This morning I found myself attempting to justify the purchase of a silk pajama set from luxurious staple-maker Equipment. The striped periwinkle blue button-down and drawstring short duo appeared like a hallucinatory vision, sans LSD, to insist that life would be ten times more delightful if I slept in such apparel. Its competition, of course, isn’t exactly tough. While I do own a few short nighties, I tend to opt for ancient, grubby T-shirts and my coziest pair of panties. Ultimately, I threw in the towel on my sleep-game without ever making the effort to step it up.
Matching pajamas, after all, are often associated with young children or suburban moms, comparisons that most twenty-three year olds would rather avoid. Nevertheless, I’ve found myself lusting after both my younger siblings’ and my stepmom’s sizeable collection of sleep attire over the years. Whether it’s a cozy flannel set from J. Crew or (more likely) one that’s more obscure and exotic—say, from a boutique in Paris—their snooze situations are decidedly more glamorous than mine.
I finally caved last year and asked Santa’s henchman for my own nighttime getup, leaving me with one prized checkered winter set to match my little sisters. What it lacks in sex appeal, it makes up for in comfort and an immediate sense of being more stable and in control of my life than I generally am (or could possibly ever be). And, let’s be honest here, sexiness is not exactly a nightly requirement pour moi, nor would I ever want it to be. The Equipment set in question, though, seems to toe the line of being cozy and a bit coquettish—I could wear it easily in the presence of either my grandparents or a paramour without feeling over or under dressed. It’s equal parts smart and sexy, a sartorial combo I consider ideal.
There’s also a practical benefit to splurging on these items—at least in the self-manipulating narrative I’ve decided to run with. It’s a double whammy of saving closet space whilst also freeing me up to get rid of the three hundred T-shirts cramming my drawers. Do I really need boundless Bar and Bat Mitzvah commemorations and stained sports tees from my brief athletic career (read: professional bench-warming)? I’m thinking not. And while giving them up may pull at my nostalgia-laced pack-rat predilections, the reality is that I’m not going to care about these T-shirts, or even remotely miss them, a few weeks (if not days) down the line.
Despite any fanciful dreams, holding onto these items will not suspend me eternally in my youth, so, I might as well bite the bullet early instead of traversing life’s landscape with excess baggage. I’ll surely have enough of that, figuratively-speaking, to risk wasting my energy on anything tangible.
Thus, while the $385 dollar price-tag on the particular PJ’s in question may seem exorbitant at first glance, especially on my #rideordie budget (an affectionate term for nearly nonexistent), I’m beginning to think it’s not entirely unwise. Sure, only a handful of people will ever get to witness the sleepy set in all its glory, but this is a purchase made more for the sake of selfhood than crowd-pleasing. And, adding fuel to the fuzzy fire, pajama dressing has recently infiltrated our collective style, allowing that each item can be worn outside the bedroom with nary a second-glance. Longevity-meets-laziness? That’s a match worth dreaming about.
Now, tell me please (pretty please), what’s your pajama jam?