The “athletic” division of my wardrobe is rapidly engulfing my entire closet. I have nicer work out clothes than I do clothes I wear out to work. It’s a casual job environment, but still, a trip to BCBG is probably (definitely) overdue. To get there though, I walk past Lululemon and Nike. I seldom make it any farther.
Laundry day (otherwise known as the day I run out of gear and am desperately trying to avoid wearing a one-size-doesn’t-fit-all race shirt) requires a science degree. Those high-tech anti-sweat, anti-smell, anti-jiggle, vitamin-infused fabrics can only touch like-fabrics, must be washed with special detergents, and set in the spin cycle for an optimal amount of time, at an optimal spin velocity, at the optimal temperature. The wash n’ go setting is a risk I’m not willing to take. Performance tech is the Goldilocks of fabrics. I don’t want to sacrifice that magnificent wicking power because I absentmindedly used fabric softener.
In one week my athletic laundry alone would rival the total dirty output from a family of four, two of whom are small messy children. Because of the sheer volume of dirty clothing I occasionally blur the lines between “clean” and “dirty”. If I don’t sweat I can rewear those running tights, right? Not the delicate next to the body base-layering stuff, I mean I do have a line (blurry as it is), but those outer layers can be extended. Um, right? Over-washing can damage my beloved super-fabrics and shorten the lifespan of the make-my-butt-look-good tights. I don’t actually know if that’s true, but over-washing sounds like a reasonable excuse. Those make-my-butt-look-good tights need, NEED, to last forever. So consider yourself warned – if it looks like I wore it yesterday, adjust your proximity to me as required.
Title Reference: Roxette – Dressed for Success. From the album Look Sharp. 1988.
