the snooze reviews

i am a professional sleeper. i review products and methods i use either when attempting to get the fuck to sleep, or when trying to avoid sleeping forever and ever

[sleep-suit]

baby seal

Look at this handsome fucker. This is Baby Seal, and he’s been in my bed longer than any boyfriend, faithfully by my side for the past 10 years. He’s no childhood toy. Ruled too ugly by my parents, in a very late act of rebellion at an age of probably 17 years, I brought him home from a zoo gift shop where I’m going to assume there were better looking toys.

His face seems to have been stitched on by a person who maybe didn’t have fingers, and there’s a really unsatisfactory combination of beans and stuffing inside him that’s made him permanently misshapen. But he’s the most loyal friend a girl could wish for.

Baby Seal usually sleeps under my crooked arm, and I’m ashamed to say he’s probably carrying a good coating of accumulated human sweat, along with probably saliva and definitely tears. This gruesome golbin of a soft toy has seen me through my hardest times, enduring either being thrown at offending lovers, or being told repeatedly of my woes at 3am. He stares at me in what I believe is mute affirmation. He is lost down the side of the bed.

I’m sure you’ve got a faithful friend who’ll loyally accompany you in your sleeping pursuits too. If you haven’t, I would highly recommend finding an underdog runt of a companion whom you can back with the spirit of true sportsmanship. No matter how many people complain he’s “watching them from the other side of the room wherever they’re standing” or that he “smells like decay,” he’ll always be there. He’ll always back you too.

Does he help me sleep? 9/10 every damn night. I’ve deducted a point for pure ugliness here, but this is a review which is going to be hard to beat.

[sleep-suit]

this blog exists to promote this love letter to a disgusting stuffed seal

[sleep-suit]

christy plain-dye cotton sateen linen, and an imposter

It should come as no surprise​ that when it comes to bed linen, I’m a special pure little snowflake princess. I have a penchant for a high thread count and a higher price tag on my sheets, preferably the good Egyptian shit. I’ve endured years of teasing from friends and you can usually find me in the discount area of any department store taking sheets out of packets to test their softness (face nuzzles are sometimes involved).

I’ve inherited a love for sheets from my mother, obviously an insomniac, and of course it’s her thirst for a bargain that also gets me into these situations. I was taught to sacrifice a bit of style for quality and a good deal and so I’ve got a ton of mismatched colours, but what they lack in coherence they make up for in pure satisfaction.

I was always an Egyptian cotton fan. I love that it lasts, never bobbles, and get softer the more you use and wash it. It’s usually cool and the John Lewis range are my staples for flat sheets.

But the grandest love affair has been with a linen set whose heritage is unknown. I acquired it from a friend who was leaving university to go home to Hong Kong, and couldn’t take a mountain of linen with him. Instead of taking everything to the charity shop, I threw the set on the bed whilst I was washing my own and it kinda.. stayed. It’s been six years. I’ve repaired buttons, I’ve washed out coffee stains, I’ve quietly ignored a massive hole torn in one of the pillowcases. My beloved linen is as soft and cool as it always was.

In a final high maintenance act, I started to only sleep on this particular set of pillowcases. I’d take them away with me, keep them from my partners and wash them in a day so they could be back on my bed by nightfall. I wondered if it was time to invest in some kind of replacement​. My skin itched at the thought. My friends started to call less and less.

I researched different types of cotton and weave to try and establish what slice of heavenly dream-spun cloud these bastards were made from, thinking a thread count of a million, maybe sateen. A couple of months later, and four years in, I found an answer. There was a label. How had it taken me this long to find out this crucial information I don’t know but I’m going to blame on pure, blinding obsession and an inability to sleep when there are things near my nose, let alone cognise.

The sheets were by Christy, known to me for their towels, and I spent a couple of late nights on eBay trying to find the exact set. People were saying that percale was a deliciously smooth and cool fabric but I’d always been warned off it. I finally settled on their cotton sateen with a thread count of 400, and decided to order a pair of the plain-dye pillowcases.

They weren’t the pillowcases of my dreams, but heck they were nice. The smooth, even weave did feel cool and they’ve softened after a few washes. I went for ivory, which looks so bright and clean on the bed.

So, an 8/10 for Christy’s efforts to appease. But they’re still no match for the old faithful. I’m a creature of habit and one day my lovely sheets will surely nobly disintegrate into a pile of sparkling dust and their pure goodness cause them to fossilise over centuries, to be found by later life forms who finally recover the lost knowledge of how to get a good night’s sleep. But I’m ok until then.

[sleep-suit]

this works deep sleep pillow spray

I’d seen this product around for years before, I confess, I stole a pinch from a friend I was staying with a few years ago. It was a slightly apprehensive bedtime routine and I’d been on edge that day; the eye mask was on, the ear plugs in but I was worried I wouldn’t sleep in a strange bed. I immediately fell in love with the scent and I can recall a dreamy sleep followed (my friend also had a fabulous duvet, which I weirdly later went out and bought myself as well, so shout out to this girl. She knows how to sleep).

