Last updated: 13 Oct 2026 | 14 Views |
At 7:15 p.m. on Friday 8 November 2024, in the basement women's dressing room of Mukdawan Playhouse, a 248-seat independent theatre off Soi Ekkamai in Bangkok, Natrada Worarittidej, a 27-year-old leading actress, sat in front of the bulb-framed mirror and tried to sing the first phrase of the opening number for the sixth time. The sound that came out was not her voice.
It was cracked, dry, and it disappeared halfway through the line. She cleared her throat and tried again. It got worse. Her left nostril had been completely blocked since early afternoon, and the red rash that had appeared around her neck the day before was itching so badly that she had to press the back of her hand against it, because scratching would leave marks visible under stage lights.
In fifteen minutes, 232 audience members would begin taking their seats. In forty-five minutes, the theatre's 180-kilogram red velvet main curtain would have to rise.
Pimmada Sriworakan, the 34-year-old stage manager, stood in the dressing room doorway and listened through three attempts. Then she walked out to the front-of-house lobby and made the phone call every theatre worker dreads.
"She can't go on tonight."
That night and the next, "Letters From the Twelfth Month" — a production that had opened on 12 September 2024 and was scheduled for a 42-performance run — was cancelled. 396 tickets had to be refunded at an average price of 1,800 baht each, amounting to 712,800 baht. That figure does not include the lobby bar takings, the wages paid to eleven front-of-house staff who came to work and were sent home, or the one cost that cannot be expressed in money at all: the reputation of a small theatre that had spent nine years building a loyal audience.
At the time, everyone on the team agreed on the explanation. Natrada had been "pushing her voice too hard." Others said it was "the seasonal change, the end of the rains." Others said she was "simply exhausted after three months of rehearsal and performance."
All of those explanations were plausible. All of them were wrong.
The real cause was in the room where Natrada spent three times more hours than she spent on stage: a 24-square-metre basement dressing room with no windows at all, air-conditioned throughout every working day, containing eleven metres of costume rails holding 412 costumes accumulated from 23 productions, fourteen upholstered makeup stools, two burgundy velvet sofas in the adjoining green room, and 96 square metres of heavy black backstage carpet laid the day the theatre opened in 2015 — carpet that had never once been deep cleaned in nine years.
The turning point came on 21 November 2024, when Natrada finally saw an ear, nose and throat specialist at a clinic in the Phra Khanong district, after ten weeks of persistent hoarseness and two courses of anti-inflammatory medication that changed nothing.
The doctor scoped her vocal folds and told her something she had not expected. There were no nodules or calluses of the kind singers and actors commonly develop from vocal overuse. What he saw instead was diffuse swelling and redness across the entire larynx and the back of the nasal passages — the signature of inflammation caused by continuous inhalation of an allergen, not by the mechanical effort of projecting the voice.
He asked five questions. Every one of them left her quiet for a moment.
One. When are the symptoms worst? Answer: roughly one to two hours after entering the dressing room, peaking almost exactly at curtain time.
Two. What happens on days with no performance? Answer: on Mondays, when the theatre is dark, she had almost no symptoms at all. She had noticed this many times and always attributed it to resting her voice.
Three. Where exactly is the rash? Answer: around the back of the neck and under the jaw — precisely where the collar of her costume touched her skin. The principal costume for this production was a high-necked lace piece borrowed from the theatre's own wardrobe store, made in 2019.
Four. When was that costume last washed? Answer: she did not know. When she asked the wardrobe department, she learned that the lace and velvet pieces in the store "cannot be washed," so the standard practice had always been to air them on the rail and spray them with fabric deodoriser.
Five. Does the dressing room have a window? Answer: no. It is in the basement.
The doctor summarised it plainly. A symptom pattern that intensifies with time spent in one specific room, fades on days away from that room, and produces a rash exactly where fabric contacts skin is almost a signature of allergy to dust mite allergens embedded in textiles. Vocal overuse produces symptoms that track the number of performances, not the location.
