Canada, we have a problem on our hands.

And that problem is on Justin Trudeau’s feet. The endless obsession with the man’s socks — his socks — has tiptoed past the point of annoying and is now getting dangerously close to someone-hold-a-pillow-over-my-head.

There was a time when you couldn’t get on the Internet without seeing a cat. Now you can’t get on the Internet without seeing Trudeau’s socks: Hey, look, he’s at Pride and his socks say “Eid Mubarak.” Powerful! Look, he’s on the world stage with other leaders and his socks are stamped with the NATO insignia. Incredible!

Is that R2-D2 and C-3PO on his feet? On May the 4th? Cool!

Maple leaf? Patriotic!

Skull and bones? Hardcore!

Yes, hardcore — or a gaudy portent of Canada’s slide into the slow and painful death of photo-op governance, where promises are broken, there is no strategic vision and policy plays second fiddle to publicity.

A global nuclear war could start tomorrow and there’d be 50 stories about how Trudeau was evacuated to the emergency command bunker in a pair of socks emblazoned with a smiley face and a “Give Peace a Chance.”

Is Imelda Marcos now one of his advisers?

I can only assume his socks have their own publicist and limo driver. Do they also crash film sets and hang out with celebrity socks? Do they pose in flirty sock-spreads on the covers of inflight magazines? Do they ball-up near the hamper at night and think, “We got nothing of substance accomplished today — nothing! But holy hell, we just killed it on Instagram!”

As far as I can tell, Trudeau’s socks are now running the country. Bow down, citizens, and pledge fealty to your new woolly overlords that come in one-size-fits-all. I mean, why are we even paying taxes? Should we not just divert this money to the bespoke unit at McGregor to help pay for Canada’s future sock diplomacy?

You couldn’t get away with this in any other line of work.

If your boss came to you and said, “Where’s that earnings report?” and you responded by grinning and tugging up your pant legs to reveal socks with random numbers sewn into the pattern, you’d now be unemployed and possibly living under the care of a psychiatrist.

What’s really troubling is how Trudeau’s socks have gone from occasional talking point to key message. His political statements are his fashion statements. His ankles are doing all the talking these days, all the heavy lifting.

At this point, maybe that’s the plan. If everyone is staring at your feet, nobody is paying attention to what you are doing or, more accurately, not doing. It’s like those old sociology studies on mid-century bank robberies: if the perpetrator wore a crazy hat during the heist, he was less likely to be identified by eyewitnesses because all they could remember was the crazy hat.

Did Trudeau raise the issue of human rights this weekend? Did he speak out against the horrific persecution gays and lesbians face in some countries?

I can’t remember. But his socks said “Eid Mubarak,” so kumbaya.

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And what happens when Canada really finds itself in a crisis that can’t be solved with horizontal stripes or PR stunts? I don’t even want to think where the economy would be right now if, during the 2008 global meltdown, Stephen Harper shrugged off his duties and tooled around in socks adorned with line graphs and interest rates.

I’m assuming there is an elite team inside the PMO that now holds strategic sock meetings to determine what pair should be worn at what event: “Justin, for Canada’s birthday on Saturday, you will have the likeness of John A. Macdonald on your left foot and a fluttering sepia flag on your right. Alternatively, we were thinking it might be neat if you showed up wearing 150 pairs of socks to commemorate this special anniversary. Then if anyone starts asking tough questions, you can peel off socks and throw them to your fans. Hysteria will ensue!”

In the last six months, according to one database search, the words “Justin Trudeau” and “socks” have appeared in 463 major media stories. Our Prime Minister is getting reduced to hosiery. He is a literal sock puppet. Even Kelly Ripa and Ryan Seacrest gave him a customized pair — with their faces on them, no less — when Trudeau swung by the morning gabfest earlier this month during a live shoot in Niagara Falls.

How can anyone believe all of this is, well, a step in the right direction?

For the love of God, Prime Minister, put on your big boy pants and get to work.

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