Otherwise 100% ordinary, late-30s-aged men, if not slightly technologically superior, a double hipster leg cross provides just enough lap slack-bunch to reveal the accessory which defines them as appropriately placed here. The detail that proves their awareness, it’s “what sets them apart”: the funky sock. In a wash of monotonous hues, the multi-colored (bonus points for the varied widths!) stripe and heathered display of close to 50 geometric blues are a plagiarized quirk. A self-less expression. A stranger’s individualism borrowed in an attempt to fit in by standing out. Non-conformist conformity, if you will. The two shift awkwardly from left hip to right, discussing “business” and checking their peripherals for anyone who may be on to their fallacy. Matching oxfords on their shoulders and feet, black packs on their backs and hairstyles differing only by a pinch more pepper than salt on one side, they look ultimately unconvinced by themselves and stand up to leave. In doing so, the accessory which sets them apart is doomed to be resheathed by those dull slacks, but one or fifty shades of blue rebels. So many blue hues work hard not to be silenced. But a sharp tug of the hem tucks them back in, and they walk off, a bit too hastily. Business as usual.