Celeste Socks

Two socks. Two different skies. One pair.

Most printed socks hand you the same picture twice. These do not, and that is the whole idea of them: put both on and your feet are holding two halves of one conversation.

The one with the faces on it

A moon in silver lace has shut her eyes and turned her face aside. The sun she is cradling has not: it stares dead ahead out of the middle of her, gold rays shoving out past her on all sides. An arc of seven phases runs above the two of them, slim at both ends, round and whole where the arc peaks. Three feathers swing from a dreamcatcher underneath, silver and gold among them.

The one with the constellations on it

Its partner keeps almost nothing at all. One small crescent in silver, scrolled with that same engraving, floats by itself on the leg, and gold stars gather round it, joined up by dotted gold lines into constellations that wander clean off the edges. A handful of bigger eight-pointed stars sit among them, the drawn kind rather than the photographed kind. Both socks are backed by a mandala sunk a half tone under the navy, so the ground is never merely a colour.

Black at the ends, sky all the way to the top

Toe black, heel black. Everything in between is artwork, and it keeps going until the cuff runs out instead of surrendering to a plain band, which matters, because the cuff is the bit anyone actually sees once you sit down.

They come in one women's size. And there is no bin of these anywhere: a pair is printed after the order arrives, so what you want is there to choose on any day of the year, and nobody wore it before you did. Not the quickest way in the world to buy socks. It is the only way to get this one.