Skin prick testing on 3 December 2024 confirmed it. The wheal at the house dust mite extract site measured 13 millimetres, dramatically larger than any other. Natrada was severely allergic to dust mites, and had been since childhood — but her symptoms had always been mild enough that she was never diagnosed. Her whole life she had simply believed she was "someone who sneezes easily."
What changed in 2024 was not her body. It was the dose of allergen she inhaled each day. This production placed her in that windowless basement room for five to seven hours a day, five or six days a week, for nearly three consecutive months.
When Pimmada presented the test results at the company meeting on 6 December, what followed shocked everybody. Nine of the fourteen cast members raised their hands to say they had similar symptoms: sneezing fits the moment the costume rail was pulled open, congestion during makeup, eyes itching so badly that false lashes would not sit properly, and itchy rashes on arms and necks. Everyone had stayed silent for the same reason. They all assumed it was simply part of working in theatre.
Pimmada worked this out herself on the night of 7 December, after the building had closed. She left the dressing room lights on, sat down on the third makeup stool, and began writing in her notebook — because she had just realised that in nine years of working there, she had never once thought of backstage as a place where anything accumulated.
Consider the comparison. A typical bedroom contains one mattress, two or three pillows, and a set of curtains. The dressing rooms and backstage areas of Mukdawan Playhouse contained the following:
Taken together, the backstage area of a single small theatre holds many times more textile fibre per square metre than an ordinary bedroom. And every square inch of that fibre is somewhere a dust mite can live.
One: the food supply is replenished every working day. The primary food of dust mites is shed human skin, roughly 1.5 grams per person per day. On a performance day, Mukdawan Playhouse had fourteen performers, nine backstage crew and three wardrobe staff — 26 people — occupying a very confined backstage area for five to eight hours, under stage-light heat and performance adrenaline that makes people perspire far more than usual. That is a fresh food delivery more than 200 working days a year.
Two: the costumes are never truly cleaned. This is the heart of the problem. A great many theatrical costumes genuinely cannot be machine washed — lace, velvet, sequined pieces, garments with internal boning, or fabrics dyed specifically to read correctly under stage lighting. The industry standard is to air them, spot-clean, and spray deodoriser. None of that removes anything from the fibre. A single costume can therefore accumulate sweat, skin oil, cosmetics, powder and shed skin cells from several generations of performers over many years.
Three: permanently humid, with no natural ventilation. The dressing rooms are below ground with no windows, relying entirely on air conditioning and extract fans. When 26 people breathe and perspire in a sealed space, the moisture migrates into the inner layers of the fabric and stays there. This is exactly the damp, still condition dust mites need, and it is why the basement dressing rooms of so many theatres share a distinctive smell that people in the industry simply call "the backstage smell."
Four: almost permanently dark. Dust mites avoid light. Backstage is dark by design, because any light leak would destroy the stage picture. Black carpet, dark masking, and a basement with no daylight together make an ideal environment.
Five: nobody classifies it as a deep-cleaning area. Every theatre cleans the auditorium, the toilets and the foyer meticulously, because that is what the audience sees. Backstage is filed under "working area," where the cleaning standard is sweeping, mopping, emptying bins and tidying up. No operations manual anywhere says that allergens must be extracted from 412 stored costumes.
Put those five conditions together and backstage is not merely a dustier-than-average room. It is a climate-controlled, humidity-stable, permanently dark dust mite culture system with an automatic feeding mechanism running every working day for nine years.
And what makes this particularly cruel is that it sits a few paces away from the exact spot where performers are required to use their voices at full power.
On the surface, the symptoms at Mukdawan Playhouse were sneezing, congestion, itchy rashes and hoarseness. That sounds tolerable, which is precisely why everybody tolerated it for nine years. But when Pimmada sat down and added up the 2024 figures, the picture stopped being small.
Total direct damage from those two nights: 870,500 baht. For an independent 248-seat theatre whose whole-season profit sits in the low millions, that figure nearly pushed the entire season into the red.
