Once upon a time in a land not so far away, there was a sock manufacturer called Jansun. Jansun was one of several major sock manufacturers and the factory was tucked away in the high hills where the horizon kissed the sky. Like the other sock manufacturers, the seamstresses focused on producing one, specialized type of sock. This particular sock came in a variety of sizes and was composed of two types of thread: A cotton-like material that cushioned the foot and a polyester-like material that kept the foot dry and ventilated. This sock had a name: Speridone.

Not everyone in the land wore socks. People generally didn’t purchase socks for themselves; sometimes they visited the town podiatrist due to concerns about their feet. Other times, friends or family members brought people to the podiatrist because they were highly concerned about the condition of the feet of their loved ones. And, sometimes, police officers brought people to the podiatrist because some people had frightening, unpredictable feet. The podiatrist dutifully inspected feet and made recommendations about socks to prevent further feet deterioration.

Some podiatrists recommended the Speridone socks from Jansun. Some of these podiatrists had mistresses who were seamstresses at the Jansun factory. Other podiatrists believed that Speridone socks were useful. A few of these podiatrists primarily served people who couldn’t afford socks—or much else, for that matter. Men in suits from Jansun handed out free pairs of Speridone socks to these podiatrists so they could distribute them to people who could use socks. Most people agreed that Speridone socks didn’t protect feet from everything and anything, but they frequently prevented cuts, scratches, and some of the other minor annoyances that stumble across bare feet.

It was a tenuous relationship that some podiatrists had with Jansun—they wanted to help sockless people, but since they didn’t make socks themselves, they had to rely on the big factory on the hill.

Years passed and soon, Speridone socks were no longer as fashionable or protective as they could be. New fiber technology had arrived and the time had come to improve socks. The seamstresses at Jansun began to experiment with Speridone socks with hopes that they could increase the cushioning, improve its wicking qualities, or lengthen the sock’s drawer life. Upgrades in the sock would allow the seamstresses to earn more money so they could purchase prettier dresses, more glittery garters, and more elegant shoes (with podiatrist approval, of course).

Within a few months, messengers scurried down the hill and announced that the Jansun factory had created a better sock for the people in the town. The new sock was called Vega.

Podiatrists and common people alike asked, “What’s the difference between Speridone and Vega? How much better is the sock now?”

“Vega,” the messengers proudly declared, “will be the most comfortable sock you will ever have on your feet. Instead of two types of thread, the Vega sock only has one type of thread. This allows for greater wicking power and outstanding feet comfort.”

Some podiatrists viewed the socks with skepticism. A few of them obtained a pair from the factory and, within the quiet confines of their offices, compared the two sock types. Indeed, it was true: The cotton-like material was essentially gone and, now, the polyester-like material predominated. The sock, in theory, would conform better to the foot, increase ventilation, and provide better protection from the elements—the ultimate purpose of socks.

“We should test the socks, though, just to be sure,” they agreed.

Jansun wouldn’t allow a head-to-head (foot-to-foot?) comparison of Speridone socks to Vega socks—after all, they were too similar and what if the older sock performed better than the newer sock? All the efforts of the seamstresses would go to waste and the seamstresses at the other sock factories would end up getting more money to buy lacy bras and patterned stockings.

Thus, the podiatrists settled with comparing the new Vega socks to another accepted sock, the Prexa sock (produced by Elly, a gigantic factory that loomed on a snow-capped mountain). Some people wore the Vega sock on a daily basis for about six weeks; other people wore the Prexa sock for about six weeks. All the people had feet problems. At the end of the six weeks, the podiatrists compared the feet of the two populations to see whose feet looked (and smelled) better.

The results were not particularly notable; regardless of which pair of socks people wore, their feet improved (no cure, though) and looked about the same.

“Eh,” the podiatrists said.

“That was only six weeks!” the Head Seamstress at Jansun proclaimed. “With the concentration of wicking fiber, the results will be better in the long-term! We want to improve the health of everyone’s feet and believe that this sock will soothe the sole!”

What the Head Seamstress did not mention from the hill, though, was that the cost of Speridone socks was about to drop—soon, everyone could afford Speridone socks if they wanted a pair—but not everyone needed a pair of socks. A cut in the price of Speridone socks would mean a cut in the amount of money the Jansun factory would receive—and that would mean that the seamstresses could not purchase new, satin panties.

Vega socks, though, were new! novel! different! And thus, Jansun could mark up the prices of these socks and continue to collect a profit from the sock-wearers—and satin panties would abound! It didn’t matter that the Vega socks, on testing, weren’t superior to socks that were already available—as long as people believed that Vega socks were better, that was all that mattered.

“Feh,” the podiatrists said.

The podiatrists who provided socks to the poor, though, were horrified to learn that Jansun would no longer provide Speridone socks to them.

“We want to provide the best socks available to the sockless,” the Head Seamstress said. “Vega socks are on the cutting edge of fiber technology. Speridone socks are not. We’ll start delivering Vega socks only next week.”

The podiatrists grumbled. They understood that the sock industry was, indeed, an industry.

“Speridone socks haven’t even been marked down yet,” they said. “They want us to start handing out Vega socks now so that when the Speridone socks finally are cheaper, no one will be wearing Speridone socks. Everyone will be used to Vega socks on their feet and if they ever have the money to purchase their own socks, they’ll ask for Vega socks instead… even though they’re basically the same sock!”

I anticipate that I will be posting at a noticeably lower frequency for the next few weeks… I blame anxiety, not otherwise specified.