Wooden hangers come in many options, i.e., curved for suit jackets and blazers, flat for blouses and shirts, clipped for skirts and pants, and many others. They look luxurious in your closet and their heft makes them strong. The downside is their size—they take up a lot of space. If you do use wooden hangers, be sure to keep a set of tubular or plastic hangers in your laundry room for hanging up wet clothes. If you hang wet clothes on wooden hangers, there’s a chance wood stain will transfer onto your garments.
I also love wooden hangers because they remind me of Louise, my bonus grandmother. She sewed clothes, knitted, crocheted, embroidered, did needlepoint, and more. In fact, I love doing needlepoint today because of her. Louise used to crochet covers for wooden hangers. Even after she became blind in her late eighties, she continued to crochet hangers, simply counting her stitches to ensure each fit perfectly. Still hanging in my closet is an orange one (my favorite color) that she made especially for me.
Finally, if you prefer flat plastic or wooden hangers, consider the various size options. Both of these hanger types come in men’s- and women’s-size hangers—their size is determined simply by the typical width of men’s and women’s shoulders. However, if you’re a narrow-shouldered gentleman, you may prefer women’s hangers, and if you’re a broad-shouldered woman, you may want to invest in men’s hangers. And if you’re petite, you may find that children’s hangers best fit your clothing.
Return to the Fold
Now let’s turn our attention to folding. The 1914 textbook Laundering includes step-by-step drawings for folding common garments of the time, including corset covers, chemises, nightdresses, and drawers (that is, underwear). Despite our more modern attire, the guidelines for folding haven’t really changed—the goal is to fold similar items in the same way for maximum efficiency and best display in your dresser.
To fold a shirt, I begin with the garment spread out on my bed or a table with its back facing up. I fold in each side to meet in the middle and then fold the sleeves down toward the hem of the shirt—the shirt should now look like a neat rectangle; I then bring the bottom hem to the top, and then flip the shirt over. Voilà! For a T-shirt, once I fold in the sides and sleeves, I fold it in thirds. For both types of shirts, I tuck them in a drawer, one shirt after the other, vertically—like I’m filing a folder so I can see them all at once.
To fold a sweater, again I begin with it spread out on my bed or a table with its back facing up. I fold in the sides and then the sleeves to create a neat rectangle; I then fold the sweater in thirds and flip it over. I line up sweaters horizontally in a bureau drawer to display all of my options. If you don’t have room in your dresser to store all of your sweaters, fold each sweater in thirds and hang each over the bottom rung of a hanger in your closet. Please don’t hang knitted items like shirts or sweaters on hangers, such that the hanger corners fill out the shoulders—hung this way, they’ll stretch and lose their shape.
To fold casual pants, place one leg atop the other, fold in half, and then fold in thirds before lining them up in a drawer. If you don’t have room to store casual pants in your dresser, simply hang these as you do your dress pants: folded in half and crimped at the cuffs and waistband on dedicated pants hangers, or folded in half and then draped over the lowest rung of a regular hanger.
To fold socks, I lay one atop the other and roll them up, or fold them in halves or thirds for long socks. I store all my socks in vertical stacks in one drawer.
For bedding, ensure that it is completely dry before folding. To fold a flat sheet, fold it in half the long way; you may want to do this on the floor so you can smooth out any wrinkles. Then fold it in half the long way again; now you’ve got a very long, skinny rectangle. Next, fold in half once in the other direction, and then again (and maybe again) until it’s the size of a pillowcase. Done!
For a fitted sheet, turn it inside out and place each of your hands inside one corner of one short end of the sheet—the elastic side is facing you; bring your hands (and the corners) together and fold one corner over the other corner. Keep these corners on one hand while, with your other hand, you grab a third corner and fold it over the top two corners; do the same with the final corner. That’s the hard part. Next, fold the sheet in half and then again (and maybe again) until it’s the size of a pillowcase. Done again!
