Would you pay $2,500 to get text messages from your iron, sent to your phone? Or would you pay $2,500 to prevent this from happening, ever? I would. Let me explain.
I was ironing a shirt the other day when I realized that it had not removed any wrinkles. The iron did not iron. Well, let us troubleshoot. Couldn't find the manual, but I'm sure it would say something like this:
Problem: The light is on, but there is no heat. The iron is heating. Do not touch.
Problem: The light is off, but there is no heat. The iron has completed its heating, and has shut off. Do not touch.
Problem: Iron is plugged in, but there is no steam. The tank is dry. Refill the tank.
Problem: There is steam, but not enough. Solution: Adjust the steam setting. Wait until the appliance issues a sudden sigh of peevish disgust, like a disappointed dog, then resume.
Problem: Fried hair, blackened teeth, temporarily stopped heart. Possible cause: You poured in the water while it was plugged in, and got electrocuted. Solution: At this point, not much you can do, except gather any toenails that got blown off and reattach them with Crazy Glue. It's not a perfect solution, and they'll probably fall off but it'll give you something to do.
Turns out that I had two issues: the steam setting was too low, and the iron had turned itself off because I had not used it in the previous 17 seconds. Let us consider each in turn, and ask ourselves if the current state of ironing technology really serves our needs.
1. Steam settings. The iron has 10 levels of steam. Ten. This seems to be an excessive amount of calibration. What do you iron on Setting One? Kleenex? Does anyone fear cranking it up to Ten, because it'll make your closet look like a Turkish bath? I can't even see want I'm ironing!
2. The iron had turned off because this is a safety feature. If it didn't turn off every 17 seconds, the iron would jump off the board into the pile of oily rags and kerosene-soaked sawdust I keep in the closet.
The only time anyone really worries about the iron is when you're in the car on the way to the airport. Even then you manage to convince yourself that you unplugged it. If you didn't convince yourself, don't worry. That TSA booth you enter where you put your arms up? It's also designed to wipe any iron-related concerns from your brain, so you'll have a nice trip. By the time you get to the gate you forget you even owned an iron.
The shutoff prevents you from burning yourself, I suppose. Someone might have a cardiac episode, and you grab the iron, thinking it's a defibrillator paddle. Or you think, "I wonder if this works on the wrinkles on my face," and you try ironing your head.
But the only time we touch an iron, we do so on purpose: to see if it's hot. The manual tells you to not touch the plate. Uh-huh. And the Q-tip box says don't stick them in your ear. But we all give our fingers a quick lick and touch the plate, because we don't know where the iron is on its complex journey between hot and inert.
I suppose you could touch a dampened Q-tip to listen for the little hiss, but the Q-tip folks probably tut-tut about that, as well.
It made me think: Why not a Bluetooth-enabled app-connected iron? My home security system turns on when it detects I've left the house. The lights turn on when they sense I'm home. Why not an iron that stays hot while I'm in its presence and turns off when the Location Services function of my phone tells the iron I'm off to the world beyond?
Googling ...
Oh, my. Look at this. There is a Bluetooth iron. It has "a motion sensor that delivers steam at an optimal rate." It has an app that gives you — I am not kidding about this — "ironing coaching" while you work. What exactly does that mean? Encouragements from my Ironing Trainer, who pops up on the screen to say, "Nice, even strokes! Keep it up! Now let's get that pants crease so sharp it'll cut cold butter!" Except your Ironing Trainer would not tell you to "feel the burn."
The high-tech iron costs $2,499, which means that if you can afford it, you have people doing your ironing for you. I don't know if there's a subscription plan, like a Peloton, where you iron along with others, but it wouldn't surprise me.
I can imagine showing up for a nice dinner looking completely wrinkled, and apologizing for my appearance. "I'd have ironed, but the internet was down."
