I was arguing with my sister. She said that we should never wash towels with our clothing. But I always wash them together.
Can someone explain what the problem is? I save time when I wash them together. That’s exactly what I told her.
“Sylvie, you’re overthinking it,” I said, tossing both my gym shirts and a couple of towels into the washer. She folded her arms, giving me that look. “Mara, you’re ruining your clothes.
Towels are heavy and shed lint. They rub against softer fabrics, making them wear out faster.”
I rolled my eyes. “They’re clothes.
We wear them, sweat in them, and wash them. It’s not that deep.”
Sylvie shook her head, clearly irritated. She’s always been the more meticulous one.
I’m more… efficient, let’s say. But later that week, something weird happened. I pulled out my favorite navy-blue blouse—one I wore to work all the time—and noticed little white fuzzies all over it.
I sighed, picked off some of the lint, and wore it anyway. No big deal. The next day, I noticed my black leggings had tiny pills and were starting to look worn out—after only a few months of use.
I didn’t want to admit it, but Sylvie’s voice echoed in my head. Towels rub against softer fabrics. They wear out faster.
Still, I told myself it was a coincidence. Then came the real kicker. One Saturday morning, I washed my towels and clothes together as usual.
When I pulled everything out, there it was—my favorite cream sweater had shrunk. Not just a little. It looked like it belonged to a teenager.
I stared at it, feeling this pit in my stomach. That sweater wasn’t cheap. And I’d only worn it twice.
Sylvie walked into the laundry room just then. She took one look at me holding the shrunken sweater and didn’t say a word. She just raised her eyebrows.
“I know, I know,” I muttered. “Don’t say it.”
She shrugged. “You can save time.
Or you can save your clothes.”
Her voice wasn’t smug, just matter-of-fact. And that stung even more. That night, I did some research online.
Turns out, towels are made of thicker, more abrasive materials. They retain more water, making the spin cycle heavier and harsher on delicate clothes. Plus, the lint issue is real.
Fabrics like cotton and synthetics don’t handle that friction well over time. Basically, I’d been slowly destroying my clothes to save twenty minutes of sorting. The next weekend, I decided to change my habits.
I separated my loads. Towels in one, clothes in another. And you know what?
My clothes started lasting longer. The colors stayed brighter. The fabrics felt newer.
Sylvie, being Sylvie, noticed immediately. “Finally joined the dark side, huh?”
I laughed. “You were right.”
She grinned.
“I usually am.”
But the real twist came a few weeks later. Sylvie called me in a panic. “Mara, can you come over?
The washing machine won’t drain.”
When I got to her apartment, she was standing in front of the washer, a puddle spreading slowly across the floor. “Did you check the filter?” I asked. She bit her lip.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇
