They say not to let life get you down. But when one of your own guilty pleasures turns into somewhat of a hang-up — or when you’re caught at the holiday dinner table defending your vigilant right to wear socks to bed — it’s time to either face the music or stand your ground (no matter how slippery the floor may be).
It recently came to my attention that people find the fact that I wear socks to bed to be “disgusting” — or, as a close-friend put it, “a text message break-up to modern day hygiene.” (Which, now that I think of it, I’d love to write a letter to whomever deemed socks in the bed to be primal, Actually, it’s not me, it’s you.) I, however, disagree. In fact, I disagree so steadfastly that I indulge in shelling a few extra coins to spoil my feet with the finest cashmere socks in town.
For reasons unknown, this habit of wearing socks to bed just sort of happened. Here's what I can remember: When I was younger, my parents would wake me up for school by tugging at my feet. In turn, I’d slip my toes out from underneath the blanket and start shaking them so I wouldn’t fall back to sleep. My feet would get so cold. But, I’ve lived two decades with this (apparently) repulsive behavior, and I'm not stopping any time soon — especially not during the toe-curling winter months that loom at the edge of my bed.
I understand the cringeworthy idea of bringing dirt into the sack — sure — but how clean are your floors that your hooves aren’t already tracking dust and crumbs into the bed anyway? Besides, wearing socks to bed saves that cheeky little rub-together you socks-in-bed protestors do before you tuck yourself in (which, I’ll have you know, I find to be the gross part).
We’re all entitled to our own secret single behaviors, and I’ve no qualms admitting that what I do behind closed doors could stand an etiquette class or two, but isn’t that what makes single life so great? And stylish? Take this royal blue beacon of podiatric wonder from La Ligne. No one — not even the most stubborn of men and women stuck in their ways — can deny the conviction of a cashmere hug to the the heels.
As we slip our toes out of cuffing season and back into mating season (that’s January to October, for my single people in the back), it’s helpful to remember to treat every bit of ourselves with as much tenderness and (self-) love as we possibly can. Because, face it: Apart from a marathon of murder mysteries, there’s always a way to make a toasty Netflix and Chill session that much more enjoyable.
Idea: Try drunkenly forgetting to take your socks off cold-turkey style and let me know how it feels in the morning when your alarm clock won’t stop tugging at your toes. Or, try out those little ankle socks, or a pair of those Foot Undies (yes, those are actually a thing). And if that doesn’t get you, well, I dated a podiatrist once who said it was cute. So, there.
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