The Knee Sock Revolution

Let’s all just take a moment and appreciate the individuality of modern fashion. What does that have to do with health? In my life, so very much.

I've always been kind of a weird kid. Ever the optimistic extrovert, I grew up a storyteller with an all-encompassing desire to be a part of something. The most accessible "something" in which elementary-aged me could partake was an established group of friends. But the group was always small and I could always sense my position in it: teetering on the edge of acceptance, at risk of falling out with the smallest of missteps. I was loud, I talked too much, I sported very specific interests, and I didn't quite get how to fit in, I only knew how to hold on for dear life. Don't get me wrong, these days I'm exceedingly grateful for my refusal to fit in just right, and prize my individuality as one of my best traits. But back when it seemed like the only way to get by in life was to conform or die, every little thing that set me apart was the enemy. While my personality had quirks of its own, it was a physical non-conformity that was easiest to resent.

And boy, did I resent it.

As a baby, I was diagnosed with Klippel-Trenaunay Syndrome. This rare "congenital vascular malformation" (big words meaning I have a birth disorder involving my veins) affects my left leg. Basically, I have a limb that doesn't circulate the way it should, which is not great. When I stand up for too long, it swells and hurts. When it hurts, I sit down, temporarily relieving the pain, only for it to hurt worse when I get back up. As a child, this meant that running around and going for walks with my friends turned into an option between asking for a break to sit down or suffering the consequences of refusing to do so later.

Surely there had to be some way to ease the misery, right? That's where compression garments came into play. Now I could have the luxury of a few more hours of standing on my feet, thanks to a tight, uncomfortable, fragile garment that appeared to turn one of my legs the color of an Oompa Loompa. And you've encountered elementary school-aged children, right? You know how clueless and subsequently cruel they can be. In order to maintain my own personal comfort, I had to endure questions of why my legs were two different colors. People wanted to know what was wrong with me, if I was okay, or was I sick, maybe hurt? A scrape on the knee became a cause for concern among my peers and even some school teachers who weren't aware of what my condition was. They only knew that I had one, and it was probably dangerous.

So I rebelled. If compression wear was going to make me weird, it had to go. That was my ideology and I stuck to it, hard, until one day at a baby convention, of all places. My mom was heavily involved in Babywearing International (a story for another time), and I was helping hand out brochures at their booth at Babypalooza. Next door to us was a vendor of athletic gear, who was spelling compression socks from the booth. Instead of the ugly orange-masquerading-as-skin-toned monstrosity I'd been violently opposed to for years, these came in polka dot and striped patterns and just looked like regular knee socks. Thus began a new era in my fashion journey: The Knee Sock Revolution.

This was high fashion at its finest.

Did you know compression socks come in pastel argyle? Floral patterns? Color-blocked neon, elegant sheer black, blue polka dots... you imagine it, it's either in my sock drawer or on my wishlist. Finally, I'd found a way to manage my pain that didn't mean feeling ugly and weird. When asked about me, a friend of mine is likely to mention my "sexy knee socks." I've been able to grab hold of the awkward and comical reality of wearing these all year round and claim it as a personality trait I'm not ashamed of. And you know what? Being the girl with funky socks has helped me learn to love my leg, even when it causes me pain and makes my life a little bit hard.

I think everybody has a leg or two that needs a pair of knee socks. Whether physical or not, everybody has something they want to hide, and it would do them so much good if they could just pull a polka-dot sock over it and get on about their life.