1. It's an accomplishment.
    No matter what happens or doesn't happen in the course of a day, I know I've at least managed to make my bed.
  2. Coming home to an unmade bed is a sad thing.
    Picture it: You're standing on the threshold of whatever room contains your bed. I live in a studio, so basically you walk in and my bed is like, "Hey, what's up?" Anyway, there you are. It's dark, and it's been dark since 4:30, so you've already been feeling sorry for yourself for a few hours. And there is your messy bed, a symbol of all your past, present and future failures. You see what I'm saying?
  3. It's a habit.
    I started doing it when I went to Interlochen Arts Camp, an eight week music sleep away camp. It's a place where the uniform involves blue corduroy culottes and knee socks, and where it's totally normal to play music for eight hours a day. Now I always seem to have this small pocket of time in the morning when the shower is warming up and I'm sipping cold coffee from the gross insulated cup I always bring to the gym, and I just do it then. It transforms the place.
  4. It's a sign you have your shit together.
    Think about it this way: if you were planning to lure a Potential Love Interest to your home in the hope of some quality naked time, would you leave your bed unmade? I think not.
  5. It's soothing.
    Making a bed can be a meditative act. There's pleasure in smoothing the sheets, straightening the comforter, plumping the pillows. Or even just deflating the freaking air mattress, folding whatever you covered it with, and finding a way to shove he air mattress into the space from whence it came. The Zen aspects of bed making can be applied to whatever sort of bed you have.