Issue #32

Pressing Issue

Mystery of the Disappearing Wrinkles

Kids are visiting, house is full, brain is empty, I’m feeling a little under the weather, ergo this issue is going to be short. It will also be AI. About Ironing, that is.

There’s a monologue about ironing from the old Bob Newhart Show that I’ve looked for but can’t find. Of all the scenes from the six seasons of Bob Newhart (24 episodes each) this is the only one I remember specifically. While pressing his shirts alone in his apartment, Howard Borden (Bob and Emily’s needy neighbor) waxes on about how sad ironing is, how lonely. But for all his melancholy, he seems to find ironing peaceful, a way to relax and work out his feelings.

In my younger days, ironing was a holiday chore—an heirloom white tablecloth and napkins had to be pressed for brunch and dinner, and my dress for church. Ironing meant an unpleasant trip down into our dank basement where I’d risk electrocution every time I had to plug the iron into the spark-prone socket.

Then sometime in the last decade my sister Annie mentioned how much she loved wearing ironed clothes. Her offhand comment made an impression on me. I realized why she always looked tidy and polished, and why I did not. It never occurred to me to iron except when absolutely necessary. (I was asking her about her ironing habits just now and she texted me that she will even iron an old t-shirt to wear working out or working around the house.)

I wasn’t yet converted, but Howard’s habit and Annie’s words took root. Slowly over time I ironed a little more and a little more; then all at once this past year I discerned that I, too, love to iron and wear ironed clothes. It was like the end of a rom-com when two long-time colleagues suddenly realize they are madly in love.

A different genre explains my newfound enjoyment: I like ironing for the same reason I like murder mysteries. There is a problem (untimely death, wrinkles) and when all is done, the problem is solved (culprit found, clothes crisp).

I’m not a particularly good ironer or even a reliable one. “Rumpled” is an entirely justifiable description of my clothing day to day. But when I do iron, I take pleasure in the feeling, as Annie would say, of being “fully dressed.” And like Howard, I enjoy the act of ironing itself. It’s Zen, it’s restful activity, it’s a comfortable way for me to converse with someone without having to sit still.

There’s one other aspect of ironing I want to mention. If I love you, I’m going to want to iron your clothes. I’ll want you to put on your ironed shirt or dress and walk about the world looking your best and feeling cared for, feeling covered in my efforts to de-wrinkle your coverings.

Because I can’t find the scene I mentioned of Howard ironing, I offer you another one. Here’s Howard trying to inculcate his son with the joys of ironing:

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For Ironing Enthusiasts Only

Patric Richardson is the self-named Laundry Evangelist. He’s a sweet, gentle fellow who is genuinely enthusiastic about cleaning clothes. His instructional video on ironing a shirt is a pleasure to watch—and I learned something. Patric lays out the shirt on the wide end of the ironing board—it makes sense! Mostly I just enjoyed watching how he handles clothes, with patience and respect.

If you want to know more about the basic tenets of his laundry philosophy, NPR interviewed him a few years back and gave a good summary of his ideas.

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