A month ago, I picked up a neat little book: Marie Kondo’s “The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up”. The anchoring principle of her KonMari method is that we only hang on to what “sparks joy.” She recommends holding each item individually and having an existential conversation with it. Out loud. In a room with no noise or distraction.
So, I decided I would do it. I’m currently starting month two of the most thorough cleaning spree I’ve ever initiated and my closet is finally completely done. That’s it, just one standard walk-in closet. And yet, it feels different now. Instead of clothes pouring from shelves, all of my clothes are neatly folded and stored on their side (like books), everything taking up only one-third of my entire closet.
And it isn’t just my physical environment: it’s impossible for me not to see the connections between the KonMari method and graphic design—after all, it has strong roots in minimalism and a material design aesthetic. So, let’s talk about tidying and design, shall we?
Throwing things out is not unlike a brand or website redesign.
The KonMari method is popular largely because it guides you through a learning curve of identifying criteria for discarding. The same applies for design. No matter how you personally define a brand, there is one immutable truth: people made it. Which also means those people like it. And those people don’t want it to change. In cases like that, I’d recommend what Marie recommends: begin it all at once. Gather every part of a brand and look at the design all together. You’ll start to see pieces that don’t click as well as they used to.
Discarding doesn’t mean destroying.
Marie Kondo is often faced with the expectation she’d rather see everyone with as few possessions as possible, but she argues that the amount of stuff doesn’t matter, as long as it serves purpose. Minimizing duplicate information and graphics on a website improves speed while promoting a seamless and happy experience to visitors.
When the clutter is gone, the purpose shines.
There’s a significant change that happens when your space is in order. The air feels fresher, the room looks lighter, and everything feels like it’s clicked into place. The need to fill the space with as many visuals as possible dissipates, replaced by careful curating. The same applies to a website; deliberate content and elements become neon signs for what you do, why you do it, and why it matters.
For me, my recent foray into tidiness has been from a desire to have more time. Cleaning is always an ordeal, and too often I hide-clean when someone announces they’re just dropping by. Think of it like this: if the visitor you most want to see your site decides to look at it, would you be furiously hiding something or opening the door?