The Joy of Sox

On the quest for "self-care"

Some of Caren Lissner’s favorite socks

Over the last three hectic years, we busy professionals—especially working parents like me—have been drubbed with the same phrase over and over from seemingly well-intentioned people: “Don't forget self-care!” Unfortunately, this admonition can have the opposite effect of what’s intended, transforming from kindly advice into another failed task on a growing heap of failed tasks. Self-care requires extra time and money, two things that are in short supply, which is kind of the point; if we had extra time and money for self-care, we wouldn't need as much self-care. To enjoy a hot bath after the workweek, I'd have to wake up before my kids get up and scrub the bath.

In early 2023, despite being three years out from the start of the COVID pandemic, things are not back to normal, although some folks pretend they are, urging workers back to the office. It’s not just that people are grieving loved ones or may still be sick themselves. It’s also that there are fewer resources to help busy parents. The babysitting room at my local gym, for instance, used to be a great way for Mom and Dad to sneak in a workout on the weekend without planning for a sitter. But the room, which my kids always loved playing in, closed a week into the pandemic and will never reopen, the gym owners decided. I used to sit on a bench in the locker room on Saturdays and make my “to do” list before running on the treadmill. It was a healthy way to recharge from the workweek.

However, over the last few hectic and unpredictable years, I discovered a self-care method that barely requires time or money.

I've discovered the Joy of Sox.

Every few months, I look forward to ordering a new "gourmet" pair.

The idea took root during a last-minute stock-up trip to the supermarket three years ago, as news of the coming pandemic grew dire. I knew I’d spend a lot of time inside. I was doing triple duty: advocating for an elderly relative in a nursing home, preparing to help my kids with remote learning, and working full-time at home writing local news. Self-care was not a priority.

But as I zigzagged through the supermarket with my cart, I threw a glance down the housewares aisle, the one full of items that always seem out of place at a supermarket (would you like light bulbs and panties to go with your Limburger cheese?)

I noticed an item I hadn't seen before: "Campfire socks,” the label said. They were thicker than any socks I’d seen, red wool with designs of reindeer and mountains. They were gaudy and severely unfashionable, with round rubber pads on the bottom to prevent slipping -- but they also looked comfortable and warm.

I love nature, and knew I wouldn’t be taking any trips to the mountains soon. I held the thick socks in my hands. They were cheerful and soothing. Wearing these "campfire socks" might be like toasting my feet by the fire. For a mere $5.99, I could imagine myself into the outdoors.

I have always preferred slow, simple pleasures to grand, superficial ones: a soft chair, colored pens, the promise of a page to fill on a quiet day.

So I brought the socks home to my 660-square-foot apartment in my small city outside New York. I had already carved out a cozy corner to decompress and read -- not a mom cave as much as a patch of what the Danish call hygge and the Norwegians call Koselig. It’s got a reclining chair, an industrial floor lamp to shed a warm glow, a wood cubby full of sketchbooks and colored pens, and an Ottoman for a weary parent (or child) to rest their feet. It could use one more amenity.

I rolled up the campfire socks and tucked them into the corner of the cubby. When I pulled them on during a winter afternoon, they reminded me of a weighted blanket, like hugs to my feet. It was the ultimate in relaxation.

I wondered what other sorts of heavy socks were out there, and I surveyed the footwear landscape.

Unsurprisingly, outerwear and camping-gear companies offer the widest selection of warm women's socks. For fancy folks, Ugg makes a red-and-white striped version with pom-poms for $50. But after sampling the wares, I found a true winner in terms of warmth and comfort: L.L. Bean adult Cresta Wool, desert rose (a warm red), midweight crew, for $19.95. When I washed them, the sides shrunk into an hourglass shape that perfectly conformed to the contours of my feet. They were snug, but didn’t require extra tugging to pull on. They felt just right.

I ordered two more pairs, because once you find something that fits, you don't want to lose it. 

When the holidays rolled around, I thought of a solitary friend of mine in her late forties who had left home in the Northeast to isolate herself Out West and try to write her first book. She had spent almost an entire year there. Before that, when she’d lived a few hours north of me, we would text each other excitedly whenever a snowstorm or nor’easter was bearing down. We’d celebrate the impeding time to write and read by texting the words: “Comfy sock alert!” A pair of bookish friends, we didn’t know if anyone else would understand our joy.

Now, I wondered if she was feeling lonely in her adopted town. I figured she could use a pick-me-up.

Without telling her, I ordered her a pair of my beloved red Cresta Wool socks, size M.

I wasn’t sure if she’d find the gift strange.

“Love them!!!” she texted me out of the blue a few days before Christmas, on Dec. 22. “As far as I’m concerned, that is the mark of a true friend: Someone who sends you cozy socks!”

People who say “Don't forget self-care!” may not realize how much work it takes to set up that self-care. But anticipation is a form of self-care too. If you know there’s a small joy coming down the pike, it can lighten your load. These days, I’m still navigating the “new normal,” still advocating for older relatives, and trying to keep everyone safe. But I look forward to carving out an hour or two each week to sink into my hygge hideaway. When I do, I feel grateful for the three things I want most: family, good health, and warm feet.

Caren Lissner's nerdy first novel, Carrie Pilby, was adapted into a romantic comedy starring Nathan Lane that's currently streaming on Netflix. She's a journalist by day, covering social issues and New Jersey politics, and by night is finishing her (hopefully) hygge-inducing next novel, which takes place in New England in winter. Her personal essays and satire have appeared in the New York Times, Washington Post, Atlantic, McSweeney's, and LitHub. Read more of her writing at carenlissner.com and enjoy her photos of New Jersey and New England life at @carenlissner on Instagram.