Over the years, you’ve sent me quite a bit of random stuff with no explanation. Vera dishtowels, hanks of yarn, toile pillows. I take it all with gratitude and sometimes mystification.
An item you sent a couple of years ago has turned out to be wildly useful:
The Lilly Save Our Sweaters Brush.
Rolling toward the conclusion of my six-sweater Washathon Washalong, this Lilly Brush is front and center.
Two of my washalong sweaters had pilled enough to leave me looking waifish and not the good kind of waifish: Heather the Almost Lost Sweater from 2002, and Laurel the Alpaca Pullover/Antarctic Survival Suit.
I haven’t done a comprehensive survey of de-pilling options. (Here’s Good Housekeeping‘s rundown if you’re into this.) (Why wouldn’t you be?)
It’s nothing more than a narrow bristle brush. It’s not electric, like those sweater shavers that scare the crap out of me and look like they’d burrow into my stockinette like a wood beetle. It’s not like those pumice sweater stones that leave gray crumblets in my sweater.
It’s just a brush, and when you swipe away at your matted sleeve, it looks better.
It doesn’t repair your terrible mattress stitch technique from 2002. And it’s not a magic wand. But sometimes a low-tech gizmo can be just the thing.
I leave you with the only creatures more interested in my freshly washed sweaters than I am.
Kermit drew close and breathed deeply, deeply.
And, of course, there was Elliott, king of the hill:
PS Thanks so much to everybody who took part in the Great Emily Ringelman Dry Out Event over the past two days. Emily writes that she’s got a six-month rebuilding project ahead of her down in Baton Rouge. Here’s a video of her house at the moment—where’d the bottom part go? Hundreds and hundreds of patterns were bought—she’s so grateful for the help. Take a peek and buy a pattern if you haven’t had a chance.