Such an important question – philosophical, even.

To understand what a Dream Cloth is, we first must understand what a Dream Cloth isn’t. It is not a trendy kitchen gadget - its origins date back hundreds of years. It is not another thing to end up in landfill – it’s 100% biodegradable and suitable for any compost. It’s not a one trick pony. It cleans everything from dishes and counters to tile and glass. Pony? Please. The Dream Cloth is a stallion.

Our new Dream Cloth is the final answer to stinky sponges, wasteful paper towel and rags that never dry. It’s the all-in-one wiper, scrubber, crumb collector. It’s a humble blend of cellulose and cotton to create something so much more useful than the sum of its parts. It’s a shapeshifter, a renegade, a maverick. If you think it sounds a lot like a Swedish dishcloth, you’re right.

But is a Swedish dishcloth by any other name still a Swedish dishcloth?  Well, yes. It is. But “Swedish dishcloth” is a boring title for such a magical product. Where’s the whimsy? The lore? When we made our version, we knew we needed a name that was much more, well, dreamy. And, of course, our Dream Cloth needed a backstory. 

The backstory 

Once upon a time, in a far distant Sweden, two seemingly ordinary cleaning tools spotted each other from across the kitchen.

Malm, a quiet sponge, lived in the kitchen sink. Sometimes he ventured to the bathroom to tend to the sink there too. His brother, Ektorp, used to live in that sink, but he fell behind the counter and was never seen again. Malm awaited the day a young sponge would take his place.

Hemnes, a spunky roll of paper towels, was very well travelled. She’d been to the counter, the floor and nearly every room in the house (frequently to the one where the small humans lived). She had no intention of settling down anytime soon. Sheet after sheet, she absorbed it all. She was full of life and energy. Malm was immediately enamoured.

Malm sheepishly greeted Hemnes on one sunny afternoon. Hemnes was polite, of course, but she was taken aback by how small Malm was, his surface area so finite. She couldn’t imagine being bound to one form. Malm didn’t mind it though. He alternated between wet and dry, dry and wet. He appreciated the consistency of it all. They exchanged pleasantries, then Hemnes was whisked away to clean some spilt tomato sauce. Malm assumed they’d never see each other again.

Alas, that tomato sauce spill was no ordinary mess. The jar had shattered on the ground, glass was everywhere. Most of the clean up fell to Kallax, the household broom. Still, there were splatters all over the walls and appliances. Ready to wipe, Hemnes unrolled and unravelled until she was but one sheet left. Tired and nearly used up, Hemnes hobbled to the kitchen. The majority of her youthful body stuffed in the bin, headed for the landfill.

“Are you alright?” Malm asked.

“I… wish I could continue on. But there is so little left of me.”

“Come here, dear thing.”

Hemnes rallied her core and cosied up to Malm. The dampness of Malm’s edges (he was very slow to dry) withered Hemnes’ final sheet. And with that, Malm molded.

When the sun rose the next morning, both Malm and Hemnes were gone. In their place was a sleepy Dream Cloth. With just a bit of water to wake him up, the Dream Cloth became a perfect blend of what made each of his parents so lovely – reusable and absorbent, pliable and convenient. Then there were the traits all his own – machine washable, compostable and beautiful to behold. It was a Swedish miracle.

And that, dear reader, is a Dream Cloth.

If you’d like the less poetic version of the story, check out our Dream Cloth FAQs.