The semiotics of socks

Colder days means only one thing - it's time to engage in the intergenerational debate over ankle coverage

Am I doing this right?

Sock-wearing weather has returned. As the leaves fall, I am thrust into a debate that I had previously avoided by simply wearing sandals.

But it’s September and my feet are freezing. So - deep breath - what kind of socks am I supposed to be wearing?

Until now, the millennial v Gen X trainer liner stooshie had barely flickered on the far reaches of my radar. 

When one particularly stylish younger friend wore a skirt, trainers and a sock that stood a proud six inches above her ankle, I dismissed it as either a blip or a homage to Muccia Prada’s ongoing obsession with putting weird grey school socks with all kinds of unexpected footwear.

But no. She was just paying attention. And now that it’s the season to defrost my toes with the car heater, so must I.

For those who don’t follow the shifting sands of ankle coverage - and it’s been on This Morning, so what’s your excuse? - trainer socks have been declared cringe. They have become a badge of age and, worse, basicness, a tell that the wearer is not aware of the shifting sands of style and probably also wears skinny jeans and a denim jacket over a floral dress.

They must be replaced with crew socks, pulled up for all the world to see, with all haste.

Oh how I wish I did not care about this. If only I was the type of person who wandered comfortably through life in their M&S trainer liners, oblivious to the diktats of young persons on a social media platform I can’t even bring myself to download. (That would be the brain melting sea of bonkers that is TikTok, where this debate originated.) 

Farewell, old friends. You served us well

Sadly, I am not. Despite spending a lot of my waking hours lurking at home alone, wearing comfortable but ugly items that should probably be in the recycling bin, I care deeply about semiotics of socks.

(And bags, tights, scarves, shoes, my obsessions could cover several floors of a department store.)

I put this down to growing up in the 1970s, when making a statement with clothes was hard work. But those of us who would rather have soaking feet in third-hand DMs than wear Kickers developed a keen eye for detail. And tribal allegiances. And a bargain. 

Thankfully my days of DIY bondage trousers are behind me but I reserve the right to judge someone based on their belt.

As for my own wardrobe choices, comfort comes first. A close second is something Jess Cartner-Morley described brilliantly in the Guardian recently:

“Effortlessness is the most prized of attributes, because it implies that style runs through your veins, rather than something you paid through the nose for on Bond Street. An effortlessly stylish aura looks like the outward manifestation of some inner fabulousness. And it is so much better to be thought effortlessly chic than cutting-edge fashionable.”

So far so good I thought as I read on. Jess has me down. Then she brought it tumbling round my ears. 

“You know that a proper sock rather than a trainer liner is a modern non-negotiable.”

No Jess, I don’t. I am in denial. I have just about got used to a sparkly or fishnet sock with a chunky loafer and trouser suit. But anything above the ankle bone with a trainer or - shudder - sandal gives me the fear.

Look, I’m trying, OK?

Partly because I live in an unglamorous bit of Glasgow and do not walk the rarefied streets around the Guardian office, I fear my choices will be misinterpreted. There is a fine line between sandals with socks for a kombucha date in North London and sandals with socks below knobbly knees and Craghoppers shorts that can also zip into long hiking trousers. 

I suspect I might be read as in the latter camp and that is not somewhere I’m ready to be.

As with many nerdy/ironic clothing options, the age of the wearer makes all the difference. A gorgeous young person in a grannyish cardigan, fugly pair of glasses or thick hiking sock looks quirky and original. An old person just looks grannyish. Even in Prada.

In the interests of research, yesterday I stepped out in socks and sandals for the first time ever. Actually, it was not too bad. No children pointed or laughed. A chap around my age out walking his dog was also rocking a good 10cm of sock above his trainer.

My feet were an agreeable temperature and, if tiny particles of grit got into my shoes, I was blissfully unaware. 

Today I am trying them with trainers. It’s what Gen Z would have wanted.

Thank you for all the love on last week’s post. I’m glad my dating disasters amused you all greatly. I have more thoughts on this painful subject, plus over 100 screenshots cluttering my desktop, so there will be a part two some time soon. 

In the meantime, every time I look at the cursed app I am reminded of my own observations. Emojis, jet skis and dogs are chasing me round the internet. No sign of the future Mr Eyeball. Yet.