- Look, this would be a better story if the pillows were good. That would be complicated, and maybe confronting such an inconvenient truth would yield some kind of worthwhile insight about the nature of man and how we can tolerate evil in exchange for comfort. I don’t know if it comes through, but that’s sort of what I’m going for here, generally, in my work as Washington correspondent for New York Magazine. I take no pleasure at all in reporting that these pillows are just as bad as you would assume they are.
My father-in-law has a MyPillow. He bought my wife a MyPillow. He didn't buy me one. That's A-OK.
My wife tolerates her MyPillow. She's mentioned lately that she should probably burn it, considering, but despaired when my last voyage to Bed Bath & Beyond revealed that they're swirling the bankruptcy bowl and have gotten rid of things like... housewares. It's kind of an As-Seen-on-TV store with coupons now. When I told her that BB&B was no longer carrying MyPillow she asked what other pillows they carried. "I didn't see any," I said. Thus, she continues to sleep on a MyPillow.
The principle advantage of the MyPillow is I don't take it and fold it in half when she's not around to take a nap on. The arrival of the MyPillow mostly served to encourage my wife to tell me to leave her fucking pillow alone. She's a spectacular woman with exceedingly simple needs so I don't so much as touch her pillow anymore. The principal advantage, as far as she's concerned, is that it doesn't have a crease in the middle.
I would say that a MyPillow is basically a Tempurpedic pillow run through a wood chipper and stuffed in a cotton bag. This means it is lighter, lumpier and breathes just as shittily as a Tempurpedic pillow. A Tempurpedic pillow, on the other hand, becomes the sweaty thigh of your least favorite aunt in the summer and a wet bag of sand in the winter so running one through a chipper is, I suppose, innovative.