April 2023
Thomas Erickson
The thread is red. It is more yarn-like than thread-like, a loosely twisted braid of fibers. The occasionally broken, almost-invisible fibers, protruding from the braid, are remarkably effective at thwarting my attempts to thread the needle. A tiny red globe of blood wells from my thumb, jewel-like in its intensity, slightly darker than the thread. No doubt this would have been easy for an accomplished seamstress, but I am not that. What I am is a little bit obsessive. I don’t really view it that way, but others might.
Finally I’ve gotten it.
The current project is to label my socks. A few years ago I stumbled upon hiking socks from a brand I like, tried them out, and loved them. I converted my entire sock collection to that brand. My sock philosophy is to have all identical socks so that as one wears out there is a replacement at hand. Furthermore, with identical socks, one need not sort them: I just pitch them all into a drawer and randomly draw out two whenever I need them. Of course, philosophy rarely survives, unscathed, contact with reality. I love the new socks because they are wonderfully comfortable: it is like slipping your foot into a familiar shoe that has shaped itself to your foot. But the reason the socks fit so well is that they are individually tailored for right and left feet, and thus they are no longer identical and must be sorted into left-right pairs. This is too bad, but it’s worth it; and it is still the case that a worn out sock has many replacements at hand.
So I am at work labeling my socks. Of course, the socks were already labeled by the manufacturer: each has an “L” or “R” woven into the fabric down near the toe of each sock. Unfortunately, due to the perverse spirt of modern design that believes that legible labels detract from the purity of an object’s form, the “L” and “R” are subtly rendered in gray against black. Perfectly legible if you hold the sock up close to a bright light and rotate it until you find the upper side of the sock toe. Instead, I am pulling the thick red thread through the right side of the top-rim of a right-footed sock, looping it over the rim, and repeating that two or three times. The creates a bright red patch, reminiscent of the flashy badges sported by red-winged blackbirds. Soon I shall have a whole flock in my sock drawer.
I am confident in this approach. I’ve tried it out with regular thread and am pleased with the visibility of the patch, as well as the fact that its location on the rim of the sock makes it easy to find as one grasps the sock to pull it on. The only problem is that a lot of loops of thread are required to make a nicely legible patch. Thus my choice of the thicker thread, and thus my struggles with threading the needle. One thing you learn in doing design is that few things come for free: there are always tradeoffs. Personally, I prefer to put in a more work up front, in exchange for a better experience later on. And indeed, I get a small bit of pleasure each time I see the glimmer of red in the dim morning light, and effortlessly draw the right sock onto the right foot.