffles to the side in a boot, or bites into an ankle with a too tight elastic, or allows a toe to poke through a worn spot.
I also can’t bear to look at a terrible sock on someone else’s foot. Nothing can throw off a look more than a naff sock. Trainer socks are always horrible, ditto those funny foot covers people think you can’t see under a court shoe (you can). A scrunched down tatty Argyll with a trainer? Awful. Stained, grubby white sports socks with a short on the tube? Enough, please.
And yet, a great sock can be a thing of wit. I don’t mind a jaunty pop of colour with a suit, I do draw a very thick red line at novelty patterns. Good socks that fit and sit right can be a small but artful, cheering addition to an outfit. Until you lose one.
Fashion this season is having a fling with socks. A crisp white sports sock with a loafer (do go for an adidas three stripe, a stylish friend of mine will wear these with tailored trousers, which works in a wrong/right sort of way); a knee high with a Mary Jane (see Chanel’s Manchester show); a sheer pop sock with a brogue (advocated by Victoria Beckham’s runway) or sling-back heel. Bel Powley did a chic grey sock with her Miu Miu gold spangly dress over the weekend in LA. The pop sock thing isn’t for me personally, as I find nylon very irritating, but it can look sweet if you can put up with the friction.
Given my fear of a bad sock, I often invest. I avoid cashmere as I’m too lazy with washing to not shrink them. My new favourite sock-source is Colorful Standard, its organic cotton active socks are a comfy fit and neatly ribbed; Toast is also heavenly, it stocks Nishiguchi Kutsushita, the Japanese brand which uses an old fashioned knitting machine to make its wool pairs, as well as the Italian Maria La Rosa who make its cotton pairs on antique looms — neither are cheap but a great treat. Tabio is always a worthwhile stop; for its excellent colour options Uniqlo is the best on the high street. Ankle length is, to my mind, always best. Just don’t leave them in my hallway.
Victoria Moss' Wish List
