Every time I visit my parents, I have a massive row with my mother about the hoard of Disney videos gathering dust in my old room. She keeps them in the unshakeable belief that they 'might be worth something one day', which in turn drives me absolutely insane.
So every time I come back home I bitch to my housemates about my mother's infuriating inability to throw anything out, even when it's blatantly obvious to anyone that a shitty VHS of The Rescuers Down Under is never going to be worth anything. Unfortunately, as my housemates are swift to point out, I am in no position to judge. For I too am a bit a hoarder.
I love stuff. I love buying things. I only don't like shopping in actual shops because I am a borderline sociopath and might kill someone one day for walking too slowly, but I have, as friends and flatmates unanimously agree, too much stuff. Online shopping is my problem, especially ASOS. They do next-day delivery. And who doesn’t love getting a package in the post? Even if you know exactly what’s in it and you’ve paid for it yourself, swapping your autograph for a big brown box of instant gratification is one of life’s greatest pleasures.
'Why do you have so many shoes? You haven’t worn some of them in years,' someone once asked.
'Yes, but some of them aren’t for wearing,' I replied.
'What are they for then?'
'They’re art,' I said sulkily. 'You wouldn’t understand.'
There are few things I dislike more than girls who bang on about their shoes like they represent a significant part of their personality ('teehee, I'm a real-life Carrie Bradshaw!' Ugh.) Unfortunately, though, I have inadvertently become one. I have 40 pairs, a quarter of which are completely unsuitable for, well, anything. I have one particularly magnificent pair, for example, from Finsk, an independent British label known for its mental cut-out wedges. Every time I wear them I feel amazing. They’re weird, they’re wonderful, I get a ton of compliments. But, er, I have only ever worn them four times.
And it doesn't stop there. I have so many clothes I can go up to a month without doing laundry. Every surface in my room is covered in crap. Nobody has seen my floor in weeks. I’m not inherently messy per se, I just have so much clutter it isn’t possible for everything to stay neatly in one place. (At least that’s my excuse. And I’m sticking to it.)
All you have to do is throw away, donate or sell an item. Just one on the first day, but then two on the second. And three on the third. And so on.
My long-suffering housemates, James and James, have to bear the brunt of my terrible condition. So last month they suggested we play the Minimalist Game, a joyless exercise in the great and boring art of Throwing Things Away made up by the two blokes behind The Minimalists blog. James 2, a smug enthusiast of clean-living and Scandinavian design, claimed he’d been meaning to try it for awhile, but on reflection I suspect it was a ploy to stop me using the living room as a spare wardrobe. The rules are thus: all you have to do is throw away, donate or sell an item. Just one on the first day, but then two on the second. And three on the third. And so on. The person to stay in the game the longest would win. If we all made it to the end of the month, we would have each removed 496 unnecessary things from our lives.
Well, that clearly wasn't going to happen, I thought. I knew I had a bit of decluttering to do, but there was no way I had nearly 500 possessions to toss. I mean, sure, there were some things I didn’t wear any more I could get rid of, but 500? That’s a lot of stuff. I agreed to it anyway, and so the great purge commenced.
At first it was fun. You throw away only a smattering of items in the first few days, most of which you've probably been meaning to get rid of anyway. Jettisoning items already earmarked for Oxfam brings on a pleasing feeling of (undeserved) satisfaction, the kind you get when you cross something really easy off your To Do list, like 'take a shower' or 'have dinner'.
Around day seven it began to get more difficult. I'd already binned my manky slippers and saggy-gusseted bikini bottoms. Gone too were all the fossilised bottles of nail polish and half-full tubes of tinted moisturiser I'll never use because they give me hives. With both Jameses still going strong, though, I knew it was nearly time to tackle my wardrobe.
Throwing away clothes is always an emotional experience. No matter how old or too small, binning old threads is hard. The best thing to do is set parameters that force your hand when emotions inevitably cloud your better judgement. Initially, anything that I hadn’t worn in two years was chucked. Every elimination brought on feelings of grief and guilt. Most of all, I feared regretting my decision. Sort of like wardrobe FOMO, I guess.
On day 11 I came home in a rage and immediately eliminated 11 items that had been waiting two years for me to slim down into
I found that the better my mood, the harder it was to throw things away. A monster grump brought out the recklessness in me; on day 11 I came home in a rage and immediately eliminated 11 items that had been waiting two years for me to slim down into. Clearly happy people make crap minimalists.
But after each day’s clear-out was done, I felt great. I started to gain momentum. I found my fancy dress box and binned everything, even the most excellent purple wig I wore to be Buzz Lightyear. I tossed anything made of that sweaty polyester. And anything more than one size too small. Then anything I hadn’t worn in 18 months. I plateaued on day 14, then realised I had a whole cache of untapped crap in my knickers drawer. Out went the sad orphaned knickers and magnificently uncomfortable Elle MacPherson bra I secretly hated but kept because it was expensive. Then I tried on everything that made me feel fat and got rid of that. Then anything I hadn’t worn in a year. I was on a roll! Unstoppable! A minimalist in the making!
I came third. Which is a pretty poor show, considering I definitely have the most stuff. But I still lasted until day 18, way longer than we thought. Before I went to bed on day 19 I started to gather all the things I was prepared to throw away. I found a few bits and bobs as I scoured my room, but I was done. I won’t say I’d gotten rid of every single unnecessary object in my life – I’ve kept the marvellous Finsk shoes – but I’d binned enough. I just wanted to be able to fit everything in my wardrobe, not become a hermit.
In total I got rid of 161 items, made some cash on eBay, and gave a shitload to charity. Twenty pairs of shoes bit the dust. The Jameses, who both threw in the towel on day 20, binned 385 more items. Our flat is now a little bit emptier and we spent the eBay money on steak. So, you know, worth it.
Follow Emily on Twitter @CuriouslyEmily
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Photograph: Luke & Nik
This article originally appeared on The Debrief.