Drycleaner Hell

The liminal space between when a garment is being cleaned and when it returns to the closet.

Drycleaner Hell is a state of mind that persists between dropping off a well-loved and irreplaceable (or very expensive to replace) item at the drycleaner and picking it up. That it should cause so much anguish (I know it shouldn’t) is because how the clothing will be treated and whether it will be returned in its previous state is entirely out of my hands.

And to a control freak (at least in all things involving my wardrobe) that is a terrifying prospect.

My most memorable stay in Drycleaner Hell came after my wedding in 2019. In the bleary morning after, I noticed that there were food stains on the trousers of the Ralph Lauren Purple Label tuxedo that I’d bought at a considerable discount (the model was being retired) just weeks before the nuptials.

In a panic, I brought the trousers to a drycleaner down the block. As I left, I saw a truck pull up to its storefront, and watched as an employee threw huge bags of clothing in God know’s what condition to the pavement below (as you may likely know, very few dry cleaners clean on-site, and instead farm clothing out to an industrial plant used my various cleaners). I shuddered at at the thought of how my tuxedo trousers would be handled, but at least my jacket was safe.

After a few anxiety-soaked days during which I imagined that the trousers were gone for good (could I just keep the jacket as a smoking jacket?), the garment was picked up and revealed to be completely spotless. Success—until I noticed that they’d been pressed with a crease that was now entirely off-center, and so severely that some very small burn marks were visible on the cloth.

Around the same time, I noticed just the slightest smudge on the presumably safe jacket’s satin shawl lapel . I did the classic, unthinking thing, and dabbed it with water. Naturally, the water stain it left behind was more noticeable than the blemish it was meant to cover.

Now I was in a real pickle. The jacket would have to be cleaned too, but I wasn’t returning to the neighborhood drycleaner that had (ever so slightly) scorched my pants. Acting on the advice of an employee at the Boston Ralph Lauren store (where I’d brought the trousers back in to be properly creased), I took the jacket to a more high-end cleaner, which had the hopeful distinction of cleaning all of its garments on-site.

So the jacket went to this second cleaner, and days passed where its state was hardly ever out of my mind. Then it, too, was ready, and revealed to be immaculately spotless, its only fault being a bit of wrinkling left from its press in the shoulders.

A satisfactory ending? I thought so, until I for some reason began reading a Styleforum thread on drycleaning. As its posters warned, you should never dryclean the trousers or jacket of a suit separately. Because drycleaning chemicals can fade the color of a garment ever-so-slightly, you could end up with a suit that’s no longer a suit.

It was after this revelation that I entered the seventh circle of drycleaning hell. Days would pass where I’d do nothing but stare at photos of the separately cleaned tuxedo pants and jacket on my phone, wondering if they were still the same shade of black. I’d send the photo to friends asking if they detected any difference, and they probably wondered if I was all right.

I think I eventually took the trousers to the second cleaner, to be cleaned again for consistency’s sake. Although that would run the risk of perhaps fading them further, throwing off the color even more.

To be honest, I don’t remember what I ended up doing. I recall that I wore it again, over two years later, to a friend’s birthday party. At no point did I stop to consider whether its components were the same shade of black, or whether anyone could have noticed those slight burn marks on the trouser, or the wrinkle by the shoulder. I had a great time.

But, I did notice that the length of the jacket seemed a little short now. And weren’t the trouser legs just a little too slim, and the hem floating just a tad higher than I now preferred?

No, the clothes hadn’t shrunk—I’d just begun to favor different proportions as I learned more about clothing and what I liked. And so this tuxedo, which I’d once spent so much time and energy anguishing over, was put on eBay and promptly sold to a nice young man in Montreal who informed me that it was for his own wedding.

I hope he wore it well. And that it didn’t have to be cleaned afterward. And that if it did, he didn’t lose any sleep over so minor a concern.

Cut, Make & Trim

• I’ve had a few fun dispatches at Robb Report since this newsletter was last sent, namely, the story behind Callum Turner’s off-white shearling jacket in Masters of the Air, a report on how tailors are increasingly turning showrooms into de-facto clubs, and a feature on the new Arterton showroom in London’s Princes Arcade. Meanwhile, I wrote up my cocktail of the night for some months now—the Perfect Manhattan—for Drake’s.

• A new issue of the ever-fascinating Byzantium Review is out, featuring an interview with the great G. Bruce Boyer.

• I’ve just discovered that Kamukura is also making unconstructed blazers with all the Ivy fixings. Because of my own weird sizing (thin with gibbon-like limbs), these would look terrible on me. But if they’d fit your proportions, I’m jealous.