Dear Matching Tie-Dyed Sweatsuit Set,
I’m calling this our anniversary because it’s the date you officially arrived at my house, one year ago today—but we both know our flirtation began long before that.
It all started with a casual run-in, between Instagram Stories. If I remember correctly, you first popped up after Chrissy Teigen eating a meatball sub and before my friend’s ex-boyfriend’s wedding video. I thought you were cute but that we couldn’t possibly have anything in common—me, a person who wears stained Hanes pajama pants from Walmart, and you, a matching sweatsuit set with tie-dyed splotches that a teen YouTube star might wear to go buy a matcha latte.
A few days later, I saw you on my “Explore” page. You stood out from the standard collection of cake-decorating videos and paparazzi photos of Jake Gyllenhaal from the early two-thousands. I allowed myself to look at you a little longer, taking in your relaxed-yet-fitted jogger-style pants and your crew-neck top. From my cursory assessment, I knew that I would look either cool or absolutely terrible in you. I had this nagging feeling that I should run away immediately. My Hanes from Walmart may not be sexy, but they were reliably comfortable. What if you were itchy or had complicated washing instructions? You might be gorgeous, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to commit to hang-drying you for the rest of my life. I closed out of Instagram and tried to put you out of my mind.
But fate had other plans for us. A few nights later, after I finished watching a video on Facebook from the Dodo about a deer and a squirrel who live in a doghouse together, you coyly snuck onto my screen, beckoning me with your perfectly placed neon splotches and tapered ankles. “Funny seeing you here,” I said, giggling a little too loudly and startling my cat, who was sleeping at the time. Maybe I was wrong about you. It couldn’t be a coincidence that we both enjoyed spending inordinate amounts of time on the Dodo’s Facebook page, right?
I felt my reservations melt away as my finger tapped the screen to open your Web site. The model who was wearing you looked so happy and spontaneous—two vibes I have never been able to successfully convey. I spent a good twenty seconds dreaming about the kind of person I could be if I owned you. Then I saw that you cost $198, which I knew was deeply incompatible with my bank account.
I couldn’t believe it, but, two hours later, you popped up on the CNN home page in the Paid Advertisements section. It was then that I knew we had something special that refused to be ignored. It might not be easy, but I promised myself, in that moment, that I was going to fight to make it work. I’d just stop buying groceries for a few weeks—a small sacrifice if it meant having you in my life. I added you to my cart without thinking twice. “When you know, you know,” I whispered to myself. After a quick autofill of my address and credit-card information, we finally had plans to meet in seven to ten business days.
It was thrilling thinking that you’d be in my house so soon. I cleared out a spot in my closet for you and tracked your progress on the FedEx Web site like an expectant child watching the NORAD Santa Tracker on Christmas Eve. You spent an agonizingly long three days in a Louisville, Kentucky, processing center with zero new updates. I kept checking my phone, hoping to see that you were O.K. and on the move—but nothing. I was about to call Louisville when I received a text saying you were “in transit.” “To where?” I yelled out, in my apartment, startling my other cat. “You were supposed to arrive three days ago!”
Mercifully, you made it to New Jersey by Monday and were “out for delivery” by Tuesday. I refreshed the FedEx site at least fifty times on your arrival date. And then you were finally there, on my doorstep, in a cheerful orange box emblazoned with your brand name, SWTST (sweatsuit with no vowels), in a sans-serif font. I blushed and nervously carried you across the threshold. It’s funny how unprepared you can feel for a moment you’ve been dreaming about for so long.
I opened up your box and pulled you out. Stripping off my Hanes pants, I was embarrassed to realize that I hadn’t shaved my legs in months. I felt certain that the girl in your ads shaved her legs at least every two days. I slipped you on anyway, and was surprised to find that I didn’t look cool or absolutely terrible—I just looked kind of O.K. I could definitely wear you outside to get the mail, but I wouldn’t want to be seen wearing you to the grocery store. I couldn’t afford to buy groceries for a few weeks anyway, though, so it didn’t matter.
Since that day, we’ve only become more and more comfortable with each other. Now, I wear you to take out the trash, and I haven’t washed you in months because the cold-water button on my washing machine is broken. You went from hanging in my closet when we first met, to lying on my chair, and now can regularly be found lounging on my floor. I love how much my cats like to curl up on you. Your bond with them is so special and means the world to me.
After our year together, I wouldn’t say that you’re the best $198 I ever spent, but I’d never, ever return you. What we have is special and, most important, real. Also, your company didn’t offer free returns.
Yours,
Katie
