Ankle Socks

(let’s see if I can get through an entire post about clothes without mentioning my irrational hatred for jeans! Oh, wait…)

Yesterday, I visited Sports Direct, and budget sportswear store here in the UK from which I buy all my clothes, save for particular band or referential t-shirts ordered from Sharkrobot or something, which basically makes it my New Look, Debenhams, GAP and River Island all in one, a far more convenient system of buying clothes.

And, as ever, I pick my clothes based on price; I needed socks, so nodded approvingly when I saw a deal for ten pairs for six quid, and immediately bought them. Yet they are ankle socks, which I’ve not work before, and have mixed feelings towards now.

Functionally, they’re no different to taller socks; they let me wear shoes, allow me to wander around our kitchen without my flatmates thinking I’m some clothes-shunning barbarian, and provide warmth to my feet in my room, where the window has been open for five consecutive months now and I don’t know how the radiator works. But I miss the ankle bit! I’m missing that feeling you get of pulling on a pair of socks, and really pulling them up your legs until they’re snugly in place, because these ones have no ankles to pull. If anything, they’re too snug, having some perpetual form of snugness as a result of their compact shape, which means that toe-hugging tightness is no longer something for the sock-wearer to decide upon and carry out themselves, a combination of decision-making and footwear-adjusting that is nothing short of bloody satisfying, but is a state of being forced upon the sock-wearer by the sock itself.

It seems that, in this way, ankle socks have more control over their form of wearing than their taller brothers and sisters, which means that the wearers of ankle socks are more powerless than other sock-users. And, frankly, I don’t know if I trust socks, especially ones I bought yesterday, enough to give up that kind of power and control.

So far, my new socks haven’t attempted anything untoward with this power; they’ve not stolen my credit card, tried to slice off my feet inside them, nor are they nefariously carrying me around to places I don’t want to go in scenes that would resemble Wallace & Gromit: The Wrong Trousers, except with fewer penguins disguised as chickens, and a greater sense of impending, clothes-based doom.

But if anything happens, I’ll let you know.

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14 thoughts on “Ankle Socks

  1. What is it with you people who insist that socks have to be worn in the house at all times?

    Also, have you ever worn those little ped things that are called “no-show” socks and don’t even cover the top of your foot? They are the most nefarious of all.

    1. My feet would be cold otherwise – back home where there is heating I’m not too fussed, but here it’s kinda necessary.

      And I’ve not, but I saw a friend of mine wearing them this week. They’re kinda a pathetic excuse for clothes really.

        1. Also wearing socks all the time means getting ready to go out is made that little bit shorter, which can be a big thing.

          And they might be good for wearing on top of superhero costumes? But apart from that I have no ideas – I take it you don’t wear them often?

            1. Yet another advantage of only owning a pair of trainers – no unwearable socks! But having now bought loads of new socks, I’m afraid when I get home for summer I’ll have billions of pairs I can never wear. Suppose it’ll save on washing.

            2. My dog eats them. Since he lives with my parents and thus doesn’t get to see me often, he gets excited and eats the smaller, more edible socks that smell like me. I guess I *could* retrieve them, but I’m not that motivated.

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