German Pillows - Built for Torment

Having recently returned to Germany, I thought it would be appropriate to update the story I wrote over ten years ago about an institution and instrument of torture in this country: the German bed pillow - das Kopfkissen.  

This year, my first few sleeps in the vacation rental were okay, but the bedding was all wrong. First of all, there was no down comforter or warm quilt blanket, like I'd slept under back in Japan even on warm summer nights.

Secondly, there were German pillows.

An innocent-looking German pillow. Don't let it fool you.

Let me describe these beasts to you.

Most are square to begin with, these German pillows, measuring 80 x 80 centimeters (about 31 x 31 inches). They take up between a third and a half of the bed. In America, a square pillow of that size is designed for a sleepy cat or a small dog and goes on the floor. Is a person supposed to balance their whole upper body on one of these wedges? (See diagram below.)

How exactly do German pillows work? And whoever thought they were comfortable?

Sure, they look good on your bed, especially when the linens you buy include a pillow case for an 80-by-80. You are forced to have such a pillow, or you're wasting good flannel. But is the German pillow functional? I say no. They're too big, they're too soft, they're too malleable, they don't support your head, and they're just plain obnoxious.

My friend Roxann came to visit the first year I lived in Germany. She couldn't sleep all night on my bed because of the German pillow. It was too soft, it was too flat, it gave her no support. She chose to sleep on the hard, uncomfortable couch the next night just to avoid wrangling with the German pillow. I felt bad about that, but she was adamant. 

After her visit, I threw the German pillow away. 

I understood Roxann's complaints, because I hadn't used it much myself before she had arrived. Yes, it was almost brand new, this weak, squishy thing full of feathers that didn't hold its shape, but it (like some people) was high-maintenance. All night long, I had to squish it and squeeze it, form it and fold it. My head popped off of it several times. It unfolded itself and became a limp, flat, useless SQUARE of little to no puffiness.

It didn't last longer than one night on my bed, except I could use it for German guests, who might have a clue as to how it might work. After all, weren't these square pillows the standard in this 2000-year-old country? Wouldn't a German know how to make them work? Even they will tell you they have to quetschen das Kopfkissen. A pillow shouldn't require work.

Well, my non-native-German head needed support, so after one night with the awful German pillow, I bought a few inexpensive (3-euro-each) throw pillows to support my bean. Those worked wonderfully. 

And they were made in Poland.

Why couldn't I find a smaller, firmer, rectangular pillow to hold my head up? Didn't Germans make such a pillow? I searched and searched. 

Ah, then I discovered this thing called IKEA: the horrifically huge home marketplace, where you can buy almost anything, including crackers, hot dogs, plenty of plastic... and pillows.  

I picked out a rectangular pillow that seemed firm. It was in the "side sleeper" pillow section. 

In the States, we didn't have a side sleeper, back sleeper, or a stomach sleeper pillow section. We just had pillows: soft, medium, or firm; foam or feather. 

Examining the IKEA pillow, I thought years of scientific study must have gone into its engineering. Hmmm. 

It still had to go through my examination. Right there in the IKEA, I tested the pillow by putting my head upon it more than once, standing upright and leaning onto one of the display racks, pillow under my head. (I couldn't lay down on the floor!) I squeezed it. I bunched it. It was almost unbunchable - unlike a German pillow - and that was a good thing. I put it back, and I squeezed and bunched other pillows. My new pillow had to be just right. Finally, I returned to my first choice, taking the plunge, heaving a sigh, and putting it into my basket. I even found a pillowcase that would fit the little gem. 

When I got home, I was excited for the night to come, so I could sleep on a pillow that might be something like the pillows back home. My throw pillow days were surely at an end, and I could join the rest of the German population in using a regular pillow. Sure, this one was a bit narrower from the top edge to the bottom edge, but it had to be good, because it was rectangular. 

Sadly, the pillow and I didn't mesh -- it gave in to my heavy head and my neck still had to do lots of work. The pillow couldn't hold up its end of the bargain. I pushed and pulled, doubled and dodged. I just couldn't get comfortable. The pillow might work for decoration, but not for the serious business of holding my skull in the proper position while I slept. 

I gave up. I continued sleeping with my throw pillows. They became some of my best friends. 

The next summer I went back home to the USA to clean out my storage unit. Buried beneath books and rugs, I found my two favorite pillows. I clutched them to my chest, almost sobbing with happiness. My pillows! Oh, the nights we had spent happily together. I had hit the jackpot, and the pillows were perhaps the most welcome of all my former treasures. Then I found my favorite pillowcases -- two flannel, and another handed down from my grandma. Hurriedly, as if grabbing a suitcase full of cash, I crammed the pillows and cases into the mini-van I was driving, making sure they were safe and secure behind the middle seat. I decided right then I would have to bring all of them back to Germany, no matter how much it cost. On the drive across America, I could rely on those trusty pillows to keep me comfy, in case I had to sleep in the van. (And one night, I did.)

from madeinde.com

Just to make sure my pillows were flying across the Atlantic, I bought a giant suitcase and put them in first thing, under my clothes. It was worth paying the $100 for an extra bag.

For many years those two pillows rested on my bed and under my head. I loved them. I couldn't live without them. Since then, I've moved too often and have purchased several types of comfortable pillows, some organic cotton, some with sustainable materials, and one of the best being a buckwheat pillow. Check it out if you've never heard of them before.

You know you're not big on comfort, Germans. Your couches are hard, you have no comfortable armchairs, your beds are slatted, and your furniture in general is not meant for people to enjoy. Makes sense that your pillows are torture. Go to it with your flat, square, oversized and ineffective pillows. Enjoy your scrunching. Meanwhile, I will sleep like a baby. 

Wörterbuch / Dictionary

das Kissen - the pillow (any)

das Kopfkissen - the bed pillow (lit. "head pillow")

quetschen - to squash