Living the good life, one sock at a time

My sock drawer is a disaster. To research this article, I looked in, and this is what I saw: one navy blue dress sock, one black dress sock (inside-out), one striped Tommy Hilfiger recreation-themed sock and about 20 various plain whites, of which not a single pair matched. They lay in a confused, pitiful heap which I will now playfully dub the Mt. Everest of socks, for its impressive size and white color.

It wasn't always like this. Last year I had a plan. This plan was the sort of thing that a lot of you have probably dreamed of, but only a maverick like me would ever have the courage to try. Here's what I did: I standardized my sock drawer.

As you've probably guessed by now a plan like this takes planning, and I spent minutes, if not an hour on the details. Eventually, I decided that the procedure would be best carried out in two phases. Phase 1: At the end of freshman year, I put every sock I had at Princeton into a plastic bag which I then brought home. The look on my mom's face when I handed her a bag full of 40 mismatched, dirty socks was not one of gratitude or joy, but rather one of confusion and a profound fear that after just one year of college her first son had lost his mind.

But then, I explained to her Phase 2,which I'll call "the money phase." I call it the money phase, because it is "money" not only in the colloquial sense of "awesome" (e.g. "that basketball rebound was so money!"), but also required a relatively substantial outlay of cash, when you consider that this was a plan for socks.

"Mom" I said, turning on the charm, "do you think I could have some money?"

"But I just gave you $30 and you spent it all on Pokemon cards and Pokemon fruit snacks."

"But Mom this is important! This is for socks!"

"Pokemon socks?"

I grinned, impressed at her quick wit, "regular socks, mom."

Money in hand, I drove to the local Marshalls and bought 30 pairs of Hanes socks — the kind with the gray soles and the red stripe that feel just a little bit like love the first time they touch your feet. Now, I want to let my readers know that I have nothing against the Goldentoe. The Goldentoe is a fine sock, especially if you like your sock to pill up after a couple of loads of laundry. But seriously folks, my dog thinks the Goldentoe is great ... for chewing on!

I took my new high-quality socks home, and I played with them for a while. This got old surprisingly fast, but I was still quite pleased with myself and my brilliant scheme. Mismatched socks were a thing of the past. When it came time to do the laundry I would throw my socks into the dryer with fury and gumption.

"Do your worst," I would say.

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It would then easily burn my clothes to a crisp, but be disappointed to find out that was just a decoy load of laundry. I just took a pile of random clothes from the massive heap on the counter, dryer, because I know that's how you work.

Fearing further retribution, I would then dry my socks by hand.

It was going to be great. And for a while it was. I no longer had to build in those extra two minutes to my schedule each morning for, "finding a pair of socks". I just grabbed two and bam I was ready for class. I considered writing a book, "Sock Solutions They Don't Want You To Know: A Fool-Proof Plan to Stop Worrying and Start Living the Good Life, One Sock at a Time." It was gonna sell millions.

But then, one morning, something went wrong. I grabbed a sock, but shuddered as I went to slip it on my foot. It was blue. The panic set in quickly, with great force. My plan hadn't allowed for blue socks, at least not as I remembered it. I checked a sheet of paper, attached to my bulletin board, on which I had written the details of the plan. To my relief, I remembered that I had allowed for one pair of blue dress socks, "in case of emergency, or formal wear". I wasn't going to relive the 10th grade Model United Nations trip where I had received "worst socks of the conference," which, it turns out, was an award they created just for me.

The false alarm, however, was an omen of the tragedy that would soon unfold. Over the next six months, my Hanes gray-toe with the red stripes, were gradually lost or replaced, and by the time it was over, my sock situation was again hopeless.

And yet I do not despair. Not long after my great experiment failed, I decided to free myself from societal conventions, and I have never been happier. You may see me walking around campus, lighthearted and joyful, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from my shoulders. It shouldn't be too hard to recognize me. I'll be the one with the mismatched socks. Tom Knight is an economics major from San Juan Capistrano, Calif. He can be reached at ttknight@princeton.edu.