As an art, fashion is fluid and there are very few absolutes, blah, blah, blah, theoretical spiel ensues. But allow me to proclaim one of my own original materialistic mantras: every woman should own two kinds of bathrobes. Go ahead and tape a big, nasty “Capitalist” label to my forehead. Part of my job description as a freelance writer, however, includes fashion writer, which involves me commenting upon an industry based almost entirely upon materiality. So I’m inevitably going to encourage my dear readers to go out and buy something at some point. That potential criticism aside, let’s return to these bathrobes. (I’ll try my hardest not to sound like the vast majority of annoying women’s magazines.)
Your first bathrobe should be warm, comfortable, and practical. Its name indicates its purpose. It is the robe you put on after a bath to a) cover your shameful nakedness, and b) help you ward off shivers now that you’ve left the blissfully warm water spraying out from your shower. If you can find and afford one, aim for a fleece bathrobe and I swear you will heat up almost immediately.
Now, you’ll heat up in a different way with the second bathrobe I suggest. This one is much more sensual and less functional. It must be soft and feminine without looking hokey. This means royal blue polyester as opposed to a gaudy cotton creation with a unicorn print. Hopefully that was obvious but I felt the need to clarify. This robe can serve as loungewear or something you put on while primping before your boudoir. You can also layer it over your lingerie for what I shall euphemistically call “bedroom situations.” All in all, this robe must make you feel pretty but does not necessarily have to keep you toasty.
Let me briefly escort you into my own closet to describe the two bathrobes I own, in case you need some inspiration or at least a point of reference. My first one is plain baby blue, fleece, and long enough to reach my calves. Whenever I have it on, I feel as if I have just wrapped a blanket around myself. The robe also contains pockets, in case my hands feel unusually cold after my shower. My second robe is black, silk, and comparatively short. It falls at about mid-thigh and lacks pockets. Whenever I have it on, I feel the need to play Bettie Page. Please consider these distinctions and the value that lies in them.
And, now that you have allowed those distinctions to marinate in your mind, take a shopping trip. You deserve two types of robes.