Sox. I have a huge drawer full of them. I like them to match my clothes, and also to match each other. But WHY? This kiosk in New York's Grand Central Station suggests otherwise. Why NOT wear two different sox? I even saw an article in the New York Times Style Section, my guide to the trends, that featured non-identical footwear.
There's the squishiness issue, of course. You don't want a fat, furry anklet on one foot, and a thin, smooth knee sock on the other. It could give you a gimp.
You don't want a warm winter hiking sock on one foot, and a summer rainbow shortie on the other. You could get befuddled. Or, with one foot, walk in a puddle.
Also, combining halves of pairs causes other complications. If you're the type, like me, who has enough trouble deciding what to wear--which shirt, which bottom part (skirt? jeans?) having to make TWO choices about sox just adds to the frustration. Then, you have to decide if the sock you pick actually matches or clashes with the other sock you're considering, and seldom do you find mismatched socks that actually harmonize.
There's also the bravery issue--if you DO find two compatible halves, is this something to be proud of, or keep secret? In other words, do I wear the two new-found friends with my low cut flats so they reveal my non-conformity proudly, or does such a daring maneuver call only for the discretion of high boots?
The orphan issue also arises. Is this a means to employ members of the lost-sox pile that grows after each laundry day? Or do I intentionally relegate the unused member of a perfectly synchronized set to that sad fate by calling its buddy to service?
I have a plastic box that is populated with socks that are mate-less, though many are so similar that without scrutiny, they could be combined. I've got the sport sock with the ribbing that's thick, and the similar one with the thin ribs. The lo-riser with the logo, and its nearly identical twin that goes nameless. The gym sock that looks big enough for a man's size 12, and another abandoned individual that is its exact replica, though sized for a petite feminine pied. Dare I plumb the depths of the plastic box for exciting near-perfect but curiously off combos?
But look! The kiosk cunningly called "Little Miss Mismatched" displays...only matching sets of socks! What a boo-boo I've made, it isn't "mismatched," but "Miss Matched!" The sprightly miss is MATCHED! The name is a clever come-on, designed to bring sock-crazed ladies lured by stripes and dots and rainbows and vibrant hues! Well, they got me...and I'll keep buying those dynamic duos and maintain them in rolled-together bliss in my bountiful sock-drawer, because life is always more fun in pairs.