This was the most stressful book I've ever read. I haven't been thrown into such a fucking frenzy of hatred since The Book Thief, and as with The Book Thief, I'm astounded that audienc
This was the most stressful book I've ever read. I haven't been thrown into such a fucking frenzy of hatred since The Book Thief, and as with The Book Thief, I'm astounded that audiences en masse are embracing such codswollop.
I'm baffled as to why this is a bestseller. My best guess is that Marie Kondo targeted the most materialistic generation in the history of humanity, and they've since passed the book on to their equally superficial, spiritually empty, and stuff-obsessed grandchildren, who have made the fucking thing go viral. At this point, we should just accept the fact that when our fellow countrymen gobble up 4 million copies of a book, it's garbage. Seriously. Stupid just hit a whole new level.But before I go tearing the book and its semi-literate fans to pieces, let's be fair: I'm not the intended audience. Other than the fact that I'm an unduly harsh critic of everything I read (I like to call that using my brain, but whatever), I already live minimally: I live in one of the rainiest cities in the country, but I will never buy an umbrella; except for 4 absolute favorites, all of my books are in the Cloud; knick-knacks make make me want to smack someone, the mismatched mess of an "eclectic" decorating style nauseates me, and I never buy anything unless I need it or love it. My house is almost always immaculate, and I don't do clutter. Excess "stuff" stresses me out to no end.
As I read Kondo's book, I realized that I'm not the typical American drowning in an excess of useless crap. (Living in Europe and trading continents 4 times in your 20s can do that to a person). So why wasn't I nodding in agreement with her guide to decluttering? You mean it's not obvious? Come on, people! Good God. When Americans' capacity for critical thinking has reached the level of blindly adopting all things Marie Kondo/KonMari, we've got bigger problems than "too much stuff." Look. There's no such thing as the "KonMari method for tidying up." Her ideas should only strike you as new if you've ignored the folding techniques of every retail store you've ever entered, or you've never poked through a Feng Shui catalog. Saying that you follow the "KonMari method for tidying up" is like saying you follow the "Harpo method for finding your spirit" or the "Martha Stewart Omnimedia method" of crafting Christmas ornaments out of pinecones and pipe cleaners.There is no KonMari method, you idiots. This isn't some ancient Japanese art of decluttering put forth by one diminutive woman from Tokyo. Marie Kondo was manufactured by a Japanese publishing outlet, and KonMari isn't a method, it's a media company.
I'm not bothered by the woman-as-the-face-of-a-media-company thing. It's been done before. (Oprah and Martha Stewart, anyone?) What disgusts me about this book is the deception behind it. I don't dig Oprah, but at least she got people talking about uncomfortable topics like sexual assault and racism, among other things. And at least Martha Stewart was candid about her perfectionism and relentless focus on her business functioning as coping mechanisms during an ugly divorce. But Kondo? This chick is packaging her brand of crazy as the path to joy.
I mean, peddling your mental illness as the new normal? Damn, that's cold.Look. If you're an American with an abundance of junk, you're normal. You're fine. Marie Kondo wants you to have a problem with your junk so she can make money. Dealing with her issues doesn't make her rich -- selling you her psychosis does.
Do you really believe Kondo found joy in decluttering when she says her cleaning obsession started at age 5, and was a "custom [she] maintained even after entering high school," as she "sat on the floor for hours sorting things"? If you're going to ignore the fact that Kondo chose cleaning over normal after-school activities--a job, calling boys, playing sports--it's easy to brush aside her mention of having a teenage breakdown because her room wasn't clean enough. (Um, that's not a happy kid). Path to joy indeed. But we don't need to psychoanalyze the early years. Kondo admits that her passion for tidying "was motivated by a desire for recognition from [her] parents," and that she "had an unusually strong attachment to things" rather than people. (Hi, sad). But is a childless 20-something/former souvenir salesperson, fresh out of an unhappy childhood, really the one you want leading you down the supposed path to joy? Think about what this chick is saying:"The purpose of a letter is fulfilled the moment it is received. By now, the person who wrote it has long forgotten what he or she wrote and even the letter's very existence."
Jesus. That's a bleak outlook on life. But I guess Kondo is right. My grandma doesn't give a shit about the letters she wrote me--she's dead. Then again, I don't hold on to letters from grandma for her sake."Aim for perfection."
Jesus CHRIST. The only thing I hate more than knick-knacks and the eclectic is a living space created with "perfection" in mind. "Perfect" living spaces are stressful. They're goddamned mausoleums void of character and humanity. There's a little genius in a (small) organized mess. A tad bit of clutter is humanizing. There can be beauty in a bit of chaos. Hey, Marie, here's an idea: get outside more. Perfection is a fleeting organic moment: a newborn baby, a sunset, the Fibonacci sequence in the florets of a flower. It's not some state you declutter your way into."Move all of your storage units into your closet. This is where I usually put steel racks, bookcases, and cupboards or shelves, which can also be used to store books."
This. Right here. This is exactly why I found this book so goddamned irritating. Passages like this made my immaculate and clutter-free city apartment feel like it wasn't good enough.Take my bookcase. I hate bookcases. I view them as a way of storing junk, and in my 30-something years, I've only seen one bookcase done well. But I have a bookcase for my 6 year-old. (No goddamn way am I going to put his books on the Cloud, giving him another excuse to stare at a screen).
Never, ever tie up your stockings. Never, ever ball up your socks.
God! Who the fuck cares about how they fold their socks? I'd love to scribble all over Kondo's walls just to see what she'd do."Transform your closet into your own private space, one that gives you the thrill of pleasure.
Heh. An organized closet sparking a "thrill of pleasure"? I'd recommend another human being or a battery-powered...never mind, get your "thrill of pleasure" wherever, it's not my business."When you stand in front of a closet that has been reorganized...your heart will beat faster and the cells in your body buzz with energy."
Isn't it weird that Kondo describes an organized closet with words generally associated with falling in love/physical intimacy? Well, that's...fucked up, but whatever. I had an altogether different experience. When I upgraded to a new apartment a few months ago, I organized my hall closet. Afterwards, I stood there wondering if I'd accomplished anything or just wasted a bunch of time. When my 6 year-old wandered up and, near tears said, "When you clean, we don't get to play," I went ahead and decided on the latter.This is the routine I follow every day when I return home from work. First, I unlock the door and announce to my house, 'I'm home!' Picking up the pair of shoes I wore yesterday...I say, 'Thank you very much for you hard work,' and put them away...I put my jacket and dress on a hanger, say 'Good job!'...I put [my handbag] on the top shelf of the closet, saying 'You did well. Have a good rest.'"
"The best way to choose what to keep and what to throw away is to take each item in one's hand and ask: 'Does this spark joy?'"
LOL, the "wisdom" of people under 30.Anyone who has kids (or a general understanding of life) knows this is fucking ridiculous.
People are indeed affected by their environment, and decluttering can feel satisfying, even cleansing. But look who's telling you how to go about it: a chick whose childhood obsession with cleaning came from trying to please others, whose sole work experience includes selling junk at shrines, and whose descriptions of "joy" include rules, repetition, ritual, and talking to inanimate objects.
Yeah. They make medication for that. At this point, I should pick up Marie Kondo's book and ask myself whether it sparks joy. Well, no, it actually sparks rage. To the trash with it, then!SUCKED.