Socks, drugs & rock ’n’ roll
All hell has broken loose in the world of cycling socks, and Frank Strack isn’t sure what to make of it
Dear Frank
Do you have a Rule for ‘sock doping’? In my view, bright patterned socks are acceptable (cool, even) only when in direct proportion to the plainness of the rest of the kit. What is the Velominati’s verdict? Richard, Devon
Dear Richard
Socks are one of those aesthetic choices that must be governed by Loki, the Norse God of Mischief and Chaos. Sock doping? Oh, how I long for the days when riders had every choice of colour from white socks to white socks. I saw Peter Sagan racing this year with dual-coloured socks, as in one colour in front and one at the back. It was the mullet of socks, chosen to match the design of his shoes: white in front and orange in the back.
The thing is, I kind of liked it. Until that point I’d only considered white or black socks, with the possibility of orange to match the orange in my kit. Maybe I’d go for some subtle branding or a small strip of colour near the top of the sock, but nothing outlandish like what I was seeing on the ankles of the great Mr Sagan. This was new and exciting. And scary. And confusing.
The Prophet didn’t need to deal with this sort of nonsense – he just went to his gigantic Hardman-sized sock drawer of identical white socks and grabbed the top pair before heading out to crush the souls of his rivals. By the end of the day, if his socks weren’t still white it was because they were covered in the tears of the fools he dominated. Or road grit. (They look the same, but road grit is harder to wash out.)
In those days, sock length was a preference that varied slightly between riders and teams, but they all fell somewhere between just over the ankle and just a little bit more over the ankle. None of these knee-high monstrosities we’re seeing out there on the road these days.
As with most problems I have with modern cycling culture, I blame Lance Pharmstrong for both the length of the modern sock and the variety of available colours. He and George Hincapie were the first to pull on a pair of tall black socks during the Tour. I remember a post-race interview where he said he did it on a whim, and liked the look of it.
Before that, some team branding on an always-white sock was about as wild as things got. But after Sock-gate, we found ourselves faced with a choice we weren’t prepared to have, like some post-apocalyptic society raised on a nutrient paste suddenly having access to the menu at a five-star restaurant. And, like those post-apocalyptic people, we did the only sensible thing we could: we gorged.
Socks of all colours and sizes appeared everywhere. Entire companies specialised in nothing but making socks. Socks with slogans. Socks with patterns. Socks with slogans and patterns. Socks with different lengths and slogans and patterns. It was dizzying.
Terms like ‘sock game’ and ‘sock doping’ started to enter the lexicon. For my part, I did what I do with everything, which is to say I started to devise some sort of framework I could use to make sense of which socks to wear when. Otherwise I might find myself standing desperately in my room, half-dressed and clutching two or more pairs of socks, not knowing which to choose.
Black socks for Rule #9 weather. White socks for good weather. Black socks for cyclocross, which in Seattle is the same thing as Rule #9 weather. Orange socks for… well. What are orange socks for? I suddenly found myself wearing orange socks daily, in all kinds of weather. Or black on dry days and orange or white on wet days.
Enough of my own trials. On the subject of sock doping, I find the whole business to be a trendy waste of time. Socks should go with the kit, and the kit should always be classy and as understated as possible while getting the point across. But I suppose that if I have to concede to garish socks, then yes, I would agree that the kit can’t be similarly garish and socks should serve only to counter how unimaginative your kit is.