“You wear them because you’ve given up,” said my deputy head teacher last week. “Not because it’s fashion.” She said this very reasonably to me in actual sunshine at the school gates whilst I stood there, unbothered in Birkenstocks and thick grey socks. “I wore socks with sandals because I gave up in such a calculated way that my feet aren’t blistered or cold and will still be attached to my legs by home time,” I told her. “And that sounds like winning to me, not giving up.” She was wearing ballet flats with no socks, in April, in Leeds. We both know who’s winning this battle come September. I give her three weeks before she’s lacing up her boots again.
She’s wrong, of course. Obviously socks with sandals are fashion now, there’s runway shots to prove it and I needed to see those for myself rather than just take some stylist’s word that yes, actually, sometimes a sock can be both functional and a fashion statement. Stylists don’t cover playground duty in March. I’ve been wearing socks with sandals for six years give or take, entirely for functional reasons that align with trends about as often as I wear khakis and still have really strong opinions on when it works, when it’s costume and when someone is just doing it because gloss magazine told them to and will regret it come lunchtime.
WHETHER IT ACTUALLY WORKS DEPENDS ON THE SANDAL, NOT THE SOCKS
This is the part everyone gets wrong. They assume that to rock the sock, you need to find interesting socks. Interesting meaning either cute ribbed or novelty print, cute meaning puppies. But the sandal can just be anything. Hood assumed wrong. The sock is doing almost none of the heavy lifting here. The sandal is doing all of the work. Most sandals weren’t designed to have fabric trapped between themselves and your skin which is why 90% of sock with sandals combos look like something you threw on in the dark when really you woke up like that.
There’s just isn’t enough shoe there, footwear sceptics. For every pair of socks, there needs to be a sufficiently hefty sandal to back it up, or it’ll always look slightly wrong. The real winners here are boots, which we’ll get to. A thick, proper leather sandal, with a sole you could kill someone with and a footbed that’s basicallyody structural engineering though clearly by feet, the kind of sandal that looks like it could crush your suede gloves in its admittedlyy large hands. That stuff socks like it’s vocation. The sponge absorbs water beautifully, and when your sandals are that dense, so do socks.
There’s enough substance there to balance out the socks, if we’re calling sandals shoes, which we’re not but if we were right now that you get the point. So they match each other rather than looking like two separate items you didn’t realise went together until you stepped outside. I own a pair, brown leather ones, I’ve had for four years and resoled once. They accept a sweater sock the way they accept my sweaty foot because, functionally, that’s how they were designed to be worn. With socks, that’s literally how they’re worn in the Alps. We just decided socks with sandals was rude in England for about 20 years and forgot shoes weren’t covered by that rule.
Thin sandals, on the other trouser sandal, forget sandals. A thin strappy sandal, the kind that you wear to show off a tan line rather than disguise your feet, cannot handle a sock. Don’t @me with sandals recommendations, I know what sandals can and can’t do here. A thin sandal and thick socks is like bringing a silently suffering cat to the vet. It’s not the sandals fault. But it’s not happening. You end up with fabric straps bunching around three slim bits of leather and suddenly instead of looking LIKE YOU GOT DRESSED IN VIENNA, YOU LOOK LIKE YOU FORGOT TO TAKE YOUR SOCKS OFF BEFORE YOU LEFT THE HOUSE. Accidentally left your coat on in bed type vibe. I did this myself just to stay, wore one of the strap sandals I own for like one wedding a year out of habit, threw on some ankle socks and got nothing but consternation from my own sister. She paused, considered my feet, and then asked me “why” as if I’d done some truly grievous thing with my outfit. That’s the entire review you get for socks with the wrong sandals. Why.
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HALFWAY DOES NOT WORK. NOT ON SOCKS, NOT ON SANDALS.
See, the thing is, once you know better, it’s actually really easy to rock socks and sandals without looking like you made a mistake. But the second part of the equation, and this is where most people get it wrong, is that doing it halfway causes all of the problem people are accidentally waving their socks at. Thin sock, slightly covers the ankle bone? Looks like you forgot your socks. Loud socks with sandals outfit noises.
I know because that’s how I did it for the first two years before I mastered my technique. The lady who made a point of telling me to pull myself together socks last week doesn’t even know how bad it used to look. A kid, year seven, maintenance laughter asked me if I’d got dressed in the wrong. I HAD NOT. I spent ages getting ready that morning carefully considering my outfit down to the socks (different sandals, I wasn’t wearing them last week) and ended up with an look that LOOKED LIKE I GOT DRESSED IN THE WRONG BY MISTAKE. There’s no halfway doing socks and sandals correctly, trust me, I lived there for years.
The only way to do it is to go big. Thick socks. Bright colours. Outrageously padded sandals. Embrace the weirdness of socks with sandals so hard that forgetting to wear socks at all becomes impossible. Everyone I see who actually looks like they’ve put some thought into it, and aren’t just wearing boots because autumn dropped last week without their permission, has thick socks. They stand out. They’re noticed. They’re sandals aware, if I may coin a phrase.
I spent all of October testing this theory purely because that’s honestly the only time of year in Yorkshire when socks and sandals are both an applicable clothing choice. It’s cold enough you need socks, but not cold enough you’ve moved onto boots. Hell or high water, about four days total if you’re lucky.
Thick white cable knit sweater socks with my old leather Birkenstocks got me positive comments from a fellow teacher, who mum paused to tell me they went together nicely and she liked my outfit. They didn’t, I just owned the sandals and added socks I already had to them. Thin black ankle socks with the same sandals on a different day got me nothing, not comments, not complements, just raised eyebrows and the judgement that I left the house without looking in a mirror first. Same teacher, same sandals, exact sock drawer. Extra embarrassing because we share a carpark and thus it’s not like we didn’t both see the socks. One was loud and felt like a look, one whispered sandals until people acted like my feet grew fungus and tried to keep them hidden. Nine years of sandal wear, and that’s the difference proper socks make.
DO THEY WORK AS FASHION? THEY WORK AS FASHION YOU INTEND TO WEAR OUT AND ABOUT
So the long answer to the question of whether it’s genuinely fashionable or just something being hinted at is happening as we speak because some it-boy thought it was a good idea first. They work. If you do them right. Out loud, unashamed socks with sandals are a totally viable look. Thin socks and sandals trying to sneak onto public transport unnoticed are just sandal ugly, always have been and frankly I don’t have enough expendable Agony Aunt space in this article to try and untangle why we let that trend stick around for so long. Half measures are the only downfall of socks with sandals, commit to the weirdness or stay home and wear slippers because nobody cares about your sock drawer but you.
Oh and one final piece of evidence I forgot to edit in for reasons. Your kid will almost certainlyone day wear a dress with sandals. That’s cool. They’ll alsowear socks with that dress and sandals and somehow it won’t make them the weirdest person at Pre-School because parents, not kids, are rude about socks and sandals. Wait til they’re old enough to remember to change back at lunchtime.