Natrada pulled her receipts from September to December 2024.
Her personal total was 31,450 baht. When the nine other affected cast and crew members added their own costs, the company's combined figure for a single year came to roughly 68,000 baht. Every single baht of that went to suppressing symptoms. Not one baht touched the source.
Pimmada opened her stage manager's log, where every fault in every performance is recorded. Across the 40 performances that did go ahead, she had written "performer sneezed mid-scene" seven times, "performer's voice cracked in the vocal number" eleven times, and "vocal line taken down from rehearsed level" on six further occasions.
"In live theatre there is no second take," Pimmada said. "People pay to see what happens in front of them, once. If the leading actress cannot reach the note that night, then for those 248 people that is what this play is, permanently. We cannot fix it afterwards."
Small theatres survive on regulars. Mukdawan's membership base was 1,340 people who bought tickets to almost every production. After the two cancellations, the theatre's page received 84 sympathetic messages — and 23 that questioned the company's professionalism. Membership renewals the following year fell by 11 percent.
What Pimmada found most painful was not a number but the atmosphere through November. There was talk behind Natrada's back that she was "not strong enough to carry a lead." Two supporting performers began asking whether they should prepare to go on in her place. And Natrada herself started to doubt her own ability — when in truth she had done nothing wrong at all.
"I cried in that dressing room," Natrada said afterwards. "I thought I was finished. I thought my voice was permanently damaged. I genuinely considered whether I should stop acting. Not once, not for a single second, did it occur to me that the problem was not me — it was the room I was sitting in."
The World Health Organization notes that asthma and chronic respiratory disease significantly affect quality of life and capacity to work (see the WHO asthma fact sheet). In a profession where the tool of the trade is your own breath and voice, that impact is not merely discomfort — it is the direct destruction of the instrument you earn your living with.
The most unfair conclusion would be that Mukdawan Playhouse was negligent. In truth, the housekeeping team worked consistently every single day. But nothing they did was designed to address allergens embedded deep inside fibre.
The hard floors outside the dressing rooms were mopped every night after the show. That should continue. But dust mites do not live on tile. They live in the fibres of carpet, stools, sofas and costumes. Mopping never touched the actual population.
This is the industry standard because many costumes truly cannot be washed. But fabric deodoriser works on odour molecules. It does not extract dust mite faecal matter from the fibre, and it does not reduce the residual allergenic protein load by a single milligram. A costume that now smells pleasant carries exactly the same allergen burden it carried before.
The theatre owned a drum vacuum used on the backstage carpet about once a month. Crew members had long noticed that everybody sneezed harder on the days after it was used. The reason is that a vacuum without genuinely fine filtration draws particles in and then blows the very smallest ones straight back out through the exhaust — and the smallest particles are the actual allergens. The airflow also drives them back into circulation throughout a sealed basement with nowhere to vent.
Wardrobe tried this with the principal costumes. Costs ran from 350 to 900 baht per garment depending on complexity. Doing all 412 would have cost several hundred thousand baht and taken weeks, and several sequined, specially dyed and structured pieces came back distorted or colour-shifted. Most importantly, it does nothing at all for the carpet, the stools, the sofas or the stage curtains.
The theatre bought two air purifiers in October 2024 for a combined 26,000 baht. Symptoms improved slightly but never resolved. The reason is straightforward: an air purifier captures particles that are already airborne, but more than 90 percent of dust mite allergen remains bound in fibre and settles back down within minutes of being disturbed. The disturbance that matters happens when someone pulls the costume rail open, sits on a stool, or walks across the carpet — at face height, and far faster than a purifier can intercept.
Someone proposed ripping out all 96 square metres of backstage carpet and buying new sofas, budgeted at roughly 340,000 baht. But if the pattern of use remains unchanged — 26 people in a sealed basement for hours every day, all year — new carpet returns to the same condition within two or three years. And crucially, it does nothing whatsoever about the 412 costumes, which are the single largest reservoir in the building.
