I've got the socks...

My misadventures in sock wear.

For three years, I have been making due with my socks. I am particular about my sock brand and type. For several years I have worn the same make/model of socks. Not the same socks for no sock can last for 10-plus years (and also that would be kind of gross). Hanes, black sock, size 12-14. I found this sock many years ago and it has been the only sock I want to wear since.

I am kind of particular or stubborn about that kind of thing. I wear shirts until they are so thin you can see through them, or have enough holes in them that people can see me through them. I wear essentially the same style of clothing. In the winter, it’s jeans, t-shirt, with a shirt over (sometimes Hawaiian). In the summer, substitute cargo shorts for the jeans, and that’s me. T-shirts are usually dark blue, black, or grey. No logos or slogans for me please. A suitable canvas for the shirt that goes over. Clothing is mostly utilitarian to me. Fashion sense is for those with good sense to pay attention to it. My signature fashion piece is my bucket hat.

My clothing style is sort of camouflage. Don’t stand out, blend into the scene. Don’t point yourself out or be noticed. That could be an inherent coping mechanism from my high school years where I prayed to be as unnoticed as possible. It suits me well in the work world as a journalist. You’d think an overweight guy in a Hawaiian shirt and a bucket hat would stand out and be noticed in a room full of suit-clad politicians, yet they talk and talk with the journalist within earshot like I wasn’t there. Man I have stories – none fit for print.

Socks. Normally I can get a good nine months out of my roster of socks. I buy a large pack, and throw out all the old ones. As holes appear, since my socks are all the same colour (black) and the same brand, I take the un-holey mates and rematch. Once I get down to not having a weeks worth, time for a new pack. For me, that time for a pack was March 2020. Fuck. Pandemic. Why does that matter? I can only get these socks in the US. Oh sure, there are Hanes 12-14 socks sold in Canada, but they’re not the same.

I live about 20 minutes away from the US/Canadian border crossing in Johnstown, ON. My closest Walmart is in Ogdensburg, NY. You would think I could get the same socks at a Walmart in Canada – but no. The pandemic struck, borders shut, the world spun on its head – AND I HAVE NO SOCKS.

Once we were allowed to go into stores again, I looked and looked. For a corporate conglomerate monolith, Walmart has not learned how to standardize their product offerings across multiple countries very well. I could not find my Hanes 12-14 socks, in-fact I could not find any 12-14 socks anywhere. Tried the other haunts, Marks Work Wearhouse, Crappy Tire, Sportchek, you name it. Zippo. My shoe size is 12W or 13 depending on the shoe. I can buy size 13 shoes, but no socks for size 13 feet? This is like selling Hot Dogs in packages of 10, and the buns in packages of 8. What the hell?

I went on a “make due” sock hunt. Found several types that were close, but they felt wrong. For a bigger guy, I stand a lot. Socks are important. I notice these things yet am fashion-blind on many things. Spending more than any sane person would, I have ordered socks, bought socks, and donated socks because they weren’t “the one”. My close enough sock has done the trick for the past six months. Out of all the annoyances from the pandemic, not getting my right socks is high on that list.

This January, nearly three years from my last US visit, I went to the US to pick up a package. A mile away… Walmart. We went, and I made a bee-line for the men’s department. I found them. The right size, colour, brand, and FEEL. Cautiously, I bought one package of 12 – just in case the company had made a change in the past three years. Walmart staff get up set when you rip open a package of socks and try them on in a store (don’t ask me how I know that.) The first thing I did when I got home was change my socks. Glorious. Just the right amount of contact. Not overtight, not too loose, I feel like someone analyzing their oatmeal. Just right.

The other socks, the imposters, have been chucked to the donation pile like yesterday’s newspaper. My plan is to go back to the US next month and buy a couple more packages to stash away. Contraband socks are a thing.

My feet feel like they haven’t since the pandemic began. Who knew socks would be a good metaphor?