No one cares about my socks.
That's not a complaint. Were it up to me, I'd wear grey socks every day; they're simultaneously bright enough to be sporty and dark enough to be formal. Grey is the ultimate compromise - otherwise, people wouldn't approach life as a series of shades of it. And yet, I can't match the lack of hue with tan, beige, or any kind of brown, according to my wife, who has infinitely more fashion sense than I do.
The only fashion I care about is my t-shirts, and I can wear them with grey socks. And pants.
Hell, I've even old-man-at-the-beached it and worn socks with my Crocs. The words rhyme. What better association could there be?
My in-laws bought me a pair of dress socks for either my birthday or Christmas. Those dates are roughly ten weeks apart, and that shows how memorable the occasion was. I've worn them twice - beige-ish, thin, high-quality material with better elasticity. But they're not thick enough, so my feet slide around those few millimeters within my shoes. Every step I take. The least sock fashion designers could do is incorporate some sort of traction so their products don't slip against the interior sole.
At least I don't wear striped socks anymore. And, truth be told, I no longer own any grey ones. But I don't want to hear my wife complain when my black socks are covered in burrs after I wear them for a round of disc golf. Good thing I have black sneakers.
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