The easiest option was simply to medicate everyone, and that had already been happening for months. But for performers, many antihistamines cause dry mouth, dry throat and drowsiness — all three of which are direct enemies of vocal projection and line retention. Natrada described two performances where she took a sedating antihistamine and felt she was "playing half a beat slow." In a show run on light and sound cues, the whole company considered that an unacceptable risk.
Dust mites are microscopic eight-legged arthropods, distant relatives of spiders and ticks, measuring roughly 0.1 to 0.3 millimetres — too small for the naked eye. They prefer damp, dark environments and cling to textile fibres. Mattresses, pillows, sofas, carpets, curtains, and above all a wardrobe store of costumes hanging motionless for years, are prime real estate.
Dust mites do not bite, do not feed on blood, and transmit no infectious disease. The entire problem is their faecal pellets, which contain proteins that a sensitised immune system reads as dangerous foreign material. The body responds by releasing histamine, producing sneezing, congestion, runny nose, itchy eyes, conjunctivitis, rhinitis, headache, dermatitis and itchy rashes — and in people with reactive airways, asthma.
This is the connection most people never make. Continuous allergen exposure swells the nasal lining and increases mucus production. Some of that mucus drains constantly down the back of the throat, chronically irritating and inflaming the pharynx and larynx. The result is hoarseness, cracking on high notes, constant throat clearing, and a measurably narrower usable range.
Worse still, a blocked nose forces mouth breathing, so incoming air is neither filtered nor humidified, and the vocal folds dry further. For a performer who must reach the back row unamplified in certain scenes, that is catastrophic.
Natrada's rash formed a band around the back of her neck and under the jaw, matching the collar line of a high-necked lace costume precisely. When perspiring skin is in contact with allergen-laden fibre for several hours per performance across dozens of performances, the result is contact dermatitis compounded by an allergic reaction. The neck perspires heavily and the skin there is thin, so the response shows up most strongly in that exact location.
A female dust mite lays roughly 40 to 80 eggs in her lifetime. Eggs hatch in six to twelve days and reach adulthood in about a month under favourable conditions. A population in a single piece of fabric can therefore grow exponentially within months. And when that fabric hangs undisturbed on a rail in a dark basement for years, the accumulation proceeds without interruption of any kind.
Thailand's year-round average relative humidity is high, with many areas sitting at 70 to 80 percent, and average temperatures fall squarely in the dust mite's optimal growth range. Unlike temperate countries, where a dry winter naturally suppresses populations once a year, Thailand offers no such pause at any point in the calendar.
Combine that with modern sealed, continuously air-conditioned buildings — homes, condominiums, offices, theatres, rehearsal rooms — and we create more dust mite habitat every year. Thai allergy and respiratory disease information is published by the Department of Disease Control, Ministry of Public Health, which consistently emphasises that indoor environmental control is the foundation of long-term allergy management.
On 20 December 2024, Pimmada did something stage managers rarely do. She wrote a three-page memorandum to the theatre's board, attaching Natrada's allergy test results, a list of ten affected staff members, the 870,500-baht loss from the two cancellations, and a single proposal: fix the source.
She closed the memo with a sentence the board later quoted back at her in the meeting. "We spend hundreds of thousands a year on stage lighting so the audience can see the performers more clearly. We have never spent one baht so the performers can breathe."
On 6 January 2025, management called 065-556-6294 to book the complete dust mite removal, carpet, mattress and sofa cleaning service with full disinfection from World Health Disinfection — the first company in Thailand to deliver this combination of work start to finish in a single site visit.
The board approved it for four reasons, all structural rather than promotional.
First, the service addresses the fibre directly rather than the air. It extracts allergens from deep inside carpet, stools, sofas, curtains and other textiles and physically removes them from the building — rather than merely masking odour or killing mites and leaving the residue exactly where it was.
Second, the filtration system combines water filtration with HEPA, trapping 100 percent of captured dust in water so that nothing is returned to the room. For a windowless basement, this is the decisive point — and precisely where the theatre's own vacuum had been failing for nine years.
