Do you remember that white shirt you swore you’d take care of “tomorrow” and now it looks like a medieval parchment? Or the blazer you wore to that job fair in March that still smells of nervousness and coffee? We’re in Lisbon, where humidity settles into wardrobes like a distant cousin and the light rain — the kind that doesn’t actually wet you but annoys — appears when you least expect it.
The truth is harsh: clothes don’t take care of themselves. And when the laundry basket starts to develop its own personality, it’s time to…