The Domestic Politics of Pillows - What Were You Thinking?

Pillows are like wedge issues in relationships. Viewed as a fundamental right to some, to others, they are an overfunded nuisance and irritant. Bloated and self-important.

Historically, pillows were status symbols. Ancient Egyptians used headrests made of carved wood, ivory, or stone, which were literal neck support devices to keep their elaborate hairstyles intact and aid in air circulation under their hair and neck. The Chinese stuffed theirs with jade and porcelain to promote good posture and spiritual clarity, which is the opposite of what most of us do when we collapse onto the couch with cookie crumbs on our chests, as a soft, forgiving cushion nestles our necks. Fast forward a few centuries, and pillows have gone from tools of spiritual alignment to full-blown lifestyle statements.

Now, if you happen to walk into a bordello and see throw pillows, you don’t sit. You might assess the fabric for sheen and think twice about touching anything that looks like crushed velvet. In these environments, pillows are not about lumbar support, but rather a kaleidoscope of DNA jumbled into questionable stains and unwashed secrets.

But step into a home, especially one curated by someone with taste and a current Pinterest board, and pillows suddenly become the unsung heroes of coziness. They are the great equalizer. A bachelor apartment can feel as plush as a mansion’s sitting room with the right toss of a cushion. Want to update your home for less than the price of a haircut? Try a pillow. It’s the interior design equivalent of Botox for any bored living room.

The only downside? Storage. Pillow covers are miraculous. You can roll them, stack them, or even file them by season, especially if you’re a Type A individual with a taste for tactile joy. But pillows themselves? They’re fluffy squatters taking up precious closet real estate, multiplying like rabbits on double espresso. You’ll need a dedicated wing in your home to store the “off-season” ones. They’re the trust fund kid of home decor, taking up space, entitled and overstuffed, doing the bare minimum while demanding an entire closet to themselves.

And here’s where the gender wars begin. Many of my friends, stylish, evolved women, are in pillow-heavy relationships. Their partners, predictably, do not share that affection. Every night is a silent standoff, the decorative battalion removed, one by one, flung to the floor like soft-bodied casualties of aesthetic warfare. Their partners do not understand that pillows are not merely things; they are moods. They do not clutter the bed; they set the stage.

For reasons still being studied by scientists and divorce lawyers, men, particularly those in partnerships, appear to struggle with understanding the appeal of decorative pillows. To them, they are a nuisance. A textile-based obstacle course stands between them and either sleep or a chair. They don’t see the embroidered lumber cushion as a mood lifter or a seasonal vibe shift. It’s something they have to remove while muttering under their breath? “Why do we have six of these?” The universe gifted us four seasons, two major holidays, a slew of annual celebrations and an ever-evolving sense of interior design. What are we supposed to do? To our partners, they are clutter, which is ironic considering all the tangled charging cords they collect, golf clubs or having a dozen pairs of the same sneaker. To us, they are emotional support objects. We want the right to express ourselves through accents and subtle boucle while being left in peace. Pillows subscribe to the “lipstick index,” which states that when the economy tanks, you buy a new lipstick because you can’t afford a new wardrobe. When a room tanks, you buy pillows.

Pillows come in a variety of styles and can be hard or soft, square or lumbar, with tassels or piping, striped, embroidered, beaded, quilted, fringed, knotted, or appliquéd with inspirational lies like “Live Love Laugh” or “Good Vibes” Only.” Their variety is infinite. And their purpose? Pure magic. With a quick switch, your linen-blend, seafoam summer vibe can become a burnt-orange, nubby-textured ode to autumn. Spring? Pastels. Winter? Faux fur all through the miracle of pillows. Their ‘do not remove tag’ warning is the most ignored law in the Western world, and in any relationship, they are the first battle. Pillow storage can be a gateway to hoarding, and the more expensive the pillow, the less comfortable it tends to be. It’s the one thing we drool on, cry holding, spill coffee on, fart next to if not into and flatten with our body weight, and then display like trophies because they match the rug so well and coordinate with the drapes.

So no, I don’t have 35 pillows on my bed. I’m not a monster. I happen to have three—one for sleeping, one for reading, and one for lying flat. I’m functional, not delusional. However, almost all our chairs have pillows that are rotated seasonally.

I respect the pillow lovers, those who treat their homes like ever-evolving galleries of luxurious comfort. Love them or hate them, everyone uses them. Imagine a world where pillowcase shops are on every corner, where we prioritize seasonal textiles over seasonal depression.

But one can only dream, preferably on a curated stack of Belgian linen, goose-down dreams.