When I was about eight years old, I was shopping at L.L. Bean with my family, which is near a lake camp we visit every year in Maine. I convinced my dad to buy me a pair of thick cotton tie dye socks, even though they were way too big. My mom said I would grow into them. They were rainbow-colored, and I loved them because the toes were pink. I cherished those socks, even though I didn’t grow into them for nine years. In college I completely wore them through.
In high school and the summer after, as a camp counselor, I was known for my fun socks, which I collected whenever I found them. I had flamingo socks and frog socks, etc.
When I first went away to college, I was overwhelmed by how cold it was in Providence. I struggled to outfit myself in clothes warm enough to walk to class in. I stocked up on thick heathered cotton socks and wore them all until threadbare. I was known for wearing those thick heathered socks.
After college, I struggled with the switch from art student to office worker. The defining part of that time for me was having to completely change how I dressed. I still loved thrift shopping, so I scoured Savers for business casual outfits. As an assistant designer at Macy’s in Manhattan, I couldn’t wear my hiking socks anymore. Most people didn’t even wear socks to work, so I struggled to find something office-appropriate. I hated the thin nylon trouser stockings that were available because they left my feet cold, sweaty, sore, and blistered. I went to Walmart and bought a 6-pack of thick cotton black crew socks. Not exactly stylish, but nondescript and comfy.
I could never find exactly the right socks, I wanted them to be relatively thick cotton in pretty, not goofy, patterns that would work with my ballet flats and black slacks or boots and a skirt. Eventually I designed my own. I now run a new little sock company, Peony and Moss. Every day, I wear socks I designed.
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