To fold a pillowcase, simply fold it three times, beginning by folding it in half the short way. Once everything is folded, place all pieces of each set—flat sheet, fitted sheet, and pillowcase—into the second pillowcase. If it’s a twin set, simply place the top and bottom sheets into the pillowcase.
Ruby’s Towel-Folding Method
My neighbor Ruby’s approach to folding towels is a particularly good solution if you have open shelves or place your towels on display. To begin, fold the towel in thirds the long way. Then fold the two ends toward each other where they meet in the middle. Finally, fold the towel in half. Ta-da—the edges are hidden inside.
* * *
In my bathroom, I have a train rack (reminiscent of the luggage racks on passenger trains of yesteryear) on which I display our bath towels and use a slightly different take on Ruby’s method: Again, fold the towel in thirds the long way. Then fold the two ends toward each other where they meet in middle. Finally, roll up the towel. This roll-up version also looks great when displaying towels in a wine rack repurposed for the bathroom.
Dealing with Seasonal Storage
I remember one lovely April as a kid when all of a sudden our area was socked with a freak snowstorm. Mom had already washed and stored our winter gear, including all of our coats, at the back of a very long storage closet in our basement. On a busy school morning, there was no time to crawl to the back of that closet to retrieve them. I remember Mom telling us to put on our nylon windbreakers while she warmed up the car, and then urging us to make a run for the car through the snow flurries.
While few of us completely turn over our wardrobes from one season to the next, many of us likely store wool sweaters in the summer and swimsuit cover-ups and the like in the winter. Perhaps you’re one of those folks who regularly send everything to the dry cleaner at the end of the season and then store the items in dry-cleaning bags. Well, you’re done with that routine—now you’ll be washing those items yourself, quickly and easily. But once that’s done, what’s the best way to store these clean, out-of-season garments?
If you’re lucky enough to have storage space, I recommend draping an old clean sheet (simply snip a hole in its middle for the hooks of your hangers to fit through) over these clothes to keep the dust off. Using a sheet, rather than plastic bags or even suit bags, lets the clothes breathe. (Plus, you’re being kinder to the Earth by not using plastic.)
Be sure, too, to include a small block or ball of cedar in each pocket, or place a hanging cedar block (attached to a hook) every foot or so in this storage area. Cedar zaps moisture from the air to prevent mildew, protects garments from fabric-eating moths and other pests, and lends a fresh scent to your clothes. (Once a year, lightly rub cedar blocks with sandpaper to revive the cedar’s natural scent.)
For seasonal items for which you don’t have closet space, consider using space-saving vacuum storage bags—the bags you suck all the air out of with your vacuum. Before using these bags, I wash everything first and then stuff my clothes in—there’s no need to iron, obviously, as the clothes will become very wrinkly. When I take these clothes out at the start of a new season, I simply wash them again. Especially for people with limited storage space, these bags are a great solution and easily slide under most beds, completely out of sight.
Let’s review:
There are lots of ways to store clothing—use the methods that work best for you. That said, I recommend hanging suit jackets and blazers, dress shirts and pants, and skirts and dresses on hangers. For T-shirts, sweaters, casual pants like jeans and leggings, and socks and underwear, fold and tuck into dresser drawers.
Most important, hang or fold your clothes right after they’re done drying.
Let retail storage systems inspire you to make “shopping” your own closet more fun, with creative displays and a place to show off tomorrow’s outfit.
For maximum efficiency in your closet, use matching hangers that all face the same direction, and hang similar items together.
For maximum efficiency in your dresser, fold like items to the same size, using identical folding methods; then store them vertically so you can see everything that’s available in each drawer.
For seasonal items, place a sheet over hanging items and/or use space-saving vacuum storage bags and then tuck them out of sight.
7
Time for Your Disappearing Act
“Out, damn’d spot! Out, I say!”
—WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
It’s a flat-out cliché to use this Lady Macbeth quote to refer to stain removal. Hundreds—literally hundreds—of stain-removal articles, both online and in print, use that passage. I even found a 1916 Good Housekeeping feature, “Home Remedies for Spots,” that mentions it: “The time-honored Macbethian incantation, ‘Out, damned spot,’ pales into insignificance beside the efficacy of a slip of a maid with a puff of absorbent cotton and a zeal worthy the cause.” But I’m guessing few families back then had maids to perform their dirty work—with zeal no less.
The popularity of the quotation makes sense: After all, this conniving Shakespearean character is talking about removing actual bloodstains after she and her husband have murdered a king. Much more recently, comedian Jerry Seinfeld joked about a similar subject, noting that if you’re trying to remove blood from fabric, “maybe laundry isn’t your biggest problem.”
In this chapter, I’ll share the three basic types of stains and the easy solutions I recommend to eliminate them. I’ll also include Laundry Campers’ most requested stain tricks—those for lipstick, red wine, barbecue sauce, and perspiration. Plus, I’ll offer dozens more solutions in my comprehensive stain guide at the end of the chapter.
Stain Stories from the Trenches
Whenever I’m leading a Laundry Camp, I always save the topic of stains for the end. Stains are my fireworks, and they’re the main reason many attendees sign up for camp in the first place. Why? Because stains so often aggravate and confound us.
I always invite participants to bring stained garments to camp. Usually just one or two take me up on the offer, but, wow, are they glad they did. While the whole class watches and learns, I remove the stains, right on the spot (see what I did there?).
Sometimes campers are so enthusiastic about my success with laundry that they propose, only half jokingly, that they hire me to do their wash. Um, I don’t think so. I happily do my laundry and my loved ones’ laundry—but that’s where I draw the line. However, I’m delighted to teach you how to do your wash better. That’s the whole idea behind Laundry Camps.
When it comes to stains, I’m glad to be Johnny-on-the-spot, quite literally. Once, one of my longtime customers, Ronnie, called me nearly in tears. Her grandson was about to have his bar mitzvah and her husband, due to serious health issues, couldn’t attend the ceremony, which was being held in another city. So, to share a bit of himself, he was lending his tallit to his grandson. This blue-and-white prayer shawl was purchased by his parents in Israel in 1948 (the very year of the country’s founding) for his own bar mitzvah.
It was a beautiful gesture. Unfortunately, to prepare for the big day, my customer had handwashed the tallit with a so-called delicate detergent. Disaster! The blue had run all over the white. Now what—could I salvage this heirloom?
Anyone who knows me understands that I’m a sucker for a grandmother-grandson story. After all, I had two amazing grannies. How could I possibly refuse her request?
So the next day, Ronnie dropped off the tallit, carefully tucked inside a bag, for me to attempt a laundry miracle. When I pulled it out, I saw she was exactly right: the shawl looked completely ruined.
In the meantime, I’d done a little research. It turned out that the white of the tallit is more important than the blue. So the job wasn’t so much about bringing the blue back as it was removing it from the white.
I got to work. First, I spread out the shawl atop a bath towel on my kitchen island. Next, using Q-tips dipped in oxalic acid, I began carefully dabbing at each jot of blue, wherever it didn’t belong. The work was painstaking—removing blue dot after blue dot. Finally, it was time for the last steps: Holding my breath, I held the tallit under the faucet, rinsing away any vestiges of errant blue in my kitchen sink, and then laid the garment back atop my table to dry. Not long after, I had the great pleasure of doing a big reveal and got to see Ronnie’s sheer delight when I unveiled the brand-new-looking tallit.
I’ve got a million stain-related stories, but another that springs to mind involves a wedding: I was working at my boutique on a Saturday morning when I got a call from a frantic bridesmaid. The bride had just been zipped up in her wedding dress when an affectionate toddler had run pell-mell to hug her—while carrying a permanent marker. Now black lines wriggled up the right side of her gown. Heavens! The bridal party had found one of my stain-removal videos on YouTube, but the rubbing alcohol wasn’t working. What else would I recommend? Better yet, would I drive to the church, just five miles away, to remove the stain in person?
