Dear Vetements socks,
You probably won’t even read this—you’re made of 85% cotton, 13% polyamide, and 2% elastane, so your facilities are elementary at best—but I feel really strongly about what happened between us. When you were recommended to me by the good algorithms at Net-a-Porter, I thought you were totally cute. You reminded me of something out of a Wes Anderson film, something that Eli Cash could get into. And you’d get along so well with my dad, a sixtysomething retiree who wears running shoes. And when I noticed that you had “SEXUAL FANTASIES” basically tattooed on your undercarriage, well, I let myself get a little excited. But then I got your digits—$95?! For the record, Mother’s only cost $24, although they show signs of a serious personality disorder. But still—I’ve got to invest $95 into something that I’m definitely going to lose or destroy before Thanksgiving? And even if I were able to keep you around, thanks to a little thing called shoes, you’re totally unavailable. I am hurt and misled. Like most of the garments in your Demna-centric crew, you seem to be alienating me on purpose. But I’m not buying it.