If embodying integrity is what we do when no one is watching, then you might infer that pajamas are the closest approximation to our honest self. As a teenager indoctrinated by glossy fashion magazines, I assumed that with age would come sophisticated sleepwear. When I was older—I imagined—I would wear matching lingerie sets in oxblood and baby blue during the day and shimmering pajama sets at night. Birthdays came and went, but I kept crawling under the covers in a rotating cast of cotton worn thin from endless dryer cycles and high-waist briefs.
As an excuse, I might blame my six-foot-two frame for my disappointing pajama trajectory. The average pair makes me look like a scarecrow, with exposed forearms and wrists. Opting for tall men’s styles from outdoors mainstays like Lands’ End and L.L.Bean has been a Band-Aid. Instead of drifting to sleep feeling sophisticated, I feel like a character out of Little House on the Prairie. And by character, I mean Pa.
As 26-year-olds are wont to do, I set out to change my life by changing my outfit. Pajamas are not just for sleeping; they’re what you wear when nobody’s watching. I acquired aspirational sleepwear, the silky kind cool girls wear to flashy dinners with platform heels and a cat-eye. My drawer of oversized cotton was dumped in some dark corner of my closet.
Arriving home late with a looming deadline, I decided to test my hypothesis that expensive pajamas might carry the transformative property of imbibing the everyday with meaning, even while awake. I slipped into a pair of Sleeper’s Party Pajamas, which has become a de facto sleepwear-off-duty look over the past few years. The effect was instant. There was something undeniably glamorous about wearing feathers to update a gift guide at my dining room table.
Writer and consultant Chrissy Rutherford has always had a thing for matching pajama sets. “As I’ve gotten older, I’ve definitely become more intentional about cultivating a wardrobe of sleepwear that I enjoy,” she notes. “It’s just part of my routine, like taking a bath and taking care of my skin—why not add a luxurious pajama set? These are things I do that make me feel good.” I phoned Tori Simokov, a fellow tall person and noted main character advocate, to get her take. Turns out, she’d resolved to wear better pajamas this year. “All of a sudden I had a vision of myself as someone who was more deliberate in the way they went to bed,” she explained. “I am someone who searches for pleasure in small things; choosing to wear nice pj’s is such an easy way to find it.”
On a path toward small, pleasurable things, I paired the next night’s pajamas, a boxy set from the forever covetable Desmond Dempsey, with a floor-length silk robe from the posh newcomer Petite Plume.
My husband eyed me suspiciously as I lit a candle to read a book on the sofa. It was hard to deny the extravagance of my apparent upgrade. One day, I wore the tartan Nap Dress I’d been sleeping in with black leather boots and an oversized cashmere sweater to a breakfast date. My former sleepwear could never even dream of seeing the light of day.
I felt something change in the first week of my intentional pajama experiment. I woke up more eager to write before dawn. I fell asleep easily, replacing the rushed outfit change from Levi’s to Hanes with a dramatic shift into something silk. Call it main character energy, an air of intentionality, or even old-fashioned consumerism, but wearing chic pajamas made me feel like the version of myself I dreamed of as a teenager.