Its Socks by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Its Socks
Page 25
The Cuccinellis
“Thread Count Rebellion”
In the velvet lined drawer of a mahogany dresser nestled in a penthouse overlooking Central Park, a quiet war was brewing.
The Brunello Cuccinelli socks; cashmere spun by monks in Solomeo, dyed in hues like “Tuscan Fog” and “Philosopher’s Midnight,” had long considered themselves the aristocracy of the sock world. They were curated, not purchased. Worn only on days when the wearer had existential thoughts and meetings with venture capitalists, their ribbing was perfect and their price tags were astronomical.
Then came the Wal-Mart socks.
They arrived in a plastic bag. A twelve pack. Cotton-poly blend. One had a cartoon hot dog on it. Another said “MondayMood” in Comic Sans. They smelled faintly of factory and optimism.
The Cuccinellis were horrified.
“We are not foot rags,” hissed Lorenzo, a navy ribbed sock with a subtle sparkle. “We are legacy. We are lineage.”