Socks! (Or, the Journey to Sartorial Self-Determiniation)

I like clothes.

My Rapha-fetish notwithstanding, it's not about volume. It's about quality and "a look". I am far from a clothes horse—in fact, my closet is largely void of anything I can wear (...courtesy of weight loss and my unwillingness to go out and buy clothes that fit. As Trevor, my irrepressible and irreverent colleague—hereinafter to be referred to as “ir-Trevor”—says: "If you do (get new clothes) you're only going to gain it all back, anyway.").

But I like to look good in a classic way. Alternatively, I like to look interesting.

Ergo, cyclocross is perfect for me. It’s traditions—irreverence, occasional costuming, and frivolous atmosphere (that thin veil obscuring its profoundly powerful competitiveness and strikingly sweet masochism)—lead to a kind of sartorial self-determination.

Pink!

Schooley Mill 'Cross was organized by the Baltimore Bicycle Club Racing Team. Their colors are pink and black. Interesting.

BBC logo as rendered in pink

It takes a bold man--here in the US--to wear pink convincingly. We're not Italians, celebrating the Giro by coloring our world with the un-red. And we're not Eurocentric Brits, slavishly following the fashions of Thomas Pink of Jermyn Street, London.

Even so, I must admit that BBC looked good, all these fellows in their pink-and-black kits.

But then there was one. This was a man after mine own heart, a gentleman of profoundly outstanding vision and taste. There was a man in argyle.

Not for him, the mere pink-and-black stylings of his jersey and shorts. Not for him, the mere classicism of his pink-and-black cap. Nay!

For him, nothing less than knee-high pink-and-black argyle socks would do.

I love this guy!

Knee Socks!

Since I-can't-remember-when, I have been a fan of knee socks. It is a running joke in my family that knee socks are a gift (for me) for any occasion.

Less-well-known is that I deeply admire interesting socks (argyle, polka-dot, stripes, smiley faces).

NOT Sean Connery

Unfortunately, people seem to be less-inclined to gift me interesting socks. Damned gender-biasing! Were I a girl, I would need to dig myself out from the avalanche of fancy knee socks that would materialize every holiday. Alas, here I sit, brokenhearted...

Argyle and Polka Dots

The Schooley Mill race—I had decided—would be the event/day that I would make my decision about which team I would join. I was 90% certain that I would join AFC, but BBC was still in the running—and Mr. Pink Argyle was having a huge influence on me.

Then I ran into Patrick of AFC...

Patrick the Competent,
sporting the dots!

He was sporting his polka dot kit and...

EPIPHANY!

I had a vision.

Polka dot kit. Polka dot knee socks.

Decision made.

AFC it would be.

Sartorial self-determination, er, determined.

Now, how will I realize my vision?