Don't worry about my socks and shoes

I don't dress the way I do to prove a point. I do it because that's the only way I know

I wear socks to office. I alternate between two pairs of shoes. One is an oversized pair of canvas shoes which I had bought because I fell in love with them, and because they were priced at Rs 300, unlike the Rs 3,000 sneakers that my colleagues wear with labels bearing Nike, Adidas and Reebok. The other is a once-blue, now-grey pair of floaters. I have to admit that it is a Nike original, but then, that is because I got it as a gift from my uncle four years ago.
Perhaps sometimes, my socks, and even shoes, reek of a stale odour. When I sniff the air and detect that unmistakable smell floating around, I take care to air out the pair and change the socks. But that is who I am; that is how I am most comfortable. It may even be one of the many reasons I am in the profession I am in. My workplace does not dictate a dress code and I am glad I did not end up behind one of the corporate doors.
Sometimes I need to visit swanky places to meet people for work-related purposes and I don't feel awkward to walk in wearing a lumpy sweatshirt and one of the faithful pairs of shoes (just that I make sure there are no unpleasant smells). I don't do all this to make a statement or stand out from the rest or show the world that I don't give a fig for general notions of fashion. I do this because this is who I am. If I could love heels and nail polished toes and finger-nails, I would go for it. It's just that I don't love them.
Remember Andy Sachs from Devil Wears Prada, the Andy Sachs prior to the predictable transformation? Well, I may have the temerity to proclaim myself the Andy Sachs of the purview of my world. I cannot tell the difference between the belts and I don't care that I can't, if you know know what I mean. Some people, actually most people, get me wrong. They think I am scoffing at their preoccupation with style and beauty. They feel that I am so haughty that I think I am above and beyond fashion and deliberately under-dress to show the world that there is no reason for me to become part of the mainstream society.
I plead not guilty. In fact, sometimes, I am even in awe of the girls who manage to handle all those colours in those boxes and tubes, the trinkets that glimmer and shine, clothes that sometimes flow and sometimes cling. But still people refuse to understand. In office, I hear the girls titter behind my back about my appearance. They become vituperative and make ask themselves, 'What does she think of herself?'
One day, I thought I will wear Kolhapuri chappals to office. I thought this would at least end the hours of tension that the girls go through on my account. They looked at my 'un-pedicured' feet and laughed. They stared at my semi-dirty toenails and cringed. In the end they said, "What does she think she is doing, trying to be like us?" So, it is back to canvas and worn-out floaters, my friends.