Blue socks
And the walk to dinner.
I bought several pairs of socks a few months ago, and while the brand I bought them from wasn’t particularly special, I felt unexpectedly special wearing them. I bought a sky blue pair, a deep green pair, a tangerine pair and a dark red pair.
I’m not entirely sure where the inspiration came from – maybe because I saw someone I liked online wear blue socks, or maybe because cherry red seems to be the colour of the season – but it felt like I stepped out of character when I bought myself the collection of colourful socks. I’m never sure how much I can stake my claims on things if I’ve seen it somewhere before, possibly on someone else. Where did I fall between taking inspiration from other people and feeling like maybe my style could be my own?
~
The other day I caught the tram by myself to get a treatment after work and something about it felt a little bold. I walked to the stop along a busy road packed full of commuters eager to leave the city and get home. But my day had already ended and I had a whole night ahead of me.
I wore my blue socks with my black flats. The shoes hurt my heel and felt almost like I was walking barefoot on the tough cement footpath. I was clearly not wearing the shoes for practical reasons, but because I liked how they looked, and I especially liked how they looked paired with my blue socks and black pants.
Perhaps I was someone who endured discomfort for the sake of a good outfit? There was something I liked about that.
~
As I waited for the tram I tossed through podcasts on my phone, struggling to land on something. In the end I ended up using the leftover time to top up my pass. There was something in me that just couldn’t quite handle taking public transport without paying for it and I wondered where that feeling came from.
I felt like I had a decent distaste for authority when the situation called for it, but anytime I didn’t scan my pass I couldn’t quite relax. I would always be on the edge of the seat, waiting to be reprimanded. So I topped up and obediently touched on and enjoyed the ride far more than I think I would if I’d spent it looking over my shoulder.
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When I got off, I walked to get a treatment at the place my friend worked and when I got there, I sat back and put my feet up on the little straw ottoman, admiring my shoes and socks. Then I attempted to sit still in silence for 20 minutes while the machine cast red, LED light onto my bare skin. I thought about nothing and almost everything.
Afterwards, I realised I was 15 minutes late for dinner, so I walked quickly, pounding the pavement despite the paper-thin shoes.
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I walked to a Japanese place nearby with music in my ears and I wondered if maybe it would do more for me to hear the sounds of the street and the people around me. Perhaps I was cutting myself off from the world by wearing earphones? But the question soon answered itself. Joni Mitchell came on shuffle three times in a row during my walk to dinner.
I listened to her sing while I walked past people eating and having after-work drinks all while wearing my colourful blue socks and also my second-hand vest that together, made me really feel like maybe I did have my own sense of style, or that maybe I didn’t have to step outside myself to try something different.
Maybe doing something a bit out of character might be part of my character?
~
I felt like maybe everything about my evening felt a little earnest, like I was leaning a little too hard into the novelty of things, but I felt like earnestness had abandoned me long ago. I craved its sense of sincerity and wanted some of it back. So I walked with purpose and rhythm and was met with a rush of joy. I bounded into the restaurant feeling much lighter and maybe slightly more important, but definitely more colourful than I was used to feeling.