Everyone has one. You know you do. It might not be technically a bag. Maybe it’s a box. Or a bin. Or a Nate Berkus chevron pattern storage basket from Target. Whatever. The vessel is unimportant. The key here is that every grown up sorta person has a receptacle in their household where all unmatched socks go.
The sock bag usually makes its debut in one’s life in the early 20s, when you’re out on your own for the first time, doing laundry like a real adult and working at your first real job requiring footwear. And lo and behold, you discover that socks — the fancy ones you just bought at J. Crew — disappear upon washing. Not both socks. Just one. You have no idea why this happens or where it goes, but you hang on to its mate under the dim hope its partner will resurface. It rarely does, so the unmatched sock remains in the sock bag for a very long time. Yet you still carry the hope that the missing sock will one day show up.
Then you get married and have kids. And the sock bag situation gets a whole lot bigger, messier and more confusing. You might even have to upgrade from a sock bag to a sock storage ottoman. I’m sure the Container Store makes one. Why the hell do socks not stay together? You wonder. Does the washing machine eat them and pulverize them into lint? Where do they go? Especially little kid socks. Little kid socks are the worst. It’s like they disintegrate upon contact with the dryer. You buy your child a whole packet of cute Dora socks and half are M.I.A., prisoners of war, in need of an Amber Alert, by lunch. Not half of the pairs, just half of the singles. Half of all single Dora socks are a distant memory by lunch and suddenly you begin to understand the insane popularity of ugly elfin shoes like Crocs: Crocs don’t require socks! It is so genius you suddenly feel like a fool for perpetuating the sock myth — that you can successfully adorn cloth on a child’s feet! No! You can’t! Socks should actually be disposable so we don’t harbor hope of holding on to them.
And when you do find an errant sock? It’s like a small miracle has just happened, like witnessing a double rainbow or a prancing unicorn. You are so happy and ecstatic you race up to the sock bag and dig through the piles of old argyle and white gym socks and neon footies and… oh, what a surprise! You still can’t find the f***ing pair!
So you know what I say? I say screw the sock bag. Throw it out. Toss it. It’s an illusion. You’ll never find the match. It’s gone forever so you might as well clear the clutter. Throw it all out. You’ll be happier for it. And say hello to Crocs.