Photo: Juliana Jimenez Jaramillo for Slate
Justin Peters wasn't trendy, but since he's a journalist (he's an editor at the Columbia Journalism Review) and he lives in Brooklyn, it's just a matter of time before he becomes hip. It's inevitable, actually.
Thanks to his keen journalistic insticts, Justin realized that his transformation from a plain ol' guy to a trendy one is a journey that should be shared with the world. Here's his experience in trendy sleeping with dozens of pillow on his bed:
“A Nation Lulled to Sleep”: A true trendsetter is trendy even when he rests his head. I sleep on an inexpensive Ikea bed frame, with a flower-print comforter, sheets purchased by my mother, and four sweat-stained pillows. Four pillows always seemed like a good amount to me—one for each limb. Oh, how wrong I was. “How did we go from a country that longed for a chicken in every pot to one that requires 14 pillows on every bed?” the Times asked earlier this year. I didn’t know the answer, but I wanted in. After all, there are 14 pillows on every bed.
Just to be safe, I scrounged up about 30 pillows of all shapes and sizes, and threw them on my bed until you couldn't see my bed. When night fell, I realized that there is no good way to sleep on a bed containing 30 pillows. Either you sleep on top of them and spend the night writhing like the poor insomniac in The Princess and the Pea, or you sleep under them as if buried in the world's softest avalanche. I eventually arranged them so my body was touching the mattress while being walled in by pillows on all sides, like the victim in some lesser-known Edgar Allan Poe story.
And yet I slept surprisingly well, so much such so that I spent the entire next day bragging about my pillow-y bed and looking forward to sleeping there again. Unfortunately, the second night's sleep was horrible, perhaps because it was really hot in my apartment. I tossed, turned, and thrashed, and ended up flinging most of the pillows to the floor so I could sleep without being awakened by the rising tide of my own sweat. Still, it was worth it. You can't spell "painfully trendy" without "pain."
Slate has the full story: Link