I discovered my deep and enduring love of socks at a pretty early age. I don't know, they must have appealed to me as statement pieces maybe in the same way jewelry or tattoos appeal to others. That statement could be as bold or as subtle as I wanted, and were much cheaper than jewelry or tattoos.
In high school, it was definitely a decision. I wore knee-high socks over patterned tights with boots or canvas shoes, and these often mismatched my outfit. The mismatch? It was deliberate. Clashing plaid tights with solid wool knee-highs was also deliberate.
I bought these socks and tights wherever the opportunity presented itself, often at equally seemingly clashing stores: Wet Seal, The Gap, Contempo Casuals, Liberty House. We didn't yet have Street of Madness (remember them?) or Hot Topic, and I couldn't afford (or let's face it, FIT) stuff from Delia's.
But it was deliberate. I used my hosiery and shoes to express myself. I'm unconcerned with fashion mores. I'm not dressing for the male gaze. I'm fun and funky and I'll stomp you or jump in rain puddles. My clothes may be dress code compliant, but I'm gonna inject my personality every chance I get.
And what I've learned recently is that socks are now out of my control.
Okay, FOOTWEAR is out of my control.
Like, I love my socks and my shoes, and I still revel when they're mismatched. Also, I never...rather, I ALWAYS wear Vans or Docs no matter if I'm wearing a dress, dress pants, or a skirt.
However, the goal isn’t always mismatch. In fact, that’s not the goal at all. I’m interested in and guided by self-expression.
The thing is, even if I want to tastefully mismatch, it goes awry! I take a look in the mirror and I think, "This is gonna be SO cute. This is gonna be Kanani Cute." And then reality hits and it's more like…I'm like, "oh. OH. Oh, that's pretty dorky." It is, in fact, a whole lottabit cringe and yet I DO NOTHING TO CHANGE IT. I just roll with it. Out the door go I without another thought.
And I think THIS is the part of me that I'm expressing. The odd socks/shoe/outfit combination isn't it. The mismatching isn't it. Those are just the consequences. Those are just the output. What I can't control, what I can't reign in? It's me. It's fucking ME. THAT'S the thing. The fact that the mismatch emerges from the decisions I make even when I'm trying to tone down the weird, THAT'S the thing.
That people frequently comment about my shoes, highlights for me how little I actually think about my shoes. I love Vans. I love Doc Martens. I love square toe boxes. I love bulky Mary Janes. I love a chunky heel. I just love canvas shoes and boots.
So there's no thought to pairing my "boyish" footwear with a "girlish" dress because it just happens. It requires no thought because I don't own "girlish" shoes (I mean, other than my pole heels lol). I have cultivated a whole micro world that supports my preferences, my dorky fashion sense, that champions comfort and confidence even when things go slightly and unintentionally sideways
It is beautiful. It is a beautiful consequence that began intentionally in my youth, and grew organically wild in my adulthood. It is beautiful that I carried this with me through unhealthy relationships with others and with myself.
It’s always so exiting and also soothing when I realize that I’m not putting on airs, that I’m not pretending. That this thing is actually an extension and expression of self. Reading has recently reasserted itself. And walking. And now this.
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