Why are towels so expensive? It’s a question we never really ask ourselves until we’re standing in the supermarket, staring at a Ksh 2,500 price tag and wondering if it’s made from diamond threads. Honestly, what justifies such absurd prices for something as simple as a towel? It’s not like it’s solving any major problems—just a rectangle of fabric meant to dry you off after a shower. Yet here we are, paying almost as much as we would for a fancy dinner out.
The towel industry has mastered the art of making us feel like we’re buying into a lifestyle rather than just purchasing an essential. They toss around fancy words like “Egyptian cotton,” “Turkish weave,” and “hotel quality” to make us think that spending more equals self-care. And, of course, there’s the unspoken guilt: Don’t you want to treat yourself to something soft and luxurious? But after one wash, most of these “luxury towels” lose their fluffiness and start shedding enough lint to clog the bathroom drain.
Let’s not even get started on the myth of premium cotton. They tell us Turkish and Egyptian cotton are the best—like their plants were raised in five-star conditions and massaged daily. Meanwhile, perfectly good cotton exists locally, but we rarely see it used to create towels that don’t break the bank. If it’s just cotton loops stitched onto fabric, why does it cost as much as an entire set of bedsheets?
The worst part is how simple towels are to make. They’re flat, with no zippers, no buttons, and no fancy details. Yet they somehow cost more than a tailored shirt. And don’t think you’re safe with the cheaper ones, either. The Ksh 500 supermarket specials might look decent on the shelf, but they’re practically useless. Instead of absorbing water, they just push it around, leaving you wetter just like when you started.
Then there’s the mystery of disappearing towels. You buy a few, thinking they’ll last you years, but before you know it, you’re down to one sad, threadbare towel. Where do they go? Are they vanishing into the same black hole as socks and lids? Or do they simply disintegrate over time because they know you can’t resist buying replacements?
And let’s talk about those “guest towels.” Why do we even need a separate category for guests? Are they not humans who sweat and shower like the rest of us? Shouldn’t they just use the same towels we do? It feels like yet another marketing ploy to make us spend more.
Even if you think you’ve found a solution—like sewing your own towels—you’ll realize it’s not worth the trouble. By the time you’ve bought fabric and stitched it together, you’ll have spent just as much money and more time. Plus, your DIY towel will never match the aesthetic of those overpriced ones labeled “minimalist spa vibes.”
It feels like the towel industry is a racket, designed to make us pay for fluff and branding. But we’re stuck, because who wants to sun-dry after every shower?
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