Storage Wars

When I was a kid, each bedroom had one small closet; there was a linen closet in the hallway, and all the extra boxes were stored in the attic—all five of them. They were filled with mostly Christmas decorations peppered with some ridiculously itchy burlap Indian costumes for Halloween that I’m pretty sure would be politically incorrect today.

When I went away to college, I packed up everything I needed in my mom’s 1983 Ford Escort and headed off. There was no need for a Uhaul or a luggage carrier on top of the car. Everything I owned could be packed into a compact car. Of course, I couldn’t use the rearview mirror, but still, a COMPACT car.

The 1980s had no Container Stores and no organizational systems with interlocking bins. If we had extra things, we put them in sturdy cardboard boxes and called it a day.

But today I NEED so much more. First, I refuse to commit to just one size. Weight comes and goes, apparently in relation to some hormone/exercise/food algorithm that I have yet to figure out, so I need three different sizes in my closet—the size I actually wear, the size I wear when I’m not bloated like a hippo, and the size that I will get back to following a tummy tuck. All three are necessary.

I like certain colors—grey, for instance. So it’s important to have a 1950s style cardigan, an asymmetrical zip-up cardigan, an embellished cardigan, etc. You can see how one could get carried away. I probably have 30 variations of a white shirt and I wear about three of those. There are dozens of scarves to match the dozens of cardigans. It’s a delicate balance between cardigans, scarves, corduroys, and boots—my basic uniform.

But it’s a lot of stuff to store. And if I’m being honest, when I’m not working, I wear the same outfit for three days.

So a couple years ago, I started shedding the excess. I knew it was time when we moved into a rental house, and I had twenty plastic bins stacked in rows in the garage; I was saving them to unpack at a later time. Sometimes I’d peek into them to see what I’d been missing. Tiffany tea set. Silver-plated platter. Gigantic ceramic bowl. Clearly things that someone like me needs to entertain on a regular basis. If you have dinner at my house, the food will be good but it will be served in a panoply of dishes.

And then earlier this week, a friend posted a picture of a perfectly organized makeup drawer. A Lucite organizer with little walls up between lipsticks and eye shadows. Wow. Revolutionary. I have more of a bin-type system that overflows to the point that I can’t find anything. So I purged. The first few lip glosses were the hardest. Who knows when I’m going to need that exact shade of bronze? Well, never. I threw away about fifteen, some of which were more than five years old. As my friend wisely pointed out, this is actually a health hazard. Old makeup breeds bacteria. Ew.

I’ve jettisoned a lot of the excess, but I still have a ways to go. I’ve gotten rid of at least ten of the bins and am always trying to get rid of more. It feels good—the letting go of what’s extra, the de-cluttering, the emergence of what I really want at my fingertips. But it’s a work in progress.



Elisabeth Richardson loves yoga, dogs, travel, and reading; she is currently going through withdrawal because her only son is a freshman in college.