The person who is knowingly and willfully hoarding the nice end of our double wardrobe at the moment, the side nearest the door where you never have to reach up or crouch down into – you know who you are and you’ve said nothing in your defence. Not one word. We’ve had three separate conversations about it and all you lot do is sit there quietly. Smuggsy. Which we are interpreting as guilt.
Here’s the thing. This is the true everyday domestic life of owning one of these.
The nice marketing photos lie to you – it’s actually two separate wardrobes squished together like they’re married.
And it never splits evenly down the middle the way you dream about it doing when you go looking for one online.
One side always winds up with all the heavy shit, coats, the things you actually wear on a Tuesday. The other half secretly has a giant unplanned museum of last years festival wristbands, a suit you wore once, a coat nobody can reach. Nobody told that side to become a dumping ground for the rubbish the other half don’t want to deal with. It just does. Didn’t you used to have a toy when you were kids that could magically fill with sand? It’s like that.
Okay, we will give a double wardrobe this. If you have kids, it completely eliminates the He said, She said approach to argument by physically making arguments possible. Just hear us out. One wardrobe forces you and your partner into one giant pile of beddedded clothes. Have two and suddenly you have neatly divided territories to be enraged over separately. Hell, that’s civilisation right there.
The centre bit though. EVERY double wardrobe has that cursed gap between the two separate rails. It’s where junk goes to die. Single socks, someone’s scarf, a carrier bag thats been in there so long its disintegrated into the mesh. We’ve never seen anyone use that bit successfully. If closets had belly buttons – that bit would be scar tissue.
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Then we come to the drawers at the bottom. Nobody tells you about these either. They start out life filled with neatly folded vests and then transform into sick bins for miscellaneous drawer stuff. Chargers, spare buttons, that one Christmas card you got sent in August. It’s not a flaw in the design of wardrobes.
It’s just what drawers turn into when they’re located near a wardrobe.
It’s the law of wardrobe physics at this point.
The one thing we WILL defend up-front is the doors.
A wardrobe whose doors refuse to stay closed is inferior to one that does. It gapes open at you in the mornings like a kidnapper. Focus on the hinges. Or the doors. Try anything – because if you own a wardrobe that swings open in the night and nearly gives you a heart attack, we WANT TO HEAR ABOUT IT.
The real test of a wardrobe isn’t getting it inside your house – it’s taking it back out again three years later. Two toddlers, a spirit level no-one wants to hold and language that we’d struggle to print verbatim. Every single one of us has had a row about dismantling a wardrobe at some point. Coincidentally the only thing our group chat agrees on.
