This post originally appeared on Murder Is Everywhere.
Say you were to spend the night in my house, or hang in the living room, lounge on the porch, or have a cup of tea in my study. I would be happy for your company. Yet you would probably notice you were sharing space with plenty of pillows.
Cushions are unavoidable in my home. This morning, as my husband Tony drank coffee on our couch which by its nature is made up of large, loose pillows, I asked him what he thought about the pillow situation in our home. My concern was piqued because he’d made a half-hearted grumble, a few nights running, about how many pillows it required for me to sleep comfortably.
Tony answered me thus. “I think we have way too many, particularly the smaller ones. I think I need one or maybe two for sleeping. We have square ones, cylinder ones, and it’s a little much.” Deep breath. “To me.”
His last modest qualifier is exactly the kind of reason we have made it through seven homes and lasted thirty five years and counting.
I then asked Tony to guess how many pillows are in the house. He guessed fifteen. I told him the truth. We have more than sixty.
I’m the one who brought every pillow into our house. And it’s not like I’m trying to fill a vacated nest. You see, my passion for pillows started a long time ago. With a gift from Mom. Oh, how I wish I had a picture of my old room for you!
My mother designed a bedroom for me in second grade, right after my parents bought our home in the University Grove neighborhood of St. Paul, Minnesota in 1971. Mom was a genius at sewing and design, and she was firm about a pale pink and navy color scheme for my small bedroom that she thought would flex with me as I grew up (it did). With the help of a friend, she stripped 1950s wallpaper and painted the room the delicate color of a seashell’s interior. Shortly thereafter, my twin bed was dressed with a bedspread of dark navy cotton with small pink flowers and pink and white gingham check throw pillows edged in eyelet that she sewed herself. I was a pink fanatic (still love the hue) but she had an aesthetic sense that wouldn’t allow the room to become a Barbie-pink, tacky zone.
Not only was I blessed to have my own room—I was selected as the only solo sleeper in our family of three girls—but I had a hideaway with a soothing color scheme and throw pillows that made my heart vibrate. My mother’s taste was everywhere. Downstairs, the Scandinavian modern chairs in the living room also were decorated by pillows covered in handmade embroidered covers that were either brought from India or stitched out of extraordinary fabric collected by my mother, who ultimately studied textile science at the nearby University of Minnesota. Even now, while in her eighties, every year that my mother visits India, she makes special trips to regional textile artisans and comes back with new cushion covers and fabrics.
I’m not gifted at sewing and design, but I learned from Mom that to make a home, throw pillows are not optional. I hold that every surface you can sit or lie on benefits from an assembly of contrasting cushions. I watched a video about pillow styling a few years ago, and that sent me on a track for different shapes, such as round pillows, small narrow ones, and the ultimate prize: an Uzbek silk embroidered Suzani square pillow, vintage, 18-inches square.
Almost all the pillows in my home have patterns. There are various paisleys from World Market’s various collections, the Liberty Print calico holiday design handmade by someone on Etsy, fine Indian embroidery and mirror-work from cushion covers gifted by friends, and an aged red silk pillow with vaguely Chinese embroidery and the very best back support. I once had an antique gold brocade recamier—a skinny Empire style daybed—that absolutely defined my home design aesthetic. After twenty-odd years of service, when several feet broke and it had become ratty-looking, I finally allowed it to leave home. Yet I obstinately kept its two perfectly useable brocade bolsters. How can you donate used pillows? Nobody wants old cushions or stuffed animals or mattresses because of the possibility of importing bedbugs and the like.
Here’s a practical reason that I love pillows: I’m a small person. I used to be five-four on my driver’s license. I’m now five-two. Short legs mean most modern chairs and couches have too deep a seat for me. Hence the pillows. They bring my body closer to the chair’s edge, so I can actually bend my knees and sit ergonomically.
And what about all the pillows on my bed? I’ve lived with a stiff neck since 2016, and my back and shoulders make occasional complaints. My sleeping pillow collection contains seven different models. Two memory foam pillows have unique patent-pending construction, and while they feel great to lie down on, the shape is strange enough that I can’t usually go four nights without changing to one of the others. My pillow strategy is to keep changing things around for comfort. A physical therapist recommended to me a side-sleeping strategy of one pillow for the head, a long pillow behind the back, and a pillow in front of body to cradle an arm and leg.
I also rely on pillows while I am doing my morning and afternoon writing sessions. A supremely comfortable position for me is to write in bed, or on any loveseat or chair, with a bolster under my legs and my feet propped up on an ottoman. Then all I need to add is a firm, high pillow for the laptop or iPad, plus a back of the neck pillow and something for the lower back. An extra throw pillow beneath my right elbow relieves writing stress. With a pillow strategy like this, who even needs a desk? This kind of setup saves money, alleviates neck pain, and allows writing to happen anywhere: hotels, living rooms, beds, couches.
Some of my pillows are admitted strike outs. I rarely use the weighted pillow meant to trigger calming—at least $50 if I remember right—that weighs a whopping ten pounds on its own and is encased in drab navy terrycloth. It’s also too wide and heavy to fit into any kind of cushion cover. Other pillows that aren’t my favorites are lumbar pillows from Pottery Barn made of a scratchy wool-like fabric, and from Wayfair, some small, hard outdoor pillows that in a rough fabric that I do credit for being incredibly stain resistant, and also for coming in attractive colors. They aren’t treasures like my embroidered silk pillows. However, I’ve been using them for five years because they can live outdoors without getting spoiled and quite improve the atmosphere of my boring white-cushioned seats.
And that’s the thing about pillows. They liven up the ordinary, especially because they are “pops of color,” as the designers say, adding energy. They’re a bit like having collections of books in a room, either on tables or in bookcases. Their existence reassures you.
At the same time, I realize that too many pillows can make a room feel cluttered. I challenged myself today to remove and store up on a spare bed on the third floor, a dozen pillows out of my grand battalion. I’ve started with bolsters, and gone on to worn-looking 12-inch squares. I only made it up to five pillows shifted to purgatory. Maybe in a few months, I will add more, and permanently remove whatever’s upstairs. I’m not ready to discard them.
Four years ago, we had a rodent problem on this third floor, which lies just under the attic. I discovered a sleeping pillow that had been gnawed open, a portion of synthetic fluff torn out, presumably to make a cuddly nest. I thought to myself: you dreadful mouse, why not just take the whole pillow? Make it easier for someone like me, who can’t let go.
