25 October 2001

Do You Want To Know A Secret

I live for socks. But not cute-ass ones like the long pink babies I'm sporting right now. Nor the black over-the-knees that are so much better for your girl parts than those nasty old thick black opaques. (Boys! You managed to prize a girl outta some thick black tights? Well done, but... STOP! Are you sure you know what you're doing? Prepare to meet her friend Candida! Did you want a threesome? Cuz you gonna get one!) No. I'm talking..... can .... hardly.... spit.... it.... out......Novelty Socks. Hooobwoy.

I heart novelty socks. I heart coloured ankle socks with slogans and cartoons on. No, not in a frickin' ironic way. You gotta be like 15 y/o and stick-thin to pull off the amusing socks and stilletoes look, and believe me, I ain't.

I love them for real. Cartoon socks. Socks with spiderwebs on for Halloween. 'Born To Rock' socks. Union Jack socks. Witchy-face socks. 'Girl Power' socks from Woolworths. 'Girls Behaving Badly' socks from Woolworths. Indeed, any kind of socks with the word 'Girl' on them in any context whatsoever. Especially from Woolworths.

Why? I normally despise such boringly essentialist gender-based sexualising descriptions. Plus, the whole 'I love being a girl' thing is so, like, over. And yet. My toes embrace it. My insteps caress it. My ankles demand it. What's going on?

My feet are a fashion blindspot, a style Bermuda Triangle, a cultural wasteland, permanently stuck in some kind of 1997 V-flicking skunk-striped girlpowered reverie.

My heels are my Achilles heels.

That's why I wear boots.


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