The nation is gripped by “tidy” fever. Again. Didn’t we already go through this five years ago when diminutive domestic diva Marie Kondo’s “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up” sold nearly 10 million copies?
Artful shirt-folding to maximize drawer space…talking to your clothes, (yes, even the tattered Lamb of God tees), thanking them OUT LOUD for their service before tossing them into the trash or the charity box…it’s all back, only this time it’s streamable.
It’s as if we ask ourselves: If we didn’t see it on Netflix, did it really happen? The answer appears to be a resounding “apparently not.”
Kondo’s new eight-episode series is a huge hit. We can’t get enough of the well-ordered closets, garages with actual cars in them and transparent toy and craft bins.
The “failing Jeff Bezos-owned Amazon Washington Post” – to quote Trump–recently speculated that the popularity of Kondo’s tidying magic is a response to our almost panicky need for order in challenging times. I think the failing billionaire might have a point.
I like Kondo’s schict. I’ve done some version of her purging/praying/prettying for decades so I’m charmed when she happily gathers overwrought couples to kneel in their overstuffed homes to express gratitude to the home itself. I don’t smirk, much, when she tells us to toss anything that doesn’t make us feel “joyful.”
Oh, Marie. If only we could convince the First Immigrant to join you for a good old-fashioned household purge. Out with the old and in with the, well, just about anything else.
Maybe we should dispatch Marie Kondo into the belly of the beast. And by beast, I mean the White House, followed by the Halls of Congress. If ever there was a need for tidying, a time for tossing out, this is it.
I know how desperate that sounds. After all, Kondo looks more like the flyer on a middle school cheerleading team than someone who can clean up Washington. Maybe her service truly is just to keep us distracted by talking to our clothes. Like a bunch of crazy people.
Kondo speaks softly, smiles warmly and, with her wardrobe of ice cream colored cardigans with freakishly little pilling she is as comforting as biscuits and gravy. Sure, we have a three-week reprieve but what happens the next time the government shuts down and there’s nobody left to make sure our lettuce doesn’t kill us and planes don’t fall out of the sky?
Can the perfect antidote to these worrisome times be restoring order in our own homes? Like the song says: Let There Be Order on Earth and Let It Begin With Me (but First Let’s Toss These 20-Year-Old Cinnamon Sticks.)
Today, it’s a slimy cucumber you forgot about in the crisper drawer; tomorrow a creepy racist congressman from Iowa. They’re both rancid; throw ’em out.
We’re an untidy nation now, every bit as useless as the kitchen junk drawer that no longer opens because of the unfortunate tilt of a rogue screwdriver. We’re jammed up, not functioning, decidedly messy. Time for a little magic.