Article in the east bay's west county times about the snuggie
Hicks: Why does America heart Snuggies? They're useless
By Tony Hicks
Contra Costa Times
Posted: 03/24/2009 01:00:00 AM PDT
Updated: 03/24/2009 09:40:29 AM PDT
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Jill Sachs, of San Francisco, reacts while carrying a handful of drinks during a Snuggie Pub...
* Got a pix of you and your Snuggie? Post photos here.
So I was sitting there in my Snuggie, watching "America's Top Model" "...
No "... really.
Well, temporarily. Every time I'd move, the stupid thing would slide off me. I don't know how I'm supposed to be as gleeful as all those well-groomed, happy people in the commercials unless I can figure out how to keep the rotten thing on.
Because that's what I'm aiming for: domestic bliss through a blanket with sleeves. A reverse robe. A covering that makes me, curiously, want to sing "Amazing Grace." As you know if you've turned on TV even once in the past few months, Snuggies are blankets advertised to make your life joyously amazing, with longer sleeves.
And every time a certain Snuggies commercial comes on TV, I can't stop rooting for the campfire to ignite the Snuggie covering that far-too-gleeful family roasting marshmallows.
Of course, I'm being unfair. It's a cultural phenomenon and, really, I just had to have one. (My boss made me buy one, and she's making me write this column. If I weren't sure she's watching me at this very second, I'd call someone and pay to have a small fire set outside the newsroom, creating just the diversion I'd need to escape.)
No, really, I just HAD to have a Snuggie to experience for myself this amazing creation that, for $14.95, is taking America by storm. If only you knew the incredible comfort of a Snuggie. Just slipping one on evaporates all your losing your home and job. All your problems just magically drift away!
OK "... she's not looking anymore.
Of course I didn't want to spend any time wearing a stupid blanket with sleeves at least a foot too long for a larger-than-average grown man ("One size fits ALL!"). It's the most useless invention since the Pet Rock. Mine rides up in the neck when I sit down, falls off when I stand up, and doesn't have any kind of escape hatch in case I need to go to the men's room.
But it's a Snuggie!
It's a blanket with sleeves!
People are nuts over these things, and not just my 9-month-old, who was so fascinated by the concept, she kept bunching it up and jamming it in her mouth. Of course, she does that with everything, including our gentle family dog, who has threatened to quit his job and get another family if the baby doesn't stop trying to eat him.
But back to important stuff: Snuggies. People love 'em. My 7-year-old apparently has one at her mother's house, though I can't imagine how she wears it. Finding your arms in a Snuggie at that age must be like trying to put an oversize sweater on a hamster. Yet she talks about it like it's the fourth Jonas brother.
Some nuts "... er, folks "... who are perhaps on an ironic high for the sake of civilization, even partake in things called "Snuggie Pub Crawls," in which Snuggie-clad hip kids cruise bars and try not to fall down. They've already had them in New York and Chicago. San Francisco just hosted one Friday. I wasn't there, but my previous attempts at walking around my house wearing a Snuggie makes me think that adding alcohol to the equation would result in many ambulances screaming around San Francisco on Friday night.
I must point out that I was road-testing a Snuggie, not to be confused with the Slanket. A Slanket is basically the same thing, only $25 more. One of my co-workers who shall remain nameless (Jim Harrington) shelled out something like $39.99 for a Slanket for a Christmas present. Which is why, once I paid $14.95 for my Snuggie, I calmly and maturely pointed out the price difference by tap-dancing on his desk while holding the receipt between my teeth.
So in the name of fairness, I attempted to wear my Snuggie for an entire evening last week. I figured it would be fine watching an evening of TV. But I made the mistake of standing up while putting it on. It fell off. I put it back on. It fell off. I called it a *&^%$#@$?&% and threw it across the room.
Once the tranquilizers kicked in, I again tried donning my Snuggie. Only this time, experience taught me to jam my chin into my torso as hard as possible so the Snuggie wouldn't fall off. By the time I sat down, my neck was cramping and I was screaming in pain.
So I called it a *&^%$#@$?&% and threw it across the room.
We eventually reached an accord of sorts. It promised not to slip off me if I promised not to move. Once it was secure, I turned my attention to the fabric, determining it wasn't so special. My 9-month-old believed differently. But, again, she tries to eat the dog.
The experiment ended up not going so well. I balled it up and threw it back in the box at evening's end. I'm seriously considering some alterations ? mostly cutting off the sleeves and installing Velcro on the back. Otherwise, my relationship with the Snuggie is over. Anyone willing to pay me 14 bucks can give mine a shot.