Review: It's Okay To Ignore 'Tidying Up With Marie Kondo'

I am not what you call a "car guy." Oh, I love to drive. But my actual knowledge of how to fix a car generally is limited to opening the hood, lightly yanking at a couple of things and muttering "hmm, this is a tricky one." Despite that painfully embarrassing lack of insight, I still enjoy watching those TV shows where someone finds and fixes up some great classic car. I mean, "Trans Am" was one of my favorite new reality shows in 2018, but I am self-aware enough to comprehend that the closest I'm ever getting to a vintage Trans Am is watching "Smokey & the Bandit" on basic cable.

When I initially watched the new Netflix household makeover series "Tidying Up With Marie Kondo," I assumed that is the reaction most Americans would have. Kondo is a delight to watch and on some level, she does have worthwhile suggestions about how to unclutter your living spaces. But I didn't think her minimalistic, slightly unsettling approach to living would resonate with the average person.  I foolishly believed most of us are far more likely to eat too many tacos than neatly fold our shirts into taco-shaped pieces that can be carefully placed in their respective color-coordinated drawers.

And yet, people seem to freaking love Kondo and her very Japanese-centric approach to living. I am all in favor of getting rid of old clothes I don't wear. But I am less convinced that Kondo's "say goodbye and thank your clothes for their service" approach to uncluttering is going to be followed by anyone who isn't on-camera and perhaps suffering from a low-level problem with OCD. Still, in the days since "Tidying Up With Marie Kondo" premiered on Netflix, the Internet has been over-run with love letters to Kondo and her show. 

The Ringer describes the show as "a moving meditation on the meaning of home." Wired offers up this weird take where it frames the show as a bridge between the memes of Mariah Carey and Ariana Grande while proclaiming it the show that might best represent "the year of peak self-optimization." Atlantic's love letter to her minimalist approach to home life is to argue "her ethos resembles that of the legendary industrial designer Dieter Rams." I saw one person in my Twitter feed say watching the show motivated her to get rid of some clutter. My reaction to watching the show was "I'm glad I don't have to live like that."

I am not a clean fanatic, but I do have a tidy house. If you stop by my home unexpectedly you might have to move a magazine to sit down on the couch. But everything is clean and organized enough to ride that line between looking lived in and chaotic. I appreciate my home, but I don't think I've ever felt the need to give a prayer for its existence because...well, it's an inanimate object. I have a connection with some of my clothes and there are items that are inexorably tied to memories of where they were purchased or some notable occasion when I wore them. But I never forget they are mere pieces of cloth. Carefully saying "thank you for your service" to a discarded t-shirt doesn't help give my home life meaning. What gives weight in my home life are my family and the memories I've built with my possessions in this house.

So I watched "Tidying Up With Marie Kondo" the same way I would view a series that rebuilt a 1962 Thunderbird. I appreciate the vehicle and enjoy the idea of owning it. But I also realize that with my long legs, watching me try and get in or out of the vehicle would be about as dashing as seeing someone carefully unfold themselves and exit a clown car. I enjoyed watching the show and watching Kondo's carefully articulated approach to everything is comforting. But I'd no more live the life she touts that I would spend all of my disposable income following the recommendations of Gwyneth Paltrow's Goop. There are ways of life that are meant to be enjoyed in the abstract rather than attempting to recreate them in a real-life situation.

If you feel inspired by "Tidying Up With Marie Kondo," I wish you well. We all have different things that make us happy and my way is no better or worse than how you choose to live yours. As for me, I prefer my tacos with fish, my sink with a few dirty dishes and my closet filled with sentimental items I don't necessarily want to see every day.