Socks

The first thing I learned (or didn't learn) how to to knit

As with all of my obsessions, I dive head first into the deep end rather than stick my toe in to gauge the temperature. I first started knitting in 1999 or so. At that time, I had been collecting vintage designer clothing for some time. If I recall correctly, Courrèges, Pucci, Pauline Trigère, Comme des Garçons, and Yohji Yamamoto were the brands I mostly chased. It was pretty easy to thrift good finds at reasonable prices until it wasn’t. Suddenly, everyone started doing it which, eventually, drove prices up and made unique pieces harder to find. I’m not sure how I came around to knitting, but it seemed like the only way to make one-of-a-kind pieces other than sewing, which I wasn’t into. My first experience with knitting was a sock knitting class. Boy, was that a disaster! Sure, why not begin with the hardest thing to knit. Despite my best efforts, I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. Still, I persevered. I knit a scarf or two and then jumped to sweaters, eventually circling back around to socks. There’s nothing quite like a handknit sock. There was even a time when I would only wear socks that I had knit myself. The problem is that hand knit socks tend to be fairly thick and don’t work with every shoe. I’ve been using the same pattern for 25 years now. A collection of personal tweaks based on a classic sock pattern from the book, Folk Socks, scribbled all over an ancient photocopy. I never deviate from my pattern, as it works perfectly for my feet. Typically, I always have a pair of socks going, although it isn’t often that I work on them. A new pair of Birkenstock Bostons inspired me to pull this out and make some progress.

Reading: The City and Its Uncertain Walls, Haruki Murakami

Listening to: Atarashii Gakkou!, AG! Calling

Watching: Devil’s Plan, season two