If clothes could think or feel, they wouldn’t like us very much. We’re not nice to them. When we wash them (which we do pretty strictly for our own benefit), we submerge them in hot or cold water – an unpleasant happening either way. They’re thrown around and drowned. Thrown around again while baking in the dryer. We wear them, forcing our bodily secretions and odors onto them, as well as whatever [filth] nature has to offer. Or they’re stored away and neglected. Left for the bugs. Accumulating dust. We judge them based on “quality” and “style” then label them with a price.

I would not enjoy being an article of clothing.

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