Staying at an Airbnb property – we’re visiting several in the next couple of weeks -- has its advantages. Foremost among them, I suppose, is that they tend to be cheaper than a comparable hotel room.
Also, they’re typically more spacious and they come with a kitchen, if cooking is your thing. But they have a major flaw from my point of view. They’re not big on branding. If you stay at a nice hotel, which takes pride in its reputation, they often put their monogram and logo on things like bathrobes and towels which double as readymade souvenirs.
For the record, I’ve never stolen a terrycloth bathrobe. There are several reasons why having little to do with moral rectitude. I don’t love terrycloth. The fabric is bulky and the garment would be hard to pack. Like most everyone else these days, judging by the Lord of the Flies competition for overhead compartment space in basic economy, I try to limit myself to a carry on bag.
Also, hotel bathrobes are usually one size fits all. Since I’m tall they tend to be too short, the sleeves especially, leaving my wrists and much of my forearms dangling, simian-like, naked and exposed.
I’d also never filch a towel. Towels tend to be part of a set, ranging from small hand towels to sprawling bath sheets. I’d feel guilty about destroying the set, like a mamma bear and a baby bear.
Bath mats are a whole other story. They’re freestanding, independent entities. They live on floors, not towel racks. They have a life of their own. I’m a chronic, if judicious, recidivist when it comes to appropriating bathmats from fancy hotels. By the way, if they were for sale – assuming the hotel has a gift shop or I could negotiate a deal with the concierge – I’d gladly pay. But bath mats apparently aren’t coveted in the way bathrobes are.
A hotel I stayed at recently posted a sign in the bathroom informing guests that their housecoats were for sale in the lobby. On a more ominous note, they added that all items included traceable location chips.
Really? So then the question became – did I believe the management was bluffing and was this some transparent ploy to thwart property loss or generate profits? I could understand why they might feel possessive about their luxurious bathrobes. But a lowly bath mat?
And even if true would the hotel confront a repeat customer, or at a minimum tack an additional charge onto his credit card on file, and who might seek lodging with a competitor next time once branded a crook?
I was forced to weigh the positives and negatives. The negative being that I’d have a criminal record, the positive that the bath mat came in a handsome earth tone with a silhouette of the Alps. This was a new rendition of the hotel’s logo, an updated motif. On a previous visit I’d absconded with a white mat that featured a cozy winter scene with antlered deer.
By the way, I come from a family of thieves. I learned my craft from the best. My father was a chronic recidivist, stealing airline soaps and colognes as well as hotel embellishments. I recently came across a sturdy vintage wooden hanger from the Ritz hotel in Lisbon where my parents spent part of their 1952 honeymoon.
Many hotels have wised up and started using disappointing generic white, logo-free bathroom linens that aren’t worth stealing. It requires a special place, with Old World values and an evocative bathmat to turn me into a thief. Like Proust’s madeleines it summons up the majestic mountains or ocean views, the sensual pleasures, that I experienced at their hotel or resort.
As far as I’m concerned the management should consider my sticky fingers a tribute to the impeccable quality of their hospitality.
My modest collection includes bathmats from a beloved Italian hotel that has since gone out of business, the stately Imperial hotel in Vienna, and a fusty mat from London’s Reform Club.
My wife considers my souvenir collection tacky at best, and more soberly proof of a character flaw. She believes the laundry is meant to be used and left behind. When we have guests at our house, and even when we don’t, she hides them, replacing them with brand-free bathmats, no matter how storied the hotel.
A missed opportunity, as far as I’m concerned. Wouldn’t our guests want to know where we’ve stayed and whether we enjoyed the experience? It’s a conversation starter. Besides, they’re not meant to impress. I drape them over the side of the tub or lay them on the bathroom floor for me and me alone even when nobody’s around. They remind me of memorable vacations, reasons to return and new bath mats in my future.
Ralph Gardner, Jr. is a journalist who divides his time between New York City and Columbia County. More of his work can be found be found on Substack.
The views expressed by commentators are solely those of the authors. They do not necessarily reflect the views of this station or its management.
