Vacuum Packed

So it's come to this: after centuries of vanquishing barbarians with bravery and cunning, the Samurai Shopper has been relegated to the dustbin. Today I'm hawking vacuum cleaners, a job so low on the career arc that even aluminum-siding salesmen are giving me attitude. Let them: I've transcended the past where my soul lay buried in my sword. Now I wage war against malefic swarms of dust bunnies and mites. I'm taking no prisoners. Nature may abhor a vacuum, but the Samurai Shopper abhors a vacuum cleaner that is clunky and sluggish, hogging too much closet space while lacking enough muscle for that desiccated sludge behind the stove.

Skip to next paragraph Ilustration by Marc Alary

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You may not value ergonomically correct telescopic tube handles or fine crevice nozzles; you may never scale the heights where ceiling fans simper in neglect or crouch at bedside where stray socks lie moribund and alone. But if you value your cleaning lady's valiant attempts to tidy up your life, the right vacuum attachments and ease of operation go miles to making a dirty job tolerable. The Samurai further suggests that you yourself have a go at it every so often so as to practice humility and gratitude toward those who do battle with the world's assorted dirt bags.

Start out small and work up to brute-level force, where cleaning becomes a martial art. Karim Rashid, who designs Candy Land products for college kids - blob stools and wavy plates - has fashioned the Kone for Dirt Devil ( at Bed Bath & Beyond), a colorful piece of mass modernism that peacefully coexists with lava lamps and Magritte posters. Less pricey and more taxicab yellow is Eureka's Boss 166DX, a mini-upright that turns into a hand-held toy easily deployed for popcorn mishaps. It's at Target.com, much more at Tiny Living on East Seventh Street. However, shopping in that vacuum-packed spot will be a revelation to all space-starved city dwellers.

At the opposite end of the spectrum in price and genteel good taste lie a trio of models from Germany, where no expense is apparently spared to turn vacuum cleaning into an activity even a Boston Brahmin could enjoy. Miele is state-of-the-art in looks and function; I easily cracked the code of its S5580 Aquarius canister in mellow Capri blue and felt quite Jeeves-like, stealthily combing the interiors for anything that might sully the spick-and-span-ishness of my stately manse. Quiet, well behaved, plastic bumpers keeping everything scratch-free, the HEPA-filtered Miele is a white-glove triumph. At 9 it ought to be. I loved the foot controls, the cleverly embedded attachments already on board: no lost parts, no unsightly bulges to muddy the clean aesthetics.

The Bosch Formula Electro Duo HEPA, unrelated to Hieronymus, is equally simple, powerful and pretty in its tough, plastic carapace, humming with an air of industry. If there's one design flaw in vacuum cleaners generally, it's that the hot air from the exhaust doesn't vanish as the machines cruise along. Operating a vacuum cleaner is like standing on the wrong side of an air-conditioner. In this regard, the Bosch has less hot air than most other models. And that Ming blue color: divine. It's available in the 0 to 0 range. Both Bosch and Miele have long cords that automatically retract with the push of a lever or a quick tug. The Samurai Shopper must insist that all vacuum cleaners henceforth follow suit.

The Sebo Automatic X4 (9), like the others, is equipped with automatic sensors that determine resistance; the brush rollers adjust to surfaces and shut off if, say, an obese stuffed monkey suddenly dives into its path. The Sebo taught the Samurai that she hates uprights and changing their bags as much as she hates aluminum-siding salesmen. I further discovered that vacuum cleaners can infuriate: I caught an iRobot Roomba doing its thing without human supervision at a friend's place and shamefully descended into a "Clockwork Orange" droog mood, kicking the Roomba and flinging fistfuls of Altoids at its vacant face.

Feeling guilty and lacking in vacuum piety, I checked Consumer Reports for a sign. The October 2007 issue rated Sears's house brand, Kenmore, and its Progressive 27514 a CR Best Buy for canisters - 0. The Samurai Shopper tried an upgraded version at 9 and was impressed by the red light/green light seal of cleanliness and the big-toe-operated switch that changed setting from bare floors to carpets with differing piles. But bottom line? Another one bites the dust. Kenmore's Miele-esque design recalls how Korean cars look almost like BMWs, but not quite. Where is Raymond Loewy when we need him? Consumer Reports also "blesses" a Riccar 8 Pound SupraLite RSL3 (0) and a lightweight Hoover Tempo Widepath (). I'd try them, but I just read the magazine's picks for chocolate (Hershey's?) and now I'm not so keen.

One Englishman who livens things up claims to have reinvented the vacuum. Sir James Dyson, the former chairman at the Design Museum in London, came up with the Dyson Slim, and it gets the Samurai vote for the Vacuuming Is Fun award.

The Dyson (around 0 give or take) does not look at all stuck-up or prim. It looks like a "Star Wars" reject, and a jolly one at that. Off came the white gloves - I turned on the Dyson and it became a wildebeest galumphing across the Serengeti to outwit the spotted hyena and Nile crocodile. I darted from room to room as the see-through bagless dustbin piled high with shocking amounts of icky-poo. The Samurai, who normally does not shout "Yippee" at small appliances, shouted "Yippee" and promptly attacked velveteen couches, wall moldings high and low, nooks and crannies doubling as sagebrush cemeteries, and the narrow slats in prewar radiators housing cobweb communes. The Samurai had found her weapon of choice, her peer in fearlessness, strength and agility. True, there was no retractable cord; there was a wiggle and wobble here and there; and Dyson's pictorial explaining functions and features was a collection of hieroglyphics needing thousand-word footnotes. No matter. Some turn their swords into ploughshares; the Samurai has exchanged hers for Dyson's Slim, and I do believe it's the beginning of a beautiful partnership.