Blanket Rant

Blankets. 

I love them. I call myself a blanket whore because they’re all over my house—on the couch, on the bed, in random piles like I’m low-key running a blanket cartel. If I’m sitting? Blanket. Laying? Blanket. Sitting on the floor? Blanket under me, blanket on top of me, blanket kingdom engaged. And no, it’s not because I’m cold—I could be sweating like leftover pizza in a hot car and I’d still need one. It’s not about warmth, it’s about vibes. It’s safety. It’s comfort.

Speaking of… comforters are the absolute GOAT. Fleece throws are cute and seasonal—I collect them like Pokémon—but they attract dog hair like it’s their side hustle, so they mostly just vibe on the back of the couch until they’re called into action. But comforters? Those are my chosen ones. They’re the heavy hitters of the blanket world: soft but not silky, fluffy but not floofy, weighted enough to feel like a hug but not like a cinder block. I’ve got two elite soldiers: the queen on my bed, which has survived years of midnight death-rolls and rage-tossing, and the twin on my couch, my nap soulmate and emotional support system.

Now—let me say this loud: if you hand me a microfiber blanket, I’m filing for a restraining order. Those things feel like static-charged sadness, like petting a chalkboard that just came out of a tumble dryer. That’s not cozy, that’s assault. Whoever greenlit microfiber should be on trial at The Hague.

And this is where the real line gets drawn: blanket people versus non-blanket people. Blanket people are my tribe. We’re not clutching some baby “blankey,” we’re building a lifestyle. We know how to party, we know how to thrive, but we also know how to rest the fuck up after. We’re the “live your best comfy life” squad. We get that coziness isn’t weakness, it’s survival. Comfort isn’t laziness—it’s strategy.

Non-blanket people? Couldn’t be me. Y’all raw-dogging life with your bare knees against the world, like psychos who enjoy suffering for no reason. Have fun sitting there stiff and uncomfortable, Karen—I’ll be over here swaddled in a cocoon, actually enjoying existence. 

Blanket people are thriving. We’ve hacked humanity. We’ve got softness, safety, and joy literally wrapped around us at all times. And honestly? That makes us superior.