Why I don’t iron

Once upon a time, dear reader, I was an Executive.

I was an ironed individual.

Over the last fifteen years of my working life I was the UK Chief Information Officer for the top two book publishing groups in the world. I worked extremely long days, travelled internationally and was totally wrapped up in the culture of my work. I lived and wore the uniform (dark colours, uncreased fabrics, subtle makeup, neatly trimmed and blow-dried hair, briefcase bag, phone, laptop) and although I was never obsessed by appearance, was always aware of what was expected and socially acceptable.

Since 2020 when I stopped working in that environment, burnt-out and disillusioned, my husband and I moved to the Isle of Skye and I haven’t ironed a single item of clothing since.

This is not laziness. It’s a stand. A figurative and celebratory line in the sand. It celebrates no longer having to live to the standards of others after decades of doing so.

People that knew me previously in a professional capacity would be horrified to see me now. We live on a croft, surrounded by weather, sea, bracken and mud. I am usually in wellies and leggings. The t-shirts, jumpers and sweatshirts that largely make up my wardrobe these days are often crumpled. My hair is usually messy. I stopped wearing make-up the day I left work and my skin is patchy with freckles and often with soil. I am happily unkempt.

I was reminded of all of this whilst I was clearing my study/sewing room a few days ago. I use an iron for seams and fabrics when I’m making things and it and an ironing board are propped up behind the door in my room for easy access. As I was pressing some seams the other day I was suddenly flooded by a memory of ironing a blouse for work in the wee small hours of a workday morning, and I chuckled to myself, filled with the release of not having to do that any longer.

Ironing the occasional piece of clothing really wouldn’t hurt me these days. It’s just become a kind of symbol of my previous working life and one that I don’t want to have incorporate into my new life of freedom on the croft. This is wonderful but strangely annoying at times as I love the feel of wearing natural fabrics now like linens that unfortunately look as if they’ve just come out of the wringer.

I know, I know, dear reader - if I take them out of the washing machine damp and line dry or smooth them before hanging them they’ll drop most of their creases, but as husband does most of the washing these days (hurrah!) everything mostly goes into the tumble dryer, and although that’s fine for cottons, linen does not like that. I can’t honestly be bothered to do that and Skye weather does not lend itself to much line-drying with all of our rain.

But the reality of it is that I feel it’s only a short hop and skip from smoothing before drying to ironing again, and I’m not going to go there.

I shall remain my crumpled self and anyone who can’t see past that to the person within isn’t really going to be worth knowing.