Third, a single visit covers every reservoir: 96 square metres of backstage carpet, fourteen makeup stools, two velvet sofas, the main curtain and side masking, and curtains cleaned in place without removing them from their tracks. That last point was decisive, because the main house curtain weighs 180 kilograms and taking it down would occupy the technical team for a full day and put the rigging and track system at risk.
Fourth, all work is performed on site. Nothing leaves the building, and the schedule could be arranged around a dark week, so the rehearsal calendar for the next production was not disrupted by a single day.
At the heart of the service is the SIRENA System, a dust mite removal machine designed in Canada and driven by a 1200-watt Italian cyclonic motor. That is a level of suction no domestic vacuum or general floor machine comes close to, and suction is the deciding factor in whether particles bound deep inside dense carpet pile and velvet can actually be lifted out at all.
Instead of a dust bag or a dry cyclonic bin, SIRENA draws dust-laden and allergen-laden air through a body of water in a tank. Particles of every size are captured by the water and sink into the tank, where they cannot become airborne again. The result is that 100 percent of the dust is trapped in water and nothing is blown back into the room — the single most important difference from an ordinary vacuum, which typically exhausts the finest particles straight back out. It is also the reason this work can be performed safely in a sealed basement dressing room.
After passing through the water, the air passes through a HEPA filter that filters down to 0.02 micron, ensuring that the air leaving the machine is cleaner than the air entering it. It is this two-stage arrangement that allows the system to remove up to 99.99 percent of allergens — a level of performance that has nothing in common with surface cleaning.
SIRENA System is certified by the Asthma Society of Canada, and also carries TUV Rheinland, Certified Vacuums, Quality Tested, Certified Space Technology, Dust Mite Proof and Go Green / Eco Friendly standards. For a theatre board that needed documentation to approve the spend, this is what moved the decision quickly.
Alongside SIRENA, the technicians use MASTER VACUUM for deep washing of mattresses, sofas and carpets where embedded perspiration staining, cosmetic residue or musty odour cannot be resolved by extraction alone. Backstage, that describes almost everything: makeup stools stained with foundation and powder, velvet sofas napped on daily, and carpet absorbing the footfall of dozens of people. Using both machines together addresses allergens, staining and odour in the same visit.
Where additional assurance is wanted, there is also an optional disinfection spraying service covering viruses, bacteria and fungi. The theatre added it for both dressing rooms, the green room and the wardrobe store, because those are the most densely shared spaces during a season.
The team arrived on Saturday 18 and Sunday 19 January 2025, during the gap after the old production closed and before the new one began stage rehearsals. Day one ran from 8:00 a.m. to 6:20 p.m.; day two from 8:30 a.m. to 4:45 p.m.
The team walked the entire basement and backstage area, counting every reservoir: the 24-square-metre women's dressing room, the 21-square-metre men's dressing room, the green room, the wardrobe store, eleven metres of costume rail, fourteen makeup stools, two velvet sofas, 96 square metres of backstage carpet, the main curtain and six masking legs. They also interviewed Pimmada about who was experiencing what, so that the worst areas could be prioritised. The women's dressing room and the principal costume rail were scheduled first.
Wardrobe separated the costumes into three groups by fabric type and fragility. Makeup kits, wigs and valuables were moved out of the working area. The team laid protective sheeting along the traffic routes and gave the theatre an advance schedule showing when each zone would be handed back.
The team worked systematically in overlapping passes so no area was missed, moving from high to low: stage curtains and masking legs first, then the costume rail garment by garment, with particular attention to collars, shoulders, linings and underarms — the areas in most contact with skin and perspiration. After that came every makeup stool, both velvet sofas, and finally the entire backstage carpet.
This, Pimmada says, is the moment that changed how the whole company thinks. After finishing the first costume rail and six makeup stools, the technicians carried the water tank into the middle of the dressing room. The clear water poured in at the start of the job had become a thick grey-brown liquid with a fine layer of sediment floating on the surface and small fibres suspended in it.
