A short, positive post that doesn’t take into account any perspectives but my own.
I was looking in my sock drawer the other day, like I do almost every day when it’s sock weather. Sometimes, it makes me happy just to look at all my different socks. And I do mean “different”, as in I have only a few pairs that are the same color. I’ve always preferred unusual socks over plain socks — striped, argyle, colorful, and so on; they make me happy to look at, and over the years I’ve accumulated some good ones.
The thing is, though, when I look at them all, they make me feel this soothing, internal sense of… “yes, these are how I would want to be represented, if it had to be in terms of socks.” Rather tautologically, I want to be seen as the sort of person who would wear these socks, whatever that means.
Socks are somewhat of an unusual article clothing, however, in that, most of the time, you don’t get to see other people’s socks. Usually they’re worn with the type of shoes that cover them, and you won’t see the wearer’s socks unless they take off their shoes, which doesn’t happen often in public. Out of all the people I interact with, only relatively few of them know anything about my weird socks.
But my socks make me happy anyway, because I know that I have them. It almost doesn’t matter if anybody sees them but me. Sure, I’d like to show them off more often given the chance, because I think they tell people something about me (if nothing other than my personal sense of aesthetics), but if not, that doesn’t mean there’s no point at all in having the socks that I like. I don’t wear socks to get attention.
In the same exact way, it’s a comfort to me to have labels that express who I am — not just to share with other people, although that too, sometimes — but also to share with myself. They’re mine, for me, and that alone can be good enough. It means that I can spread them out before me, look upon them, and have the satisfaction of feeling “yes, this is me.”