Sockless Sarasotans

Rich people who live in Sarasota love fashion. These people love beautiful shoes. Rich Sarasotans love the feeling of soft Corinthian leather, or maybe that’s just life according to Ricardo Montalbán. Regardless, fantasies do come true and every year thousands of newly transplanted rich people opt to leave their socks up North and slide their sweaty feet into extravagant Prada, John Lobb, Salvatore Ferragamo and A. Testoni shoes to express their carefree new South Florida nature and show-off their lack of podiatric inhibitions. If you are rich and you wear socks you may as well drive a 1974 Cadillac Coup Deville because that’s the level of respect that you will garner but at least you’ll still feel soft leather against your skin from your vintage automobile’s luxurious seats.

For many, the thought of sliding their feet into a pair of brand new shoes with nothing but a smile and a shoehorn is repulsive. In fairness, there are more disgusting habits that a man can pick up in the dirty streets of Sarasota and unlike the aforementioned dirty habits, sans sock aficionados say don’t judge it until you’ve tried it. Of course, if you aren’t rich, you aren’t subjected to ridiculous peer pressure to adopt styles popularized by Miami Vice and other atrocities of the eighties. In fact, average men that show up anywhere in dress shoes without socks are most likely to become the butt of all jokes for the night and likely for the rest of their life. Not so for the rich.

The ability to destroy a pair of shoes with nothing but a thousand sweat glands is a status symbol more than it is a comfort choice. While middle class white kids wear Che Guevara t-shirts and baseball hats with a sticker attached to express that they are badass, the wealthy adopt a modest subtlety to show that they have more money than most Caribbean nations. Sockless Italian loafers are akin to standing outside Nordstrom’s headquarters and screaming “I just cashed a million dollar bonus check! Screw you taxpayer!” Of course they never would, so they let bare ankles do the talking under their perfectly tailored suit. A quick glance around St. Armands Circle or the waiting area of Cravats’ will reveal them as playgrounds for the sockless masses. A word to the wise, steer clear of Japanese restaurants that require patrons to remove their footwear if you want to avoid the pungent smell of old money at lunch!