The Sunday Times - UK (2022-04-03)

8 April 3, 2022The Sunday Times

Home

I

am addicted to tidy cupboards...

or at least dreaming about other

people’s tidy cupboards, seeing

that ours are anything but. Perhaps

it is the hope of clinging, by the tips

of my fingers, to a sense of order as the

world spins out of control.

Judging by the proliferation of home

organisation porn, I’m not alone. As

Khloé Kardashian puts it in Get Organized

with the Home Edit on Netflix, “Who

doesn’t want every square inch of their

home organised like a crazy person?”

The series, which returned for a second

season this week, charts how the Home

Edit’s Nashville-based founders, Clea

Shearer and Joanna Teplin, order rooms

into Roygbiv — an acronym for the colours

of the rainbow. Rows of pristine white

shelves are filled (to no more than three

quarters full) with artfully arranged

belongings in clear acrylic containers.

The aesthetic has earned the Home

Edit a roster of A-list fans including the

Kardashian family, Reese Witherspoon,

Gwyneth Paltrow and Drew Barrymore —

all of whom are not just clients but

evangelists. Shearer and Teplin have

become stars, with 5.7 million Instagram

followers, three bestselling books and

organisational accessories sold through

Walmart and John Lewis. Each of their

Netflix episodes features two home

reorganisations — one for a celebrity and

one for a member of the public.

Having previewed them all, I can

confirm with relief that Teplin’s fridge —

glimpsed in the background at one point

— is not a picture of perfection. Alas, the

condiments in the door do not match.

And while she and Shearer triumph over

the TikTok prankster Topper Guild’s piles

of fake eyeballs and stink bombs (one

of which goes off, halting their team’s

work), they are nearly overcome by the

overflowing bedroom of Rylan, a normal

eight-year-old.

For the average home with too much

stuff, the Home Edit’s appeal is guilt-free.

You do not have to face up to your excess.

Rather than getting rid of things, arrange

them in style. Ultimately it does not sell

you an improved life, but permission not

to improve your life (as long as your

shelves are Roygbiv).

It is the opposite of Marie Kondo’s

mission to shed everything that fails to

“spark joy”. Kondo’s is essentially a self-

help pitch, as captured in the title of her

book, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying

Up. At the extreme end of this spectrum

are Joshua Fields Millburn and Ryan

Nicodemus, who call themselves the

Minimalists and who — in yet another

Netflix hit, a podcast and books — claim to

have helped 20 million people to pare

down their possessions. To them,

gleaming acrylic containers on pristine

white shelves are but “clutter coffins”.

As a home-editing geek by necessity, I

have come to settle somewhere in the

middle of these approaches. I am learning

not only to let go of stuff but also to let go

of worrying about the stuff I can’t control.

For the past year my young family of four

have squeezed into a one-bedroom

bungalow, which we plan to knock down

and replace. Eventually there will be big

windows with views of trees, highly

insulated walls and lots of beautifully

organised cupboards. Right now we are

living with two under-eights sleeping in

what was the galley kitchen and assorted

underpants scattered across the entrance

hall (which doubles as their playroom,

dressing room and dumping ground).

In moving to our glorified shed we lost

more than a third of our floor space. I

have edited down our belongings again

and again. What doesn’t fit into the

rickety cupboards has had to go. It is a

constant battle.

When it gets too much I retreat into

other people’s beautifully organised

homes to dream of the storage for the

house we plan to build. Among my

favourites on Instagram are @shiragill,

@neatmethod, @breathing.room.

organization and @abowlfulloflemons.

In the new house, I plan “zones” for

every use. A locker cupboard for each

person to dump their muddy shoes, bag

and coat in. A utility room with a built-in

nook for the dog we’ll get. A larder with

glass jars of decanted ingredients neatly

lined up. A kitchen drawer in which to

charge our phones out of sight.

There will be no “free-floating objects”,

as Shearer and Teplin call rogue loose

items in cupboards. Everything will be

contained — even the Tupperware

drawer will be divided into sections with

bamboo dividers and a wooden plate rack

to stack the lids upright. Everything will

be labelled, so my offspring and husband

can return things to the right home.

Everything will have a place.

And by the front door there will be

baskets for things to donate and sell,

ready to leave the house. What we have

will be just right. Just what we need, and

nothing more. So we can focus on the

things that matter most — and those are

not things.

SORT IT OUT

U Wire shoe rack by Cox & Cox, £295;

coxandcox.co.uk

Stacking lidded storage boxes by

A Place for Everything start at £7;

aplaceforeverything.co.uk

U Cotton twill storage basket, £19.99;

hm.com

W Skubb hanging

storage with six

compartments, £8;

ikea.com

X Lakeland’s black metal

sink tidy also comes in

cream, £12.99;

lakeland.co.uk

SPICK

AND SPAN

As Netflix’s cult show on tidying returns, Martina Lees

asks, is there such a thing as moderate minimalism?

Judging

by the

proliferation

of home

organisation

porn, I’m

not alone

The Home Edit’s

Clea Shearer

and Joanna

Teplin with their

client Reese

Witherspoon

W Garden

Trading’s laundry

and utility range of

caddies and baskets

includes the Portland

wash-up tidy, £12;

gardentrading.co.uk

X The Home Edit by

iDesign’s paulownia

wood skinny storage

bin, as seen on the

Netflix show Get Organized

with the Home Edit, £14.50;

johnlewis.com

JOHN SHEARER/NETFLIX; CHS AGENCY; MATS EKDAHL