5 Reasons I Will Never Buy A Plastic Laundry Basket Again
5 Reasons I Will Never Buy A Plastic Laundry Basket Again
Every plastic one I ever owned cracked at the handles. Then I did some adding up at the kitchen table.
By Maggie Whitfield, a customer in Cheshire · 4 min read
- It looks like decor, not a chore, the meadow wraps the whole way round
- It is structured, not floppy, and stands upright on its own, full or empty
- The handles are the part they finally got right, stitched canvas, kind to the hands
- It is light, even on the stairs with a full load of towels
- And the strange one: it costs less than the plastic ones I threw away
The full five, with my photographs, below. The basket is the Honey, from Manchester Boutique.
First, how I got here. My last plastic laundry basket died the way they all die. Halfway up the stairs with a full load, one handle cracked, the side went with it, and I stood there holding a broken thing full of clean towels, again. That evening I did something I had never once thought to do in all my years of buying them: I counted how many I had thrown away. I stopped counting when the number embarrassed me.
So instead of buying the same basket again, I bought a different one. A quilted fabric basket called the Honey, warm honey gold with one big bumblebee and white daisies wandering all the way round it, from Manchester Boutique, a small British boutique here at home. It has done every wash day since spring. Somewhere in the summer I wrote down the five reasons I am never going back, and the boutique asked to put my list up for other women to read.
The photograph that says most of it. The new one and the old one, side by side, before the old one went in the bin.
It looks like decor, not a chore
The bee and her daisies wrap the whole way round the basket, so there is no plain side and no wrong way for it to face. It sits out in the corner of my bedroom looking like something I chose, because for once it is. Every plastic basket I ever owned lived behind a door, and it earned that spot: they look cheap the day you buy them and worse every year after, scuffed, faded, bowed. This one is the first laundry basket in my life that visitors have remarked on, kindly.
Its spot in the bedroom. Not hidden behind a door, which is a first.
It is structured, not floppy
I had assumed a fabric basket meant one of those flimsy hampers that slump into a heap the moment they are empty. This is not that. It is thickly quilted all over and it stands upright on its own, round and open, whether it is full or waiting for the next load. And it does not do the other thing either, the plastic thing, where the sides slowly bow outwards until the whole basket looks tired. It simply holds its shape, which turns out to be all I ever wanted.
Empty, and still standing to attention. No slumping, no bowing.
The handles are the part they finally got right
The one that surprised even me. Every plastic basket I have ever owned died in exactly the same place: those hard moulded handles, the ones that dig into your fingers when the basket is full and then crack the first time you carry it downstairs a bit too loaded, or try to manage two at once. The Honey’s handles are wide canvas, stitched on at the sides, soft enough to be kind to your hands and part of the basket rather than bolted to it. There is simply no hard little plastic edge waiting to give up on you. I did not know how much I resented those handles until I stopped using them.
The handle, the quilting, and the bee keeping an eye on both.
It is light, even on the stairs
The one that sold my sister June. My landing is up fourteen steps and every load of washing in this house goes up or down them. The basket itself weighs next to nothing, so the only weight I am carrying is the washing, and the soft sides sit against my hip instead of jabbing it the way a rigid edge does. June carried mine up the stairs one afternoon, put it down on the landing, and came back down looking thoughtful. Hers arrived the following week. She said the stairs were the whole argument.
The stair test, with a full load of towels. The part that used to end in a cracked handle.
It costs less than the plastic ones I threw away
The strange one, and the bit of adding up I mentioned. One evening I sat at the kitchen table with a pot of tea and worked out what all those broken plastic baskets had cost me over the years, a few pounds here, a few pounds there, bought again and again because each one seemed too cheap to think about. The total was comfortably more than this basket costs, and I had nothing to show for it but a habit of carrying washing with one hand underneath, ready for the crack. I remember once telling June I would happily pay three times the price of a plastic basket for one I actually liked. It turns out I did not have to.
The day it arrived. What the money actually bought, out of the bag and straight to work.
| The Honey, quilted | The typical plastic basket |
|---|---|
| Wide stitched canvas handles, soft in the hand | Hard moulded grips, the first thing to crack |
| Stands upright on its own, full or empty | Sides slowly bow and warp out of shape |
| Light to carry, soft sides sit against the hip | Rigid edge digs in on the stairs |
| A meadow that wraps the whole way round | Looks worse every year, lives behind a door |
I already know exactly what the alternative costs, because I paid it for years, one cracked handle at a time. The Honey has done every wash day since spring, it still stands up straight, the handles have not given me a single reason to worry, and it is the first laundry basket I have ever owned that I do not hide. I am 67, I live in Cheshire, and my washing goes up the stairs in a meadow now.
— Maggie Whitfield, Cheshire
Two practical things before you go. These are made to order in small runs, there is a sale on at the moment, and the first autumn stock is already going, so the size you want is not guaranteed to wait for you. It comes in three sizes, a small for a bathroom, a medium for an ordinary bedroom, and a large that swallows a family’s wash week. And the bee meadow is one of thirty designs in the collection, so if you are more roses than bees, there will be one that is properly you.
HONEY | Daisy Bee Laundry Basket
Small £34.95 · Medium £37.95 · Large £41.95 · Free UK delivery
See The Laundry Basket CollectionThere is a sale on. The first autumn stock is already going.
Maggie Whitfield is 67 and lives in Cheshire with a labrador. She is a customer, not a writer, and she was not paid for this list.
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