“Did you know you can buy a 5-pack of socks for a tenner?”
I love how this is the response I get from some people when they ask what I’m knitting and I tell them it’s a sock. They seem genuinely puzzled, mystified even that I would be doing such a thing when they are so readily available in practically every supermarket and clothing store.
Even funnier is the implication that I am in blissful ignorance of the fact that cheap socks are indeed available. As though I would suddenly throw my knitting aside and rush out to purchase said, instantly available socks.
As a knitter yourself I know I’m leaning against an open door with this one. We know the true value of a hand-knit sock. We know that there is genuinely no comparison between a well-fitting, super cosy 75% merino wool sock and a cheap nylon ‘one size fits all’ sock. How on earth can one sock properly fit a foot range from adult 6-11 is a mystery that persists to this day. There isn’t enough stretch in the universe to accommodate that, but still sock manufacturers would try to convince us otherwise.
We don’t knit socks because they are cheap. We knit them because they are priceless
Non-knitters however truly might not appreciate the difference however until - and this is a crucial one - until they have tried the joy for themselves. Even my own dear husband, right back at the start of my sock knitting journey was a little sceptical. That might have been due to the fact that starting to knit socks had reduced me to tears on more than one occasion. It didn’t help that I started off by playing fast and loose with gauge.
The first sock I knit was so dense that it stood up by itself. More like an armour-plated bootee than a sock. I learned the hard way that knitting worsted weight yarn on 2.5mm needles was not a good idea.
Brushing off my disappointment I went all in and purchased a skein of fancy sock yarn. I didn’t realise that you were supposed to wind the skein (hank) into a ball first - I’ll leave the resulting horror to your imagination. Suffice to say that more tears were involved.
On my third time though I got lucky and I managed to produce a slightly wibbly - and pretty loose sock. The concept of negative ease was something that I grasped later on.
All this to say that sock knitting is a skill - a valuable one. And one that non knitters simply fail to appreciate. It’s not their fault of course any more than I would understand the finer intricacies of cabinet making. But I wouldn’t have the nerve to go up to a cabinet maker and tell him (or her) that they could dispense with all that woodworking malarky and simply pick up a flat pack bargain from IKEA.
The sad truth of course is that the skills associated with the handmade - especially those associated with women have long been undervalued. It has been a very long time since the men-only knitting guilds of medieval times have been a thing. Despite the prominence of some very well-known male designers the average knitters stereotype of an older woman (the dreaded Knitting Nana of shreddies fame) persists to this day. I wrote about it over on Substack publication: Everyday Knitter.
A selection of my knitted socks in daily use
Sock knitting as a survival skill
If people don’t appreciate a hand-knit sock because of the skill involved or the comfort there is always a more stark reminder.
I always think it is funny when you see people in films stocking up for an impending apocalypse. Food, water and ammunition (👀) features heavily. Textiles and antibiotics - not so much. Never mind the fact that exposure to cold or gangrene from an infected cut will kill you a lot quicker than starvation will.
Sock knitting when you think about it is the ultimate apocalyptic life skill. They might say that an army marches on it’s stomach but they can’t do much without comfortable feet. There is a reason that ‘knitting socks for the war effort’ has been such an enduring trope during the past two or three centuries.
So, this Socktober, knit on dear knitter. Grab your most colourful skeins of yarn and cast on for some glorious socks. What better way to look forward to the colder months than with warm feet for yourself and your loved ones.
Did you know I also write on Substack and host a vibrant Everyday Knitter community of like-minded crafty souls. It’s a great place for thoughtful discussion and gentle conversation. If this sounds like your thing, please just tap the link below and come take a look
