Bad Socks and The Women Who Wear Them

Dear Santa,

There is something you don't know and I think it is time to get it out in the open. It was only a few years ago that I could not have imagined a blanket with sleeves, a coat with a hood was merely a dream. You're almost too good to be true and I think you might be our only hope, so here it is, Santa.


We women have very low standards when it comes to socks. Sure, many of us look like we have it all together, but you'd have heartburn in your bowlful of jelly if you knew what was lurking beneath our Cole Haans. We simply put up with way too much when it comes to our socks. You would be appalled if you knew the condition of some of the socks I've allowed on my feet. There are many nice, normal women walking around in decent clothing. Little do you know that underneath those black pants with the perfect crease she's wearing the only two dark socks she could find with holes in the toes and the heels worn thin. All day she walks around with a smile on her face, hiding the fear inside that she might sit down and cross her legs, revealing just how hard it is to tell the difference between black and navy blue at 6am in a dimly lit room. Heaven forbid she didn't do the laundry and had to wear her "last resort" socks. You know, the bottom-feeders in the drawer that you only wear when nothing else is clean.


Let me tell you about women's black socks. The first problem is that there is pretty much only one size. Yes, you heard me right. One size. They don't always call them One Size Fits All, instead they trick us by saying size 9-11. What does that mean? Nothing. Nada. The package will tell you that size 9-11 fits shoe sizes 4-10. Everyone I know wears a size between 4 and 10. What makes this most illogical is that we put two things on each foot – a sock and a shoe. The shoe comes in a variety of sizes, even half sizes, but the sock is size 9-11. Remember, this is the same foot I'm putting into my one size fits all sock and then my perfectly sized 7 shoe. Logical? Nope. The result for those of us on the lower end of the 4-10 (AKA 9-11) is the lovely heel flap. This is the part of the sock meant for the heel, but on a smaller foot it just ends up sticking out the back of your tennis shoe like a seatbelt caught in a car door. I'd assume that for those on the 10 end of the spectrum the heel flap makes a lovely home in the arch of the foot. My question is why? We seem to be able to make all other items of clothing in a variety of sizes, so is the sock that much of challenge? I'll bring you to problem number 2. The top of the sock. Nevermind the challenge of the height of the sock, if that were to work out it would be like winning the lottery. This is more like asking for change for the parking meter. I bought some Boot Socks the other day and when I put them on they went all the way over my knees. Why not just call them Almost Pants? Then I would have known what I was getting. For someone taller, however, these could have been ankle socks. Of course, we'd both wear the same size. There are two different types of sock tops. There is the "comfort band" sock that starts out somewhere on your calf and migrates south to make a nice little home around your ankle by the end of the day. The other kind is the "stay put" sock top that doesn't slip down your ankle. Instead, it stays in one place and when you take off your socks at the end of the day it's a little like cutting the string off a fresh turkey. The sock comes off, but the impression left by the elastic noose remains.


Can you imagine if we settled for other items of clothing the way we settle for socks? All of us walking around all day with pants that don't fit, holes in various places, the seat of our pants worn thin. Some would have waistbands up to their neck, others would be stuffed into trousers that only come up to mid-thigh. Then, around noon our pants would slowly start falling down so by 2:00 in the afternoon we'd all be walking around with our pants around our ankles. No big deal. That's good enough for us. Look at our lovely selection of shirts and sweaters. They come in one size, we call it "0-24". The shirts might be down your knees or barely reach your belly button. But wait, the jackets come in a variety of sizes, half-sizes even. If I did a load of laundry and my pants were missing when I took everything out of the dryer, I would be perplexed, irate, scared. Not the socks, they can go AWOL and we don't even think twice about it. You know what else we don't think twice about? Throwing away the other sock. Its mate took off at some point between rinse and fluff, left its twin flying solo and we stick the loner back in the drawer. In hopes that the prodigal sock will one day return? Hasn't happened to me yet. Although if you saw my sock drawer, you'd know I haven't given up hope. Every so often you encounter the brave sock that decides to hitch a ride in your pant leg then make a grand escape attempt as you're walking down the hall. It never works, I (almost)always catch it.


You're probably asking the same question I am – why do the nice girls always end up with the bad socks? I wish I knew the answer, Santa. I do know this - it's time for a change. We deserve a sock that fits us right and as for me, I'm saving my feet until the right sock comes along. You let me know when it's ready, Santa.