KonMari

When I help people clean out their wardrobes, the items I come across that hang in the back closet never seeing the light of day are usually pieces purchased in a frenzy — out of necessity instead of joy.

Getting rid of all of your stuff is all well and good if you are childfree, but if you have the fortune (or misfortune) to have children, they literally will not let you.

I know my more-than-average amount of stuff is related to my higher-than-average wealth, which makes me self-conscious — especially as someone who used to have to budget groceries to the dime. I can’t separate my privilege from my possessions, but I also know this isn’t just about that. It’s deeper than that.

I have a lot of shit. I like all my shit. I have knick-knacks and bric-a-brac and tchotchkes — and other clever names for things that are really just shit.