Natrada, who had come in to help sort costumes that day, stood looking at it for a long moment before saying just one thing: "I sat in this room for six hours a day for three months."
Eleven of the fourteen makeup stools, both velvet sofas, and the main traffic lanes of the backstage carpet carried embedded perspiration, cosmetic residue and musty odour that extraction alone could not fully resolve. The team deep washed those with MASTER VACUUM and advised on drying times so the production department could schedule rehearsals accurately.
At the theatre's request, the team carried out disinfection spraying across both dressing rooms, the green room, the wardrobe store and the sound and lighting control room, covering viruses, bacteria and fungi, using products suited to continuously occupied spaces.
The technicians walked Pimmada and the head of wardrobe through every area, explained ongoing care, recommended a service interval suited to a theatre that performs year round, and handed over WELLGIENIC disinfecting wet wipes and CHEMGENE HLD4H disinfectant for use in the dressing rooms.
This is the most dangerous belief of all, because it teaches an entire industry to accept allergic illness as the price of admission to the profession. Visible dust and dust mite allergen are two different things, and there is no reason anyone should have to trade their own airway for the atmosphere of a building.
The single most common misunderstanding. Air conditioning cools the air in the room. It does not dry the inner layers of carpet, upholstery or heavy fabric. Moisture from the breath and perspiration of 26 people in a basement migrates inward and has no way out, because there is no sun and no natural airflow. The contact surfaces of the textiles stay damp even when the room feels cold.
Exactly the opposite. A garment hanging undisturbed in a dark, damp room for two years is the ideal dust mite condition: no agitation, no light, no airflow, and residual food left from the last person who wore it. The pieces nobody has touched in years are often the most heavily loaded items on the entire rail.
Deodoriser works on odour molecules, not on the allergenic protein in dust mite faeces, and it removes nothing at all from the fibre. A costume that smells fresher provokes precisely the same reaction in an allergic performer.
In this case, once the question was actually asked, nine other company members turned out to have the same symptoms and had never mentioned them. The most sensitised people show symptoms first, but everybody else is inhaling the same allergen — their bodies simply have not reacted strongly enough to be noticed yet.
This one is wrong in the other direction. Dust mite removal cuts the allergen load dramatically and immediately, but as long as 26 people keep working in that space every working day, accumulation restarts. A theatre performing year round should schedule it as a cycle, exactly as the rigging and lighting systems have inspection cycles of their own.
"I have worked backstage for thirteen years, starting as a stagehand and ending up as stage manager. We have an inspection schedule for the rigging, a replacement schedule for the lanterns, a calibration schedule for the sound system. Everything. And there was not one single line anywhere in our manuals about the 412 costumes hanging in the basement.
On the night we had to cancel, I was the one who went out to the lobby and told the audience. There was a woman who had driven in from Nakhon Pathom specifically for that performance. I still remember her face. I never want another night like that as long as I live.
On the service day, I was standing there when they brought the water tank out after finishing the first costume rail, and I asked to film it, because I knew that if I simply described it at the board meeting nobody would believe me. When I played that video in the meeting, not one person asked about the budget again.
What impressed me most was that they cleaned the main house curtain without taking it off the track. Ours weighs a hundred and eighty kilograms. Taking it down costs us the technical team for an entire day and carries real risk. They also worked zone by zone and handed each area back as they finished, so we never moved the rehearsal schedule by even one day.
Backstage dust mite removal is now in our annual plan. I consider it maintenance of our performers' equipment, not a cleaning expense — because a performer's equipment is their own breath and their own voice."
— Pimmada Sriworakan, Stage Manager, Mukdawan Playhouse, Soi Ekkamai, Bangkok
On Friday 5 September 2025, Natrada sat in front of the same bulb-framed mirror, in the same basement dressing room. She was about to play the 56th and final performance of the theatre's new production, "Late Rain, Early Cold."
