We are collectively experiencing a kind of loungewear renaissance, yes? The Instagram algorithm is working very hard to sell me all kinds of loungey things: sweatpants, sweatshirts, sweat sets (be still my heart), silk pajamas, linen robes, and more.
I get it. I am a type. I work from home and console myself with the occasional comfort purchase, and every digital application I use is keenly aware of this fact. I am, for my own part, keenly aware of how this cycle is born of immense, destructive privilege, whereby I remotely purchase commodities to make my own quarantine more bearable, and someone who cannot afford to quarantine is paid a pittance to bring these commodities to me at great risk to themselves and their families. Worse, I am the type of person who can recognize this and yet still participate in these destructive patterns. My heart tells me that I need silk pajamas, but my brain tells me that the cool, smooth slip of the fabric on my skin will just remind me how many people had to risk their lives to bring me that pleasure, and that knowledge will transform said pleasure into shame and guilt.
This pandemic has smoked out the guilt of privilege in all kinds of ways, but the problem with guilt is that it functions a lot like addiction. I participate in the destruction to achieve momentary pleasure, only to fall into a shame spiral once I realize what I’ve done, and the shame can only be soothed by more momentary pleasure. Ad infinitum. I know I’m not alone in this. On social media, I recently viewed a phenomenal sequence of answers to the following question: “Your most irrational Covid purchase yet?” An indoor bounce house, leather leggings, and a table saw were among the best answers. So, at a time when we have all been called to repair a disintegrating world, we are–I am–so addled by capitalism that we see fit to answer the call in brand new loungewear, purchased from startups, even though startups are partly to blame for this mess.
But, as explained above, feeling guilty about this state of affairs accomplishes nothing and, in fact, exacerbates the problem. My individual refusal to purchase loungewear will not fix what’s broken any more than my personal investment in “ethical” fashion will make the fashion industry more ethical. Be honest now: Hasn’t the explosion of ethical fashion lines and their attendant catalogue of influencers made you buy MORE stuff, not less? And isn’t that just materialism with a bunch of green heart emojis pasted all over it? So I wonder if we shouldn’t spend our time worrying less about how we spend our money and more about how we spend our time and energy: that is to say, less time worrying about the loungewear and more time learning about the system that generates it, and doing the hard work to fight for a world where everyone can live in comfort without needing to trash the planet or each other to do so.
If that hard work requires some loungewear, so be it. I wore my last pair of pajamas until they shredded themselves in the dryer–and, I will admit, I even wore them a few times past that point (I am, unfortunately, a terrible seamstress and silk is finicky)–so it was time for an upgrade. And what did I upgrade to?
A wearable bit of bedding. A piece of sheet, if you will. Ahem.
About five years ago, I realized that the best loungewear can be found in the home textiles section of the internet. This particular piece of sheet can be found at Cultiver, best known for its linen bedding; I still have the winter version of this sleep shirt from (don’t judge me) Restoration Hardware, which I bookmarked and finally purchased at a hefty discount in 2015, and which still looks like new. I wear this stuff to Zoom meetings all the time. In my line of work, sweatshirts don’t cut it. Wearing fancy pajama tops to meetings is my subversive work-from-home hobby.
To be sure, there is nothing ethical about buying overpriced pajamas from a company that makes home decor. There is nothing ethical about buying anything, ever. To be clear, I am not proud of these or any other purchases I have made or will continue to make while the world burns. Still, they were good purchases, because the quality of these items is excellent and I will wear them until they die of natural causes. We should all be so lucky to go out on a spinning blast of low heat after being loved to death.
rabbit holes and remorse 