Seeing someone wearing white socks provokes an immediate and brutal reaction inside the Parisian. He is suddenly taken over by disgust and scorn. The white socks wearer is immediately removed from the community of human beings.
As lenient as the Parisians would like to be, he cannot just let some things slide.
High standards make the Parisian harsh at times. Parisians get truly offended when they see someone wearing white socks.
The sight of white socks makes Parisians sigh. They feel that such poor taste should really not be allowed.
When it comes to colours of socks, Parisians stop being liberal. White socks worn with chaussures de ville being the worst of fautes de goût, they are a clear indicator of appartenance sociale.
Everyone wearing white socks is a gros beauf. Parisians want none of that around. Seeing a gros beauf on TV makes the Parisian laugh. But seeing one right near him, live in sock offence mode, is an insult the Parisian cannot cope with. Some liberals assert that white socks worn with des tennis is ok. Truth is, it only could be – exclusively if worn on a sports court. Anywhere else, that would be accumulating two fautes de goût: sneakers and white socks. Game over.
Wearing white socks ranks first in the Parisian pantheon of mauvais goût vestimentaire. Number two is for sure short sleeved shirts.
A Nobel Prize winner wearing white socks shall always just remain to the Parisian a-gros-beauf-who’s-good-at-science-or-whatever-it-is-he’s-good-at,-I-don’t-care-he’s-just-a-beauf-putain-mais-comment-c’est-possible-de-porter-des-chaussettes-blanches-c’est-quand-même-dingue-ça. Sadly enough, in the world, most people put progress of science and humanity ahead of colour of socks in defining the quality of an individual. But Parisians know the type of socks these people are wearing.
Yes, for the Parisian, sometimes indeed, things are a bit lonely in this world.
Useful tip: When travelling to Paris, just don’t go there – really – won’t serve your cause.
Sound like a Parisian: « Non, enfin, le mec, chaussettes blanches, manches courtes… la totale quoi, l’enfer »