When I was a teenager, I used to love ankle-length socks. I used to think they were classy and extremely stylish, but I never had any. My parents’ idea of socks were the white ones that came with the school uniform, long, stretchy ones that came to an end just below the knee. I wasn’t really a sock lover, and am not one even now – I am more of a barefoot kind of person. And then, being the fat, pimply, bespectacled teenager that I was, I was not supremely confident of my abilities to carry off something so beautiful. So it happened that I never got a chance to wear these socks.
On his recent work trip to the US of A, my brother-in-law picked up a few pairs of ankle-length socks for me, with bright colours and bold patterns. ‘I didn’t know what to get for you, so I got these,’ he told me sheepishly. I couldn’t have been more elated. The socks were worn immediately, and admired. Gone is the surly teenager – this woman now loves bold colours and doesn’t mind wearing the socks. I just love the spot of colour that they add to my life. I still feel these socks look chic.