FluffCo Facebook ad: “8 Reasons For Luxury Sleep | FluffCo”

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2265913637487758

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I stole a pillow from a hotel in Maui last summer. I'm not proud of it. The general manager wrote me a letter three weeks later. It was the third night. We had been at the resort for three nights and I had been sleeping like a person in a mattress ad. You know what I mean. Curled up. Smiling slightly. Hair somehow perfectly arranged on the pillow. The kind of sleep that happens to women in soft-focus shots on travel-magazine covers and never to me, in my actual life, at home, where I am 51 and I sleep on my side and I usually wake up at 3:47am with a stiff neck and a headache and the unshakeable sense that I will not be a productive person tomorrow. On the first night I had assumed it was the bed. On the second night I had assumed it was the wine. On the third night, I lay there at 6:30am, having slept eight hours uninterrupted, and I thought: it’s the pillow. I need this pillow. The pillow was unbranded. I checked. There was no tag. There was no information. There was nothing on the bedside table about bedding. I picked up the in-room compendium and there was no section on the bedroom or where to buy any of it. I rang housekeeping. "Hello, I'm in room 614. I just wanted to ask about the pillows on the bed — what brand are they?" There was a pause. "I'm so sorry ma'am, I'm not able to share that information." "Sorry?" "It is one of our hotel's signature amenities and our supplier relationship is private." I asked if I could speak to a manager. I was transferred to a very polite woman who said the same thing in slightly longer sentences. I asked if they had a hotel shop where I could buy one. They didn’t. I asked if there was a mailing list I could join to be told when they did. There was not. I hung up. My husband was reading on the balcony. "I'm taking one home." He looked up. "You are not taking one home." "I am taking one home. I want it on record that I am about to commit a crime, and you cannot say I did not warn you." That night, after dinner, I took the pillow off my side of the bed, wrapped it in one of the resort's white spa towels, and laid it carefully at the bottom of my suitcase under a folded sundress and a pair of swim shoes. I closed the suitcase. I sat down on it. I felt my own heartbeat in my ears. The next morning, the housekeeper came in while we were at breakfast and remade the bed with a fresh pillow. She would never know. The hotel had hundreds of these pillows. I had taken one. We checked out at 11. We flew home overnight. I unpacked at 2pm the next afternoon. I put the pillow on my bed. I slept perfectly for three weeks. Then, on a Friday, the letter arrived. It was hand-written. Cream cardstock. The hotel's logo embossed at the top. Posted from Hawaii three weeks before. It was from the general manager. "Dear Ms ——, We were saddened to note, at housekeeping turnover on the morning of your departure, that one of the pillows from suite 614 was no longer present in the room. We do not assume the worst. Pillows can be misplaced during stays, and we know our guests do not always take inventory. However, I write because if it is the case that you wished to take a piece of our bedding home with you, we would like the opportunity to offer it to you formally rather than retrospectively. Our pillows are made to our specifications by a small supplier on the U.S. mainland and we do not, as a matter of policy, sell them through our retail channel. If you would be kind enough to confirm or otherwise, we will close our internal record either way. With warm regards, [Name redacted], General Manager" I cried at the kitchen table. I had spent three weeks sleeping like the dead on a stolen pillow, and now the general manager of the most expensive hotel I have ever stayed in had written me a personal handwritten letter — not threatening, not legalistic, just kind — politely asking whether I had taken the pillow. I wrote back. I confessed. I sent a cheque. I asked, with the cheque, whether I could possibly know the brand of pillow, because it was the only one I had ever loved. He wrote back a second letter, two weeks later. He returned the cheque. He said that as a goodwill gesture from the resort, they considered the pillow a memento, and he asked only that I refrain from doing it again in future. He did not tell me the brand. I did not blame him. For seven months I lived on the stolen pillow. I treated it like a museum object. I made the bed around it as though it would not last. When my husband bumped against it I felt physically ill. I knew, somewhere in the back of my head, that pillows do not last forever, and that one day this pillow would go flat, and on that day I would have nothing. Then last October, a friend of mine — who had heard the hotel-pillow story at a dinner party because it is, frankly, the only interesting thing I have ever done — sent me a text. "I think I found your pillow. Go to fluff.co. Look at the Down Alternative Firm. Tell me if I'm right." I went online. I looked at the photographs. I read the specifications. The dimensions matched. The weight matched. The description matched word for word the feeling of the pillow I had stolen. I ordered two. They arrived on a Tuesday. I put one of them on the bed, beside the stolen one. I lay down. I put my face on one. Then on the other. Then on the first. Then on the second. I went through this sequence about four times. They were the same pillow. I do not know whether the resort's supplier is FluffCo or whether the resort uses an OEM version of a similar build. I do not care, because the pillow on my bed now feels exactly like the pillow I committed a crime for in Maui. The thing I had thought was rare and unattainable and worth stealing from one of the best hotels in the world was sitting on the internet for a fraction of what I would have happily paid through the nose to a luxury hotel boutique. I have since ordered six more. Two for our bed. Two for the guest bed. Two for the chaise in my office where I read in the afternoons. The stolen pillow has been retired to a linen bag in the cupboard, where it lives next to my wedding tiara and the school reports of my grown children. It is a relic. It belongs to a younger, more lawless me. If you are reading this, and you have ever stayed in a hotel and lain there in the dark thinking, "I would, in fact, steal this pillow," I want to spare you the international incident. The pillow is FluffCo. It is not stolen. It is for sale, on the internet, for a fraction of what you would expect, and you do not have to write a letter of apology to anybody. — Marina, 51, California P.S. — I have not been back to that hotel. I want to. But I am not sure my photograph isn't taped to the back of the housekeeping office as the woman to watch. P.P.S. — The pillow I ordered from FluffCo is the Down Alternative Firm. I am a side sleeper. If you are a back or stomach sleeper, get the Soft. The website explains the difference clearly and the customer-service team (I asked them three questions before ordering). P.P.P.S. — Get two. Because the day you put it on your bed, you are going to lie down on your husband's side just to confirm. And then your husband is going to roll over in the morning and feel the difference between his side and yours and ask, with mild outrage, where his is. This is what happened in my house. I have learned my lesson. Two pillows. Always.

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https://try.fluff.co

8 Reasons For Luxury Sleep | FluffCo

Our Down Alternative pillows are machine washable. Machine wash cold with a gentle detergent. Tumble dry thoroughly on low with a few tennis or dryer balls.