Socks

Socks

Quite out of the blue a while ago, my seven-year-old let out a deep sigh and said: ‘Sometimes I feel like I’m never going to go to Paris.’ While I was tempted to launch into don’t-you-know-how-lucky-you-are, I took it easy on her as I quietly share her wistful longing for cobbled streets and non-stop lemon crepes with an accordion soundtrack (I suspect she’s been reading too much Madeleine).

But dream away, small daughter – because unless we win the lottery or discover gold in the garden, Paris is a distant fantasy. Until then, I’m making do with some France on my feet with these Bonne Maison socks. I love the way patterned socks can stamp some personality on an otherwise neutral get-up – it always makes me smile to see suited-up salarymen on the train, quietly channelling their inner creative selves through their feet. And cufflinks. And beards.

While these sweet, flowery socks don’t scream loudly (as usual I’m stuck to my blue/green safe place), I like to think they add a bit of colourful garden life to an otherwise plain pair of jeans and lace-ups – and a bit of Paris to my Melbourne days.

Sock love
For all the Frenchy goodness that’s missing in your life: Bonne Maison
These guys come in threes, with an odd pattern for the third, making them the perfect present for your wacky brother-in-law: Odd Pears
Ayame are tiny pieces of total Japanese amazingness for your feet. You can get them at Dagmar Rousset
We Melbourne types are very loyal to our Obus, and their socks don’t disappoint: Obus

 

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