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Illustration by Drew Shannon
Before I even start, I’m thinking about the Clockwork Orange jacket. I haven’t worn it since high school. Has its time finally come?
I’m a purger. I’d rather throw stuff away than do just about anything. I’d love to go full minimalism, but my wife and two teenage kids do not share my dream of a house with next to nothing in it. I have tried. When the kids were little, I taught them my two favourite games – “Do We Need It?” and “Put It in Its Place” – and made them play every few months. As you’d expect, their enthusiasm never matched mine.
If I’m going to be honest, my own purge and tidy skills are not as great as I’d like. Every time I play “Do We Need It?” my discard pile is never quite the trash mountain I’d envisioned. Too many items are saved under the delusion I will use them someday, and others are clung to out of nostalgia.
I consider this unhealthy. I want to be better at moving on.
So this time I found help – the bible for people like me: The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up, by Marie Kondo. I know there’s been backlash but I sense that Kondo’s teachings are just what I need.
Kondo’s commitment to her craft is astonishing. She’s been tossing other people’s stuff since she was five. She thanks her things for their service at the end of every day. And she gasps in horror when she sees socks balled up like potatoes. Her philosophy is only to keep things you love, and then truly love them.
Can I go full Kondo? I will try.
One core tenet is that you don’t clean by room but by category. So when you purge clothes, you start by collecting all clothes, no matter where they live in the house and gather them together for consideration. I like this. Aside from purging, it makes you rethink how you organize.
Another core tenet is that, when purging, you hold each item and ask if it brings you joy. In other words, you’re not choosing what to toss, but what to keep. Very cool. The onus is now on each item to earn its place. Surely that will raise the bar (and the discard pile).
And that’s how I find myself with every stitch of clothing I own covering my bed and bedroom floor. I’ve got it all: even gardening gloves from the garage and old baseball cleats from the basement. My wife walks by and gives me a look that says I’m nuts. She’s probably not wrong.
Somewhere near the bottom of this chaos is my Clockwork Orange jacket. In high school, we had a friend who, for five bucks, would paint whatever you wanted on the back of a jean jacket. Most guys went with something music-related, like the cover of a Guns ‘n’ Roses album. I chose the movie poster of Stanley Kubrick’s 1971 film.
I quickly realize the sole criterion of “does it bring me joy?” is going to be a problem. The only socks that give me joy are the ones patterned with Gizmo from Gremlins, and I’m going to need more than one pair. I layer in variations on the question: does it feel good on? Do I still wear it? Is there another item that serves the same purpose? That does the trick and soon the “keep” items are speaking to me, and a sizeable discard pile starts to build in the hall. Joy!
I become aware I’m not the only one feeding the pile. My 19-year-old daughter is also purging. She and her boyfriend are returning to university and have found an apartment together. She needs to lighten her load. While it saddens me that my little girl is moving out, I’m thrilled to see her engaged in a good ol’ game of “Do We Need It?”
I move through the pile: pants, shirts, suits, shoes. The suits bring no joy but I better hang onto one for special occasions. T-shirts bring lots of joy, especially the ones bought at concerts. Kondo wants me to thank every item as I discard it because they have all served a purpose. This overpriced shirt I never wore? It taught me that’s not my style. Thank you, shirt – out with you.
In time, the daughter and I have built a pile big enough to house a family of racoons. Hooray!
I’m on my last category: jackets. I whittle these down to four; one for each season. Perfect.
Plus, of course, Clockwork Orange. The film depicts a violent dystopian future; it is a masterpiece and it is deranged. I saw it in Grade 9 and it freaked me out. Then I became a fan. And so began a lifetime love of cult movies and films that push the envelope.
I adored that jacket and wore it everywhere, even to church. My teenage self felt I was making a statement about society and the importance of art that rattles people’s cages. My adult self realizes I probably just looked like a weirdo.
Regardless, I haven’t worn the thing in about 30 years. Somehow, it has survived dozens of purges. Now that I’m striving to be a disciple of Kondo – surely, its time has come?
I hold it in my hand. There is a tear just below the collar that widens as I hold it. It’s literally falling apart. Will I ever wear it again? Not a chance. Does it feel good on? Actually, yes. Does it bring me joy? Hmmm.
At this moment, my daughter walks in. She asks about the jacket. I tell her the story and that I’m probably going to toss it as it serves no purpose. She disagrees. It’s cool and unique and full of memories – you should keep something like that. She is arguing that nostalgia is reason enough.
I ask her if she wants it, would she wear it? Ah no. And she wanders off to continue her own purge, disappearing on the other side of discard mountain.
I’m not entirely convinced by my daughter’s arguments. I believe in looking ahead, not backward. Nevertheless, sometimes it’s hard to let go.
I gently place the jacket on the keep pile.
James Geuzebroek lives in Whitby, Ont.
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