On the Church of Rags

Part of the fun of writing a Substack called “Will’s Dumb Brain” is that I’m Will and I get to write about whatever dumb shit I want. This week, that dumb shit is rags. You read that right, rags. Those unassuming pieces of cloth that get bad-mouthed and tossed about and generally disrespected. Well, I’m here to put some respect on the word rag.

I’m actually a relatively new convert to the Church of Rags. I’ve always been a paper towel guy, but in a world where we run through resources like it’s a race to our own annihilation, using up a tree just to wipe up some coffee grounds feels pretty bad. That’s where my wonderful fiancé came into my life. She and her old roommate lived in a strictly “no-paper-towels-house.” Instead, they had a huge pile of rags that would cycle throughout the house like tiny ghosts of messes-past.

At first, I thought this was insane. Dirty rags…all over…extra laundry…it all sounded so…bad. But once we moved in together and the tradition of rags became the law of our land, I started to come around to it. Spill water on the floor? Rags are your friend. Need to wipe down a countertop that’s covered in crumbs? Rags handle it no problem. Cut yourself on some of that insane plastic packaging that is hopefully going out of style because not only is it the scourge of modern existence but it’s insanely wasteful and terrible for the world as a whole? Well, fear not, a humble rag is there to wipe up as much blood as you’ve got to lose!

One of the reasons why I wanted to opine on the humble rag is that they get such a bad rap! Rags to riches? Riches are great but rags are great too! Running yourself ragged? Well, that’s a bad thing in any context. Raggedy Ann? No matter how much you love the doll and no matter how much joy and comfort she may have brought you, she’ll never be mistaken for the chicness of a Barbie or the raw military-industrial-complex might of a GI Joe. If someone calls you a ragamuffin… well, be ready to throw fisticuffs and engage in a good old-fashioned donnybrook because they might as well have called you a wastrel or a guttersnipe.

Now that I live in an apartment full of rags, I find myself reaching for paper towels one thousand percent less. Not only am I wasting fewer paper towels, I’m being more creative! When we run into a heatwave I get one of those suckers wet, throw it in the freezer and BAM, in 15 minutes you have a glorious oasis of frigidity at the tips of your fingers. If I can’t find an oven mitt, I can pretend like I’m in The Bear (minus the tattoos, bulging biceps, and piercing blue eyes) and use a rag.

I know this may seem like a lot of words for the humble rag, but I’m sick of people….ragging on them (I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I almost made it all the way through without a pun…not quite though). It’s about time our ragged friends become all the rage.

So are you more of a rag person or a paper towel stan?