the act or process of smoothing or pressing clothes, linens, etc., with a heated iron.
Unless you are a seamstress, a designer of clothes or a quilt maker chances are you do not know, or are familiar with or indeed use an iron.
An iron is an electrical device that once plugged in and turned on creates heat which you use to press clothes or material with. That is the simple explanation. It can create steam if water is put in it's reservoir, it also has a variety of heat settings dependent on what you are ironing. For me it is a way to go back to my childhood.
When I was young, being one of those baby boomers or mid-century antiques, clothes, linens, indeed most of the material that touched our lives was not made out of polyester or even contained polyester (or any of the other wonder materials of this day and age). Most clothing indeed the sheets on our beds required ironing. A time consuming process of taking said iron to the items in question and pressing out the wrinkles that washing had put in. No matter how good you were at hanging things out on the clothesline or quickly pulling them from the dryer (yes we had one, infrequently used), everything seemed to wrinkle.
Ironing was an art. You learned which items may need a little sprinkle of water then were rolled up and set aside for a few minutes before ironing and which items you could immediately press. There was a moment of satisfaction as a pile of handkerchiefs neatly folded and press stood in a pile waiting to be tucked in my father's top drawer. A sign of relief as the good tablecloth graced the table at Thanksgiving dinner without a crease or wrinkle in sight. The delight of putting on a sparkling white cotton shirt that felt soft against the skin because of the diligent hand of the person who spent time pressing it.
Yes, I still take a moment of joy when I press a linen shirt that dried outside feels rough and scratchy, but with the application of heat and steam becomes supple and soft. I love it when I sew and press a dart on a bodice so it fits nicely against the skin, or flatten a seam so a dress falls softly or a hem is barely visible.
I don't have to do it. I know how to grab a cotton shirt out of the washer, throw it in the dryer for a few minutes till the material is nice and hot and then hang it and watch the wrinkles fade at the material cools and air dries. I could always wear material which never wrinkles and requires no care other than to wash and dry it. But when I iron something there is a fragrance when the heat and steam meets the material. It brings me back to the basement in my childhood home, ironing my dad's handkerchiefs, (he had to have a fresh one daily to tuck into his suit pocket), learning how to sew with my mother and generally living, what was then, a much less complicated life.
Most homes nowadays don't have ironing boards or irons. Women and men don't know this art. They have never pressed a sharp crease on a long sleeve dress shirt or a pair of pants. They don't need to know and most don't care to know, but it is one of those small things along with so many others that are disappearing in this world of modern technology.
The "good ol' days" weren't always good but they did have some redeeming qualities, maybe ironing is not one of them but to me, the memory is a special one. I didn't always want to iron and a lot of times I complained and whined about it, but I did it. I accomplished a small thing and it taught me that sometimes those small things count. They can make someone happy. Every time my father opened his drawer and saw those hankies, neatly ironed and stacked in the corner he knew I cared without me saying a word.