At 7:15 p.m. — the same time on the clock as the night everything collapsed ten months earlier — she sang the first phrase of the opening number to warm up. Every note was there.
"I did not cry," she said later, laughing. "I just sang it twice more to be sure I had not imagined it."
Across all 56 performances of that season, Mukdawan Playhouse cancelled nothing. The stage manager's log recorded exactly one cracked vocal line, on a night when a performer genuinely had a seasonal cold. The company's combined annual medical costs no longer contained any meaningful allergy-related items at all.
"What I want to say to everyone who works backstage is this," Natrada said slowly. "We are taught that if your voice has a problem you go back to your technique, you rest your voice, you drink more water. All of that is correct. But nobody ever tells you to look at the room you are sitting in. I lost three months, about thirty thousand baht, nearly all of my confidence, and two performances that can never be bought back — because nobody told me."
Pimmada added the sentence she used to close the theatre's revised operations manual, which now carries a new heading: "Maintenance of backstage areas and the wardrobe store."
"Every theatre invests in what the audience sees. Lights, sound, set, costumes, seats. But if the person standing in the middle of all that light cannot breathe, then everything we invested in means nothing."
What separates this from hiring a general cleaning contractor is that everything is completed in a single visit: dust mite extraction with SIRENA System, deep washing with MASTER VACUUM, and optional disinfection spraying covering viruses, bacteria and fungi. No coordinating multiple contractors and no scheduling across multiple days — which matters enormously for venues with narrow availability windows, like a theatre performing year round.
After the service, you also receive aftercare products that are genuinely useful for ongoing maintenance.
For any venue where makeup tools are shared, or where wigs and fabric props circulate between performers, keeping disinfection products in the dressing room is simply part of long-term duty of care — no different from keeping a first aid kit in the building.
Do not wait until you have to cancel a performance, as Mukdawan Playhouse did. Have a team assess and eliminate the source on site — mattresses, sofas, upholstery, carpets and curtains — all completed in one visit, with no dismantling and no need to shut the whole building down.
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Yes. The core process is extracting allergens from the fibre using high suction combined with water filtration and HEPA — not immersion or high heat that distorts fabric. That makes it suitable for lace, velvet, sequined pieces and specially dyed costumes that dry cleaners struggle with. The team assesses fabric types and adjusts the tool head and suction level for each group of garments before starting.
No. Curtains are cleaned in place without removing them from the track, which is a major advantage for theatres, because a main house curtain often weighs hundreds of kilograms and is tied into a rigging system that has to be re-trimmed after any removal. Cleaning in place saves technical crew time and eliminates the risk to the hardware.
No, the whole building does not need to close. The team works zone by zone and hands each area back in sequence. Dust mite extraction areas can be used again immediately once complete; deep washing carries a drying-time recommendation, which the team communicates in advance so the production department can schedule rehearsals accurately. At Mukdawan Playhouse the entire job took two days during a dark period.
SIRENA System is designed in Canada and uses a 1200-watt Italian cyclonic motor together with water filtration and a HEPA filter down to 0.02 micron. Dust and allergens drawn in are trapped in water 100 percent and never returned to the room, unlike an ordinary vacuum which typically exhausts the finest particles straight back out. That is why many people feel worse after a cleaning day — and it is a very large issue indeed in a windowless basement.
For theatres, dressing rooms, wardrobe stores and rehearsal rooms in heavy year-round use, a shorter cycle than a home is recommended — roughly every three to four months, or timed to coincide with the changeover between productions. For homes with allergy or asthma sufferers, every four to six months is the usual guidance. The team will assess and recommend an appropriate interval on the day of service.
Yes. The core process is extracting allergens using water filtration and HEPA, not spraying chemicals onto fabric. SIRENA is certified by the Asthma Society of Canada and carries the TUV Rheinland standard. The optional disinfection spraying and the aftercare products supplied are chosen for continuously occupied spaces. For especially valuable or delicate garments, the team always tests on a concealed area first.
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