Marie Kondo and My Tee-Shirts

In a few months, I will be leaving for college, with only a few dollars in my bank account, a wardrobe solely consisting of hand-me-downs with torn seams, and a dirty room imploding under layers of dust and obscure pillow decorations. To say the least, I was not in a state of order for this big move. The clutter over my dresser and the dress-shirts that have slumped over my lampshades have become more of a nuisance rather than a winter decoration. It took a few days into February, and an 18th birthday that launched me into adulthood, until I decided to deal with this accumulation of clothing, thrifted nic nacks, or pieces of plastic trash sprinkled over the carpet. The solution? The icon Marie Kondo herself and her well-known cleaning methods, but with a twist. The twist in question was an attempt to organize with the “reduce, reuse, recycle” mantra in mind. Those cartoons I’ve watched as a kid, with aluminum cans singing to this same mantra, stuck with me throughout the years and have imprinted me with an environmental moral code. So when I decluttered my room (the first and final of my rooms to get this treatment of cleaning), it seemed irresponsible to send the accumulating pile mentally labeled as “Goodwill” off to a thrift store where the items will most likely end up in a landfill instead. That is where the “reduce, reuse, recycle” mantra came to mind.

With the help of my sister, who went on this journey with me as we are both making our way into college, we took the velvet dresses and worn capri pants from the donation box that no longer gave us joy (using the words of Marie Kondo herself), seam ripped the hems, and resewn these items of clothing into backpacks, facial masks, or corsets (least of which will be helpful for college but certainly the most stylish). Slowly, the items of clothing that were once draped across the lampshades or across potted plants have become a wearable capsule wardrobe. With this practice of increasing the lifecycle of my (seemingly worthless) items, I was in the habit of turning the wire that held up old picture frames into dangly earrings and so on. My desktop and dresser finally glittered under the ray of sun breaking through the window with no trash or wrinkled garments to obstruct the light.

Then there was the trash can, equally as swollen with plastic as the donation box was with tee-shirts. Looking at the contents spilling over the edge of the wireframe can, I sought back to my crafty habits as a 12-year-old. To give context, in elementary school I gravitated towards the purse displays at strip malls or outdoor markets to study how the pockets folded and melded with the foundation of the bag. I took mental notes of pockets that were particularly complex or unique to that bag style. After memorizing its curves and silhouette, I went home to make a replica out of duct tape, folding the tape until I made a complete purse full of secret chambers. I braided long strips of tape so I could fling the base of the purse across my shoulder, which I flaunted with full confidence at every grocery run. These purses allowed me to develop skills that I would replicate today during this spring cleaning.

I emptied my trash can and took a few plastic containers out of the recycling bin (which I say counts as a declutter, no?), and there my next project commenced. I took the smallest pieces of plastic wrapping and sandwiched them between two shopping bags. Using an iron, the plastic fused into a sheet, which I folded and tied into an over-the-shoulder bag. I tore plastic insulation away from old wire being thrown out to create a strap. Complete, I now had a purse made from 100% recycled and repurposed material, saved from the abyss of a landfill or from being scattered across my bedroom floor among lone socks and paperclips. I soon made lunch bags and totes made of sheets of Twizzlers wrappings melding with spinach containers or old tee shirts I collected from a summer 5k four years ago. And with that, I turned my winter trash into spring treasure.