Of course! I’m always game for stain-removal thrills. But there was a problem: I couldn’t leave my store unattended. While I tracked down a willing employee, one of the bridesmaids even considered covering for me. Eventually, one of my generous staff members came in early, and I practically ran past her out the door, carrying all my stain-removal gear.
When I arrived at the church, the bridesmaids rushed me like a first responder to the anxious bride and her besmirched gown. Some way or another, we’re going to make your dress look perfect, I assured her. I felt certain that I could remove the stain, but—worst-case scenario—I knew a quick stitch could hide the pen marks inside the dress if all else failed.
The rubbing alcohol hadn’t worked, so I immediately broke out my tiny bottle of Amodex, a stain remover for ink, and began applying it lightly with a Q-tip. Ever so slowly, the ink sank through the fabric and was absorbed by the white towel I held on the other side of the skirt. Then, to remove any oily residue from the area treated with Amodex, I applied the rubbing alcohol again.
Finally, with a laundry brush, I scrubbed the area with soap. Now the stained section was looking good, but I couldn’t be sure until I had dried it with a hair dryer. Nope, a bit of the residue was still visible. I repeated the steps with the soap and brush, and then the hair dryer—just in time for the relieved bride and bridal party to walk down the aisle.
Let’s complete this triad of stain stories with another special occasion—this time a baptism. Once again, my phone had rung at Mona Williams. How late is your store open? I told the caller five o’clock, and then we hung up. A couple of hours went by and she called again. Are you sure you’ll still be there at five? she wanted to know. Yes, of course, I told her—but now I wanted to understand why she was so worried.
Turned out, Linda was driving nearly four hours to my store to bring me a century-old christening dress. Her great-grandson was about to be baptized, but she wasn’t going to have him wear the gown if it couldn’t be cleaned—despite the fact that he’d be the one-hundredth child to wear it. When she arrived, I understood her misgivings. Often people don’t think about washing heirlooms before putting them away. Throw in the fact that babies often spit up (and do other things) all over their clothes, and you get the idea: this baptismal gown looked yellowed, at best.
Time to get to work: I mixed a tablespoon of sodium percarbonate into a large bowl of piping-hot water and gently added the gown. The yuck just floated to the surface. Progress! I then dumped out the water and started again. More bleach alternative and more water. Suddenly, the gown looked nearly as white as the day it was ma
de. I suggested to Linda that she consider washing it by hand again before the baptism and then pressing it. A couple of weeks later I received two photos: one of her happy great-grandson in a gorgeous white gown and another of her husband—on his baptismal day, wearing the same dress.
On Your Mark, Get Set, Go
Thankfully, most of your stain stories won’t be quite so dramatic. But even everyday clothes are important and often costly, so you don’t want to cast them off simply because they have stains.
Let’s begin with the three basic types of stains: oily, organic, and inorganic. Oily stains include, obviously, any kind of oil, such as vegetable, olive, and motor. What makes a particular substance an oil? According to Merriam Webster’s, oil is “any of numerous unctuous combustible substances that are liquid or can be liquefied easily on warming, are soluble in ether but not in water, and leave a greasy stain on paper or cloth.” That’s a whole lot of scientific mumbo-jumbo, but all we are concerned with is that last part—about how oil stains cloth.
Organic stains originate from living organisms, and include blood (“Out, damn’d spot!”), berries, and grass, while inorganic stains—like mascara and cherry Kool-Aid—are manufactured items. All of this seems pretty straightforward, and their stain solutions tend to be, too.
But stain removal becomes more complicated with stain subcategories. Let’s take beets. Beets are obviously organic and, therefore, steamed beets can make an organic stain. But let’s say I fry up some beets with garlic, red onion, and beet greens (also all organic) in butter—my favorite way to cook that particular vegetable. Now, when a large bite falls off my fork and lands on my shirt, I have an oily organic stain.
Laundry Love Page 8