I bought a linen pillowcase in March. It was forty euros, which felt absurd, and I almost returned it twice before I’d even washed it.
I have washed it three times now and I am, frankly, unreasonable about it. It feels cool in the way the inside of a tent feels cool in summer. It rumples in the right places. It makes the bed look like it belongs to a person who has their life together, which I would like very much to be true.
The pillowcase did not change my life. It changed about four square inches of my life. But those four square inches are very, very nice.