The story of socks

While vaguely tracing the roots of socks, I came across the word "meriyasu." Meriyasu itself is not particularly rare. If you go to a home center, you'll find it piled up haphazardly as rags to wipe oily machinery, and people in the sock industry might use the word normally. But in everyday life, you don't hear it in reference to socks.

Moreover, when written in kanji, it's "莫大小." The first time I saw it, it seemed to have no relation to socks at all. It looked like an old Chinese idiom, and was even somewhat abstract. But when I looked it up, there was a proper reason. Meriyasu is a general term for knitted fabric, and it seems to be borrowed from the Portuguese word "meias." Because it's knitted fabric, it's elastic. You can wear it even if the size is slightly different. So, "no large or small." That meaning was expressed in kanji as "莫大小." It's quite clever.

I like this way of naming things. It's not just logical, there's a playfulness to it. I think people in the past were good at assigning kanji. That might sound a bit grand, but modern language is usually descriptive. Like "water-absorbent and quick-drying" or "stretch material." Of course, they're easy to understand. But "莫大小" has a negative before the description. "No large or small" means that it stretches and contracts, which is called meriyasu, and further refers to socks. It might seem a bit too twisted, but when I come across such words, I feel a little bit rewarded.

I'm surprisingly fond of socks. Of course, I'm not an avid sock enthusiast. I don't have a hobby of visiting specialty sock stores, nor do I dress stylishly, wearing a rich variety of colors and patterns. However, I have enough experience as a "sock refugee" to have repeatedly searched for and worn various types, and then searched again. Perhaps because I've experienced such a diverse range of socks, I've had more opportunities than expected to ponder them.

Ever since I encountered KIMURA's socks, I haven't had to worry about them anymore. Their simplicity is admirable, with only two types—plain or thick rib—and no patterns or brand logos. Yet, the colors are rich and delightful to look at. The comfort is exceptional, making me think, "Ah, this is it," the moment I put them on. The thickness is just right, blending naturally with both leather shoes and sandals. Comfortable, ordinary socks. It sounds simple when put into words, but this is something that is surprisingly hard to find.

I think socks are a curious tool. While they have an element of fashion as attire, functionality is primarily required, and they cling to your feet like a part of your skin. If your socks bunch up, you feel unsettled, and if you don't like the fit, you'll feel off all day. Conversely, when you wear socks that fit you perfectly, you feel like your step is lighter. Perhaps people are more influenced by what's on their feet than they realize.

It seems that film director Yasujiro Ozu was also particular about his socks. I once read an anecdote that he would buy a bulk of his favorite imported socks whenever he went to Ginza. I can somewhat understand that feeling. Not just with socks, but favorite items can suddenly become unavailable. The material might change, the color or pattern might change, or production might be discontinued. And finding a replacement is surprisingly difficult. So, when you find it, you buy it. It might be a bit like buying pens or coffee beans.

"Just as there are various types of people, there are also different props. I carefully discuss with the props master to select props that match each person's individuality."

I think that's a very Ozu-like statement. When watching Ozu's films, I sometimes find myself focusing on the props more than the people. The kettle, the bag, the cigarette. None of them strongly assert themselves. They seem to blend naturally into the screen, subtly supporting the character's personality.

Since I deal with tools at my shop, I'm always thinking, "What makes a good tool?" Of course, there are conditions like being durable or beautiful. But ultimately, I think it comes down to whether it blends naturally into a person's life. In other words, being so natural that you forget its existence. Socks are exactly that kind of tool. Socks you can wear all day without thinking about are good socks, and conversely, socks that constantly bother you are probably not a good fit for your body.

The "no large or small" in the word "meriyasu" somehow retains the generosity of old tools. It's okay to be a little ambiguous. Instead of people forcing themselves to adapt to the tool, the socks conform to the feet. That sensation, in today's world where efficiency and accuracy are constantly demanded, feels almost refreshing. Perhaps "莫大小 / meriyasu" has such a sense of everyday ease woven into it.

【Related Links】
Online store：[ KIMURA` ]