Which Pair Of Socks Would You Reincarnate Into?
Which Pair Of Socks Would You Reincarnate Into?
Because in the end, we'll all just wrap around someone else's feet.
Because in the end, we'll all just wrap around someone else's feet.
What is the first thing you do in the mornings?
What time do you prefer to wake up?
In what state of being do you typically wake up?
What kind of a sleeper are you?
What do you use for your alarm clock?
If you were to use your iPod from seventh grade as your alarm clock, which "oldie" would be your wake-up song of choice?
What stuffed animal do you sleep with?
Zebra Socks!
Zebra Socks!
Your demeanor is vague, and you give the finger to binaries everywhere. The New You will be even more ambiguous and you'll beg the age-old question: What came first, the black or white stripe? You'll devote this next life solving it, but probably won't get a satisfactory answer until you reincarnate about three more times.
Skulls of Fury Socks!
Skulls of Fury Socks!
Your last life rocked. This one sucks. You're bummed and feel like because you cheated on your Dante ID's for the Lit Hum final your contrapasso is to be a 21st century embodiment of hell. But get out of your fucking head because the world is not the Columbia Core.
Sea Monster Socks!
Sea Monster Socks!
Your new life is as bad as that aquatic love song by Coldplay: "You belong with me/ Not swallowed in the sea." Gag. Stop searching for The One and settle for your current identity as a consumer of colonial ships just trying to make it in the Big New World.
Crossed Out Literature Socks!
Crossed Out Literature Socks!
One time you won the National Spelling Bee even though you made them repeat the winning word three times before you spelled it. Good job, but you got even more annoying when you got in to all eight Ivies and posted a status telling everyone on Facebook where you got in, but you obnoxiously wrote the names of the Ivies in all caps. We know University of Chicago ain't no HARVARD, but now every great American novel has diluted down to the same non-existing title. Your New Life as illiterate is punishment for your inability to learn for pleasure. LITERATURE IS DEAD THANKS TO YOU.
Map of Manhattan Socks!
Map of Manhattan Socks!
You went to the NYC Prep school Ivies. Or maybe you went to Riverdale. Regardless, you were so attached to your upscale apartment or brownstone that you applied ED to Columbia because it's basically your state school, in your opinion. But Your New Life features an America without major metropolitan areas, and the only remnant of that past-life is this handy pair of socks. You're a walking artifact, which makes you basically as exotic as a city kid living in Vermont for the summer to "farm."