The Thousands

I went on a mancation last weekend. For the uninitiated, a mancation is a ritualistic pampering of the Y-chromosome. The sentiment of such a retreat is that of scotch and cigars, of elemental luxuries and brutish conversation. You could imagine then that the suggestion to divert a mancation via a sock factory was met with taunts and jeers.

Determined, however, to treat my toes to a mid-winter reprieve, I persevered. I’d heard that Lindner were the Wonkers of wool, that socks spewed from their machines like strings of sausages, that their dyes and patterns had inspired podiatric pilgrimages for decades. I’d heard that they had developed a wool/nylon mix that bordered on alchemy. I could go on but after a moment of such contemplation I had a revelation…

There is nothing more man-affirming that sticking your feet in a pair of finely spun woolly ones. Is it strange that we shower our fathers with socks year after year? No – of this I am sure. And if you’re still dubious, a trip to the Lindner Sock Factory with your closest chums will reveal all.