Laundry Daze

France’s aversion to clothes dryers is a load of sheets

I think way, way too much about drying my jeans.

If we plan to leave for a trip on Friday morning, I have to pack on Thursday. That means I must do the wash on Tuesday – at the latest – to make sure I will have dry jeans for the trip.

My brain used to be occupied by all kinds of interesting things, like the timeline between when the corpse was discovered and the hour of death in the murder case I was covering as a newspaper reporter. Now that brain power is redirected toward dirty laundry. This is because we don’t have a clothes dryer, which means laundry is a two-day job. Minimum.

Most of the French are in the same position. Only about 35 percent of French households have a tumble dryer, and about another 7 percent have one of those washer-dryer combos that, in my experience, does a really great job of getting your wet clothes very, very hot. Compare that to the 80 - 85 percent of US households who own a dryer.

The aversion to dryers in France owes itself, in part, to the country’s commitment to protecting the environment and conserving energy. They really do walk the talk: In 2023 the French instituted an “energy sobriety” program, asking citizens to turn down the heat in their homes and businesses. There was concern at the time that gas shortages due to the war in Ukraine could lead to rolling blackouts during winter. The country pulled on their heavy sweaters and thick socks, turned down the thermostat, and lowered consumption by 10 percent. There was no need for blackouts.

The French also cite the wear and tear on clothes that all that hot tumbling causes. There are also smaller home sizes to consider. We don’t have room for a dryer in our apartment, and I’m not fond of the design aesthetic offered by a certain neighbor who just put the damn thing out on his balcony.

The dryer-less have several options: Go to the laundromat. Buy a ventless dryer that takes three or four hours per load and requires emptying a reservoir of water. Hang clothes on anything – and everything – in or outside the apartment. This includes chairs, balcony guardrails, windows, bushes. You do, however, risk being reprimanded. Many apartment buildings have rules against hanging clothes out of windows and over balcony railings. But everybody doesn’t follow the rules: On the railway route from Rennes into Paris, we pass apartment buildings in the City of Lights where piles of drying clothes are randomly shoved into the space between the building and guardrails.

Makeshift clothes lines

We have chosen another route: the economical, energy-efficient, space-saving drying rack.

We paid about €40 for ours, but you can get one for much less. It took a couple YouTube videos and a supply of clothespins to figure out the most effective composition to lay out our clothes. The key is providing as much air flow as possible and no overlap. Don even discovered a way to hang jeans that takes up less rack space. Although we bought a large rack, its size still requires us to wash about every seven days. That means I spend eight to 12 days a month washing, hanging, monitoring and drying clothes.

Drying rack in our guest bathroom

What requires the most energy – and a dash of indefatigable optimism – is deciding where, exactly, to set up the rack. Do we put it in the office with the windows open? It takes up a lot of room and will definitely show an unflattering background during Zoom French lessons. There’s also the guest bathroom, which is a good – but windowless – option. Until we have guests.

Or, do we dare set it up on our large terrace?

The dramatic, ever changing Brittany weather adds a whole new wrinkle to the quaint notion of hanging the wash out to dry in the sweet European air. First I have to check the rain forecast on the weather app, then consult live radar and take a quick look at wind velocity. The usual weather report I contend with in Rennes is: rain, sun, wind, rain again, a little more wind, just a light drizzle, sun, passing ominous clouds, sun, more rain, high winds. And that’s just before lunch.

Putting the rack on the terrace for faster drying time – and avoidance of that moldy smell clothes get when they stay wet too long – is not for the faint of heart. If we’re only dealing with wind, we can lay a couple wooden chairs across the bottom legs to keep the rack from tipping over, but we still have to keep a close watch – like the skipper of a ship crossing the Drake Passage – for subtle signs that the elements are shifting.

If we take the risk, chances are we’ll nevertheless end up dashing out onto the terrace to haul the rack, heavy with wet clothes, out of the rain and into the apartment. During the rainiest season (November to April, give or take a couple months), we McGyver the guest bathroom into one big clothes dryer. With the rack squeezed between the tub and the wall, we turn on a dehumidifier and a small electric heater. And, voila! Here’s your clothes dryer, lady! The only downside to this method is that it melts the eyeliner I keep in the vanity drawer.

But let’s get back to my jeans. No matter where you set up the rack, it takes forever to dry a pair of Levi’s. We’re talking days. There are also other considerations to this method, like its impact on cotton underwear. They dry stiff, and not in a good way. If we want to dry a bed sheet we have to jerry-rig the rack with homemade extensions, like a couple beach chairs. If the chairs are too wet from all the rain, however, we hang the sheets on the retractable clothesline we’ve installed in the office.

The other innocent victims of dryerless washing are bathroom towels. They become rough and scratchy, even when I follow the online advice of adding vinegar in the rinse. Also, and perhaps the most annoying of all: all our socks have hair on them. Imagine having to use a lint roller on your little ankle socks.

You might now expect me, always able to find the silver lining of the struggles of living in this remarkable country, to offer the upside to this drudgery. Sorry, but there is no upside. It’s a total pain in the ass – literally, because of, well, the underwear.

And that’s why we have wine.