I’m A Sock Rebel

(fear me, mortals)

Don’t leap to the conclusion that you’re a greater sock anarchist than I am, just because you wear non-matching socks; Amazing Phil’s done it for years, and the fact that it’s got a name – ‘argyling’ – shows that sock irregularity as about as rebellious and innovative as following speed limits. Hell, even the street urchins of Charles Dickens’ mind probably wore odd socks, purely because they lacked the fashion sense to coordinate their footwear, the extra helping-demanding fools.

No, I am a rebel for a much more devious reason: I wear ‘days of the week’ socks, those that proclaim the current day, on the wrong days – right now, on a Wednesday, I am wearing Monday socks.

This is more rebellious because it comes completely from free will: wearing odd socks can be a result of not being able to afford a pair, or the practical constraints of losing a sock down the back of a sofa when you do the washing, forcing you to wear odd socks due to the Sock Goblins. O, however, have the financial and sock-preserving means to wear suitable socks, but actively choose not to.

Also, my rebellion is almost totally invisible, with the words only populating the soles of my socks, and so often being hidden by shoes, and always by floors and shadows. You could argue that rebellion is most effective when out in the open, but few explicit uprisings are ever successful – see the Soviet Union in the 1950s and 60s – and I’d argue it is more satisfying to know that you are personally screwing the system, buoyed by the safety that no-one will ever know. It’s like anonymous graffiti: no-one is punished, and it provides a sense of independence for the perpetrators.

This is furthered by the disguise of my socks – they are boringly black outside of the rebellious soles – meaning that their true anarchy is not only hidden, but mistaken for social compliance and conformity; there’s nothing more satisfying than screwing somebody over who’s blissfully unaware that you’re doing it, like sticking a ‘kick me!’ sign on someone’s back, which they mistake for a friendly pat on the shoulder.

And there’s nothing you can do about it: open rebellion can be crushed with violence, political extremism can be put down with media censorship, and performance art projects can be undermined simply by being laughed at, but you can’t change my socks. Not only would this be rather difficult to do – as I’ll take a bullet for my dumb teenage acts of defiance – but you would have no legal grounds to support you on; violent revolutions are generally seen as illegal, but miswearing of socks is A-Okay throughout the civilised world.

As a result, any attempts to quell my insurrection will fail spectacularly; if you try to press charges against me for this, it’s more likely you’d be done for wasting the court’s time, and for assaulting an innocent, if oddly-socked, individual.

So you can keep your ideological revolutions, political mutinies and popular protests; I’m gonna wear some ACDC-triggering socks, and laugh as you all know about this, but are powerless to stop me.


The artist who lays eggs with her vagina


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