On Dressing Gowns

Like many Britons, I often don a dressing gown in lieu of putting the heating on.

This is because heating costs a fortune and dressing gowns are, undeniably, very cosy. But are dressing gowns really the most suitable attire for the modern, civilised home-bird?

I believe we're due a re-think.

Dressing gowns are, yes, very comfy and, yes, very easy to throw over whatever else you're wearing. But their design is ridiculous. You simply can’t do anything useful when wearing one.

Sure, you can sit and ‘veg-out’ in one - they’re excellent in that regard. But when did you last get home to find there was nothing to be getting on with?

There’s always something to be put away, to wash or clean, and what about dinner? Who’s cooking that? You?

This is my point - a homemaker’s work is never done. However, when you’re sporting a dressing gown the chores simply cannot be done safely.

The washing up, for example, is impossible in a dressing gown because of the absurd sleeve situation.

I, like many, only have two arms. And they are of very average circumference. But dressing gown manufacturers ignore this norm entirely and provide sleeve space for about eight, maybe nine arms.

This is unnecessary.

Not only is it unnecessary, it means that when you do roll them up to do the dishes they'll simply unravel into the washing-up bowl with infuriating nonchalance. There's just not enough friction.

Of course, if you notice this happening quick enough your sleeves will only just hit the water. And you can probably put up with a slight bit of dampness.

But habit will cause you to try and to roll them back up again, forgetting that your hands are still soaked from your previous brief stint at dishwashing. Therefore, you end up self-inflicting the very problem you were trying to avoid in the first place, and end up dripping ashamedly over the kitchen floor feeling pretty stupid.

Making dinner is also a pain when dressing gowned. In fact, it can be very dangerous.

Using the hob, for example, will definetly result in the aforementioned ridiculous sleeves catching fire. So, in order to avoid that and the entailing blistering skin, it's sensible to restrict yourself to accidentally trapping them in the oven door or the air-fryer instead.

It gets worse, of course.

Sitting on the lavatory in a dressing gown will invariably result in the belt falling between your legs and into the bowl.

The belt then becomes saturated in bog-water. And it’s not until you stand up, post-flush, that you realise this. So, without appropriate warning you get introduced to the belt’s newfound dampness and fragrance with unpleasant surprise.

Absolutely intolerable.

Actually, it is the belt on a dressing gown that annoys me most.

You only get one, insufficiently, and it is intended to be tied around the waist to secure the material together. But it secures sod all.

If you tie it around your hips, which is comfiest, the top of the gown flops open and your tits fall out. So, you have to hold the top of the gown together with your hand all the while coming to terms with having now only the one useable hand.

Of course, you can try to alleviate this by tying the belt higher up, across the belly perhaps. But by doing this you risk walking around with exposed, draughty genitals as the bottom billows about in much the same way as the top did. Plus, you get starved of oxygen as the belt restricts you every time you decide to breathe.

As if all this wasn’t enough, “dressing gown” is a ridiculous name. Surely, it cannot be called this because you’re intended wear one in order to get dressed. That would mean that they are to be put on, and then immediately taken off again. Which is insane.

More probable, is that dressing gowns are intended to be thrown on in that interim period of getting out of bed and walking to the dressing area. Or perhaps for walking to a dressing area immediately after a shower – they are, after all, essentially just towels with arms.

But how far away can this dressing area/bathroom be? And why has a whole class of clothing been invented just for this journey?

Dressing areas are usually inside or adjacent to bedrooms, and the walk from bed to the dressing gown hook is probably further away from wardrobe anyway – so, what’s the point?

And if it is the case that your bathroom is a bit of a walk away, and wrapping yourself in a normal towel won’t suffice, your problem is one of shameful interior design. Masking this with some poxy sleeved towel simply will not do. Grow up and get an ensuite.

Lastly, it is disingenuous to call them “gowns”. “Gown” has regal connotations, conjuring ideas of ballrooms, posh dos, and sophistication. This is also true of the term “robe”, which is a confused alternative name for a dressing gown.

But this is ridiculous, because there is absolutely nothing at all sophisticated about dressing gowns. They're basically a pyjama.

Indeed, back in 2010 a Tesco in Cardiff attempted to rightly maintain in-store civilility by asking customers not to shop in pyjamas.

This was an excellent and essential reminder to customers that being properly dressed, even in a Tesco, is vital for the maintenance of society.

However, seven years on Tesco changed their tune in response to a chap from Salford who bravely complained about shoppers’ flagrant dressing-gown-wearing.

“Who doesn’t have time to get changed into clothes to go shopping”, he rightly observed. Worryingly enough, Tesco claimed that public dressing-gown-wearing was “not a big issue”. They could not have been more wrong.

This is a troubling indicator of how societal standards can slip in just seven short years. Moreover, it makes me wonder how terrifyingly sunken standards in Tesco must be now we’re a further seven+ years on. It's terrifying.

But fear not. For although I have clearly and distinctly proven that dressing gowns are indeed a menace to both you and society, there’s still plenty of time for us to turn the tide and do the right, civilised thing.

That is, to throw the ghastly things away and just put a bloody jumper on.