What Happened When I Marie Kondo’d My Wardrobe

It was the wee small hours of the morning and I was having another sleepless night.

After several failed attempts to find the land of nod I headed for the lounge and the comfort of Netflix.

I was in search of something mind numbingly boring to help me sleep and came across Marie Kondo. Bingo – a woman tidying a house – if that’s not going to work I don’t know what is, right?

Wrong.

An hour (and several tears) later I was not only hooked, but had the urge to Marie Kondo my own life, particularly my wardrobe.

Opening my wardrobe is like opening up the pages of my diary, it’s all there: dreams, misery and mental illness.

There is clothing of all sizes (clothing from extreme weight loss and weight gain), baggy stuff to hide in and skinny jeans for when the newest-latest diet or ‘wellness’ trend kicks in. You know, the one that’s gonna’ actually work this time.

More importantly though, it was full to the brim with stuff that didn’t, in Marie’s own words, ‘spark joy’.

So here’s the thing: holding items and asking if they spark joy does feel cheesy, but it does make it easier to let things go.

There were tops, dresses, skirts that felt like corporal punishment when I put them on – why was I keeping them? The skirt that dug into my intestines, the tee that reminded me of ‘him’ and the knickers that go too far up North. Ouch.

Fast forward one month and I have no regrets about throwing stuff out, and definitely no regrets about flogging it on eBay, because it doesn’t matter how expensive the jeans are or how funny the Bieber t-shirt is; if it’s going to give me a mental break down when I can’t do up the zip or remind me of a cheating ex, it’s best to get rid, then Baby, you can go and Love Yourself.

Pink Top: River Island, Black Top: American Apparel, Dress: Nobody’s Child, Trainers & Socks: Topshop, Phone Case: Hey Handy

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