Sock it to me

At my house, fashion is strictly observed by only the male family members. It's a varied and complicated thing, and the only rule of thumb seems to be that more is more.

For example, take socks. A seemingly simple article of clothing, especially when it comes to boys. My nephews don whatever socks they can find; the socks don't have to be clean or matching, they just have to be readily available. They are a necessary evil.

Not so with Mark. He's got a whole rule-book on what kind of socks to wear and when to wear them.

I bought him a couple 10-packs of your average boy's socks, and he rebelled. He didn't want socks that went above his ankle. So I bought him ankle socks. He liked them so much, he stole all of mine to increase his collection.

The ankle socks are great because they go with everything Mark wears: high-top sneakers, dress shoes, pants, suits, or pajamas. There's nothing better than a flash of pale white ankle to break up the monotony of navy pants and black shoes.

When he runs out of ankle socks, he simply takes the awful calf-high socks and folds them halfway across his foot so you can't see them. Apparently, he's trying to single-handedly resurrect the sock-free Miami Vice look. (I'll draw the line at five o'clock shadow!)

However, when he wears shorts, the exact opposite rule goes into effect. With shorts, Mark doesn't hide his socks; just the opposite. He regularly leaves the house like this, reminding me of an old-school newsboy in short pants and knee-high socks:



He loves to wear his soccer socks with shorts, yanking and tugging at them until they go over his knees. The brighter, the better, and he doesn't limit himself to only matching colors. I find it ironic that the boy who could never once find his soccer socks during the soccer season can now pull a matching pair out of the dresser on command.

My friend Edra described it best when she said, "Man, there's no middle ground with that guy. It's either all or nothing, knee-highs or no socks at all..."

She's right.

He's got a unique sense of fashion

Mark has always been obsessed with clothes, and he definitely has his own sense of style. This style includes wearing shorts with long, brightly-colored soccer socks (the very same socks he can never find during soccer season -- he once wore one black sock and one maroon sock during a game).

So he was thrilled when I won a gift bag at the recent firemen's lunch. I was hoping to win during the part of the raffle where they had cool prizes, like golf clubs or gift cards. Instead, I won during the phase where they gave gift bags filled with random things. Mine included a calculator, some Fig Newtons, a whistle, a scarf, and some knitted yellow booties. But it was the last prize that thrilled Mark most.

"Socks!" he yelled triumphantly, pulling them from the bag. He was even more excited when he saw Mickey Mouse adorning them, and immediately whipped off his own shoes and socks.

However...while I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth...they did have a minor flaw. They were size 13-15. That's right, professional basketball player size. (Not that I've seen a lot of NBA stars wearing Mickey Mouse socks.)

Mark didn't care. He put them on backwards, so the heel popped out midway up his shin. He pulled them up, proclaimed them perfect, and smiled happily at me.





As he should. Because hey, he rocked those socks as well as any pro baller!

Keep on clippin'

Mark loves clothes -- he's obsessed with them. I'm not sure how to deal with that, since I, as you know, am not similarly obsessed. It's not so much that I'm uninterested in clothes, I just didn't get the well-dressed gene, like my sisters-in-law did. I'd like to describe my style as "casual chic" or "hip soccer mom," but it's really more along the lines of "It was clean, and it matches, so I wore it."

But Mark's really picky about what he wears. Once he decides clothing is not to his taste, it takes an act of God to convince him to wear it. (Ironically, he attends a public school district that requires uniforms, which drives him crazy.)

His taste in clothes is definitely teen skater. He loves Tony Hawk brand clothes, or anything with skulls on it. He loves hoodies and baseball caps, but only the ones with flat bills. He likes jeans, but only black jeans -- he refuses to wear blue jeans, for reasons unknown. Also in the reasons unknown category -- clothes must meet strict criteria; interestingly enough, cleanliness is not part of that criteria. He'd wear the same clothes every day without washing, if I let him (for the record: I don't let him!).

Mark also likes to experiment with patterns and colors. It's not uncommon for him to wear a knit cap, striped shirts with camouflage shorts, topped with a plaid hoodie and flamed shoes, and to scoff at me loudly when I suggest perhaps adding a solid color item to the outfit. I've been scoffed at enough times that now, instead of making suggestions, I make pictures -- photographic evidence to torment the adult Mark.

His clothing style is definitely casual -- except for ties. For some reason, he loves ties. He hates collared shirts, but will wear them with a tie. He wears them willingly, and proudly.

This weekend, he wore a tie. He dressed himself, and asked, "How do I look?" I assured him he looked great.

He not only loves ties, he's very protective of them. He was reading a Garfield comic book, and came to a line where Garfield disparages clip-on ties. That line stopped Mark in his tracks.

"Whoa!" he said loudly, dropping the book and holding up his hands. "Whoa! Watch it, Garfield! That is not cool!"

He took a deep breath and shook his head.

"You okay?" I asked, stifling a giggle.

"That is soooo not cool!" he answered, a bit angry. "He'd better watch it about the clip-on ties, or I'm not gonna read his book anymore!"

"It's all right," I said soothingly. "He's a cat -- what does he know about ties, anyway?"

"True," Mark admitted, but he still felt stung. He loves cats, and to have his favorite animal diss his favorite article of clothing...well, that really was a slap in the face!

Eventually, he did calm down. He held tightly to his clip-on tie, though. Nothing was gonna come between him and his tie -- not even a cartoon cat.