On socks, pocket squares, Brian Ferry, and walking like a grown-up

In light of all the gloominess out there, I want to share this little flicker of light.

There comes a time in your life when you start paying attention to socks.

My old friend, Steve Almond, describes it as something that just hits you. One day you start to see yourself in nice socks. Steve says, “You walk around the city where you live coveting other men’s socks. With their socks, your life might come together more convincingly.”

I’m not sure how convincingly my life has come together. But I have learned to appreciate socks.

Photo: Lauren Taback

The socks in this photo were a gift from a friend of mine, Frank Camalo, who happens to be a promoter and also runs a men’s clothing store in Lafayette, Louisiana. There’s a lot going on with these puppies. I’m fairly sure they are what you’d call “paneled.” They’re definitely Italian. Dig the design and blue colors and the texture for a start. The inside panel is one color, the outside panel another. Nuts! They’re impeccable. Up on another level. They are Marcoliani’s I believe. From Milan. Like I said, these were a gift. Something I probably wouldn’t buy for myself. I wasn’t sure I could pull off wearing them.

But I did. And now there’s no looking back.

Meanwhile, don’t worry, friends. I’m still a slacker at heart. Still drive a Ford Econoline with my longboard and wetsuit and beach towel in the back. And it’s an increasingly rare event that I get an iron out. (Life is too short for ironing. That’s why I employ a steamer.) But socks can be aspirational. For me, they’re a way of getting my foot in the sartorial door. So to speak. I mean, I’ve got a long way to go. I’ll never be Brian Ferry. But even Brian Ferry is hardly Brian Ferry anymore. I mean, a white tux, anyone? Hell, if I even attempt a white jacket at all, I end up just looking like a nurse. And while we’re at it, I doubt I’ll ever convincingly rock a pocket square any day soon. But with my sock game, I’m happy keeping my skinny foot in the door.

As for Frank? He and I had a misunderstanding over a gig. He thought we didn’t play long enough or something. We didn’t think it a great idea to play in front of the double swinging doors to the kitchen. (Hot soup!) And somewhat unrelated, we ended up in a Holiday Inn that night where they were doing renovations of the rooms. While we were in them! As my friends on the Angry Island like to say, it all went a little “pear shaped.” That’s too bad. Because he was a man who knew the value of a nice Italian pair of socks. None of that polyester blend/Happy Socks novelty trash that they sell on spindly racks at the airport. I’m talking about fine Italian fabric. The kind of fabric that when you slip into them you, as Steve says, “begin to exhibit a little grace, a little love, and just like that you rise up and walk like a grown-up.”

You can check out Steve Almond’s essays, fiction, and podcastery here.

This photo was taken by my friend Lauren Taback. She’s a songwriter and a media wizard. We were planning on getting together at her pad to wrench on some songs when she called me and told me that she had a roll of paper up in her living room left over from a photo session. And could take a couple snaps. There you go. You can see Lauren’s “Queer from Here” series here.

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Onward,
CP