To all my socks that I've lost in the laundry:

Writing this fashion eulogy isn't how I envisioned the state of my wardrobe to go, for never would I wish the loss of a loved sockmate on any one sock, especially one of my own. I'm not a sock, so I can't imagine what it's like to be suddenly torn from the one who understood you best, and the one whose true self, pattern and colors shown identical to yours.

However, I feel like it's important that I address this topic on behalf of my widowed socks and their lost mates in order to seek the necessary closure for all parties involved.

Until my parents forbade me from further fueling my passion for novelty crew socks, I was always adding to the collection, adorning my drawers and enhancing my outfits with colorful, aesthetically pleasing bits of fun interwoven into the last clothing item one would think to add any sense of fashion: the sock. And to me, that's what made my physical and emotional investment into one of the most rudimentary but also fundamental wardrobe staples all the appealing, yet functional.

For although paying eight of my hard-earned dollars for a pair of mustard yellow socks patterned with hedgehogs and strawberries seems like a lot to pay to many—hence my parents' forbasion—price meant nothing when it was the design and quality that I fell in love with.

Yet throughout our bonded relationship, I never thought to appreciate what I had, and to be considerate of the time I had with those around me. I never considered the risk of losing you every time I put you through a laundry cycle.

You all were what gave my outfits that subtle quirkiness that I always secretly admired, but would never publicly admit. You all were my conversation starters that not only expanded my social circle, but also helped boost my levels of confidence, in both my senses of fashion and myself. I wouldn't know what I'd do or who I'd be without a matching pair of you all on my feet, peeking through at my ankles from underneath the cuffed hems of my high-waisted green corduroy mom pants.

But while myself—as I imagine my matchless sock colleagues—mourn over the collective loss of our fallen sockmates, we've found ways to cope with the circumstances, such as integrating purposely mismatched socks into my outfits. However, doing so is more than just a statement of "daring" fashion—it's a shoutout memorializing all those that are gone, while also reminding all that remain that we're more than our losses and the emotional burdens we carry.

So to all the lost sockmates: I'm sorry that I lost you all, and that I took you for granted. I hope you can understand that adjusting my outfits in the manner I did was not an attempt to forget you, but rather a strive towards self-improvement, and creating a purpose for those without a mate.

And to all the widowed sockmates: I'm sorry that I lost your sockmate, and that I took them for granted. I hope that if not today, then someday you can understand that me deciding to wear mismatched socks wasn't an act done in vain, and that I truly meant it when I wrote that we'll be stronger than many people for choosing to do so.

Together, we'll knock their socks off.