Without destroying your feet—or shoes.
You guys remember when no-show socks were all the rage? I'm thinking back to, say, peak Pitti Uomo, when soft-shouldered Italian suiting reigned supreme and that infinitesimal sliver of skin between a perfectly-cuffed trouser and a pair of dress shoes was the era's undisputed erogenous zone. Then suddenly socks were back in as, like, "an easy way to make a statement," and dudes who were all aboard the No-Show Express in the style's heyday wouldn't be caught dead wearing 'em. I'm fully aware fashion is fickle and fleeting, and for men now moreso than ever, but socks? Seriously? You guys are wild.
As soon as that swampy, enveloping type of heat distinctive to an NYC summer starts to hit, all bets are off, baby! Any deference to good taste goes out the window, and we all once again realize no-shows are a very real necessity. Everyone has their go-to sock-related anecdote. It's a classic icebreaker. I remember one summer night a few years a go things were getting hot and steamy in a new friend's apartment (not because of any impressive ability on my part; it was literally hot and steamy). It was going swimmingly (as in I was swimming in a pool of my own sweat), until I slipped off my shoes and caught a glimpse of myself in my goddamn no-shows. I'm entirely positive she didn't notice, but I definitely did. Any and all of the slight ego boost I briefly experienced encountering another human being interested in tolerating my bullshit for an (admittedly brief) interaction immediately disappeared. How am I supposed to recover from the shock of abruptly seeing myself walking around in my no-shows? You tell me, man.
Suck it up and wear the no-shows, you schvitzy mess. Just remember: don't look down. They're called no-shows for a reason. That shit fucked me up bad.