I’ve repurchased this twice since then and I do really like it. I also have the Deep Sleep Balm, but I find it’s less effective on pulse points than being able to use on a pillow. The vetiver and camphor are the kickers. There’s something so warming and comforting about camphor. (It explains my amassing of Carmex and odd off brand Vapor Rub-type balms I’ve collected from those types of old family pharmacies you find selling high end French skincare ranges next to 15kg tubs of aqueous cream). The scent isn’t overpowering though, where some essential oil-based products can give me a headache. This Works claim they’ve tested their products to evidence that they really do assist with better sleep, and I can believe that. Despite the price tag, this product does punch above it’s weight in terms of balancing intense scents which still come off delicate.

I’ve often slept well using this product, especially when my airways are irritated and I need to breathe deeply. But a lot of its power comes from its place within a routine - I’m a great fan of making sleep intentional, with action and ritual. Because of the size I always use sparingly, but that means it’s nights when I want to treat myself that I truly appreciate it. 7/10 as it’s not my favourite product for the price, but goddamn it smells good.

[sleep-suit]

baby seal

Look at this handsome fucker. This is Baby Seal, and he’s been in my bed longer than any boyfriend, faithfully by my side for the past 10 years. He’s no childhood toy. Ruled too ugly by my parents, in a very late act of rebellion at an age of probably 17 years, I brought him home from a zoo gift shop where I’m going to assume there were better looking toys.

His face seems to have been stitched on by a person who maybe didn’t have fingers, and there’s a really unsatisfactory combination of beans and stuffing inside him that’s made him permanently misshapen. But he’s the most loyal friend a girl could wish for.

Baby Seal usually sleeps under my crooked arm, and I’m ashamed to say he’s probably carrying a good coating of accumulated human sweat, along with probably saliva and definitely tears. This gruesome golbin of a soft toy has seen me through my hardest times, enduring either being thrown at offending lovers, or being told repeatedly of my woes at 3am. He stares at me in what I believe is mute affirmation. He is lost down the side of the bed.

I’m sure you’ve got a faithful friend who’ll loyally accompany you in your sleeping pursuits too. If you haven’t, I would highly recommend finding an underdog runt of a companion whom you can back with the spirit of true sportsmanship. No matter how many people complain he’s “watching them from the other side of the room wherever they’re standing” or that he “smells like decay,” he’ll always be there. He’ll always back you too.

Does he help me sleep? 9/10 every damn night. I’ve deducted a point for pure ugliness here, but this is a review which is going to be hard to beat.

[sleep-suit]

getting up at 8am for three days

My body feels like sleep has come and hollowed it out with a knife. I am full of nothing, my lungs expand properly, I breathe deeply and naturally and though I don’t still want to be asleep, I’d happily sit in blissful empty silence with this cup of tea until the world tips me back over into normal life. I feel ~oh man guys wait for it~~~ *well rested*.

This experiment featured getting up at a useful time like a productive​ fucking human for three days. Oversleeping is the main glorious hallmark of a major depressive​ disorder. I’ve been doing it for so long that I don’t want to sound arrogant but I’m kind of a pro at it.

Breakfast, a morning swim, a commuter train and time to actually shower: I experienced all of these forbidden pleasures when I got up at a normal time. It hurt to get into the rhythm, but it was interesting. I’m dearly clinging on to the idea that I can do it again, because it would really help me not get fired from my job.

So, did it help me feel like I was recovering from my illness, the thing that for the past four years has been my main job and involved a jolly ride of endless twists, turns and tweaks to things that ranged from attending weekly psychotherapy, to my intake of pasta?

It kind of did. I’d been given two jobs by my doctor this week. Go on holiday and wake up at a decent time. I did both and it felt tear-inducingly good that I could overcome the anxiety, apathy and just plain sads enough to go out and have fun. A change of scene always helps me get things back in alignment briefly, and I hope I can capitalise on it by taking more positive steps. Roll on the breakfasts.

Finally, did it help me sleep? The first night anticipating my 8am Alexa powered onslaught of music and sticking my face into a patch of sunlight, desperately trying to encourage melatonin to flood my brain, was anxiety-inducing because I knew I’d not have had enough hours by the time sleep did arrive. I was averaging 6-7 hours a night, which usually would make me mash my computer keyboard like a monkey all day. But by day two the plan worked, and I was whacked enough by the day before to sleep early. Day three featured a spider and we won’t go into it.

But it’s now the end of my challenge, the rules are suspended and I’ve just woken up from a 14-hour sleep. I’ve really enjoyed being a normal human and so long as weekends exist, I’d happily wake up early all week and try and live my life according to some kind of rhythm.

8/10 would sleep again.