Not to brag, but I’ve been decluttering before it was cool. I try to do it regularly, but with my work and life and lazin’-about schedule taking up all of my time, decluttering tends to get reduced to a once-a-year occasion.

But boy do I look forward to it.

I look forward to it like how my puppy looks forward to kibbles.

Like how productive but overpaying members of society look forward to tax refunds.

Like how GoDaddy looks forward to automatically renewing the 30 unused domains I’ve impulsively bought over the years because one day I totally will write about my conversations with my sandwich (dot com).

You get it.

Decluttering. Is. Awesome.

Because I’m all about sharing wisdom these days, I’ve decided to take you through my process. Just think of me as your very own KonMari but without the Netflix deal and happy clients. On the internet, EVERYONE’s an expert.

So step into my office, my friend. And by office, I mean my cupboard. And by friend I mean internet stranger.

Well, hello. Don’t we look positively It Came With The Apartment Like This And My Landlord Made Me Sign Something That Said I Better Leave It Like This, Too, If I Want My Security Deposit Back JK I’m Never Getting My Security Deposit Back LOL?

Cupboards are ripe for decluttering. It’s so easy to tuck away a novelty mug here and a cracked martini glass there ever so conveniently behind closed doors, freeing yourself from the guilt of having to throw away otherwise perfectly functional dishware. After all, what’s a little bloody lip after sipping from a chipped mason jar? Repeat after me: it’s not broken. It’s just full of character.

Let’s take a closer look.

Ah, it appears the liquid containers are grouped together, with the special, scarcely used yet more expensive glasses up high, and the everyday utilitarian cups down low, closer to the ground so they remember their lot in life.

Like a perfectly functioning caste system, this works. But a little decluttering can make it work even better.

We’ll start with our bottom feeders, lest we rattle the status quo by making cuts starting from the top. <Insert knowing, shared laughter between me and the monogrammed decanter.>

Unlike the KonMari way, my method is based on science.

Here, we evaluate how much joy an item sparks based on quantifiable measures. Like a finely tuned corporate annual performance review, it is infallible.

Let’s begin.

Years of service: <5
Duties: Coffee receptacle. Sometimes water.
Pros: Looks great in a hand.
Cons: Makes everyone else look bad.
Middle management potential: Low
Room for improvement: Yes. There’s no “I” in team. Less quirk, more conformity, er, collaboration, please.
Final verdict: My name does indeed start with a K. The cup stays.

Years of service: <5
Duties: A fine coffee receptacle.
Pros: Makes me look smart. It says, “Look at me. Books are a thing I read.”
Cons: As with anything French, it thinks it’s better than everyone.
Middle management potential: Low.
Room for improvement: Oui. Less sneering, more agreeing.
Final verdict: The coffee stains show dedication. They say, “Yes, I WILL skip my kid’s first birthday for your meeting about that other meeting.” This cup gets it. It stays.

What even is this? Must be a minority hire. Stick it in the back until the annual company picnic, when we’ll position it front and center for the newsletter picture to show our commitment to diversity.

Years of service: 5
Duties: Ah, a camping coffee cup. Lured by promises of outside responsibilities, it spends most days inside. In the dark.
Pros: It tells people I go outside sometimes.
Cons: It reminds me how often I don’t go outside.
Middle management potential: It’s not quite doing what it’s good at, but it’s pleasant enough to not cause a stir (get it?). Its chances are very high.
Room for improvement: I’m sorry, who are we talking about again?
Final verdict: Sure.

Years of service: <5
Duties: Flattery and validation. The Office Suckup.
Pros: I enjoy compliments.
Cons: Tries a little too hard and can’t be trusted.
Middle management potential: High
Room for improvement: As long as it continues to suck up to the right people (me), then not much.
Final verdict: Not the most talented but good to have drinks with? PROMOTION.

OMG YES.

Years of service: > 5
Duties: BURRRRRRRR
Pros: Every cupboard needs a hip, happening cool foreigner. It tells people I am cultured. I am unique.
Cons: Can’t understand WTF it’s saying.
Middle management potential: Ya kidding? It’s on an H-1B visa that’s about to expire. It’s just happy it has a warm place to poop in.
Room for improvement: Unless it can turn Miller Lite into vodka, I just don’t know how that’s possible.
Final verdict: Sî. Which is Spanish AND Catalan (the official languages of Barcelona, though a good chunk of its population would prefer for it to be just the latter—history’s cool, guys!) for YES.

HAHAHAHAHHHAHAHA way too big for everyday use but lights up a room with its big stupid head. It stays. Forever.

What sound did I just make?

A novelty mug of a fictional place from a TV show from a simpler time? Totes.

Years of service: Judging from its weathered face, 175.
Duties: Reminding everyone of our own mortality.
Pros: It says age is nothing but a number that tells you just how much closer you are to death. Also, use sunblock.
Cons: Is this BPA free?
Middle management potential: Sadly none on this Earth but maybe in the afterlife.
Room for improvement: Seriously, am I going to die from BPA? Also, what’s BPA?
Final verdict: Despite my inner voice telling me to Let It Go (Crap, wrong musical), I don’t have the heart to do it. Corporations do indeed care, people. All I ask is that it doesn’t expire on the job and on the premises. A lawsuit’s the last thing I need. But please put it in the corner where I don’t have to look at it.

+ + +

And there you have it, folks. The foolproof, highly scientific method of decluttering in a number of indeterminate but easy steps. Just by replicating my 4-point factor analysis, you too will soon be clutter-free. What do you mean I didn’t get rid of anything and the cupboard’s still cluttered? I guess that means I’m perfect. Hopefully you’ll discover you’re perfect, too.

Join me next time for the ever so mysterious, highly contentious Sock Drawer (I mean, where DOES the other one go?).

I’m so excited my back hairs are tingling.

Peace.