Bernard O'Shea: The day I finally organised the 'sh*te drawer'
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Recently Marie Kondo, the queen of tidiness, has embraced a bit of clutter, realising that perfect order takes a backseat to what truly sparks joy. They say every great journey begins with a single step.
Mine began with a single, reluctant pull of the sh*te drawer. You know the one — it’s the Bermuda Triangle of the home, the unassuming little space in your kitchen or hallway where keys, batteries, and random plastic bits go to die.
For years, I’d ignored it, treating it less like a drawer and more like a Pandora’s box that was best left undisturbed. To this day it is one of my most watched instagram posts. The fear of this drawer is real.
I eventually dumped the drawer’s contents onto the kitchen table. There it all was: a tangled mess of phone chargers (none of which matched our current devices), loose screws, pens that refused to write, and what seemed like a lifetime supply of soy sauce packets.
Why was there a collection of Allen keys, as though I’d been stockpiling them for the IKEA apocalypse? Why was I holding onto sunglasses missing a lens? And why did I have not one, not two, but three mystery keys?
The real existential crisis, though, came when I tried to throw something away. What if I need this someday? That packet of seeds from a lockdown gardening phase I never started? Maybe I’ll plant them this spring.
Psychologists have spent years trying to understand why we cling to objects we don’t need. The s##te or junk drawer is a perfect microcosm (apparently) of three psychological tendencies: sentimentality, loss aversion, and the dreaded 'what-if' syndrome.
Objects often hold emotional value far beyond their practical use. Research from Cornell University shows that sentimental attachment can make it incredibly difficult to let go of items. These objects act as anchors to our memories, making them harder to toss out.
Behavioural economists like Dan Ariely have explored how we assign value to items simply because we own them. Throwing something away feels like admitting failure — a waste of money, effort, or potential. This is why I’ve kept packets of soy sauce that I’m clearly never going to use.
The fear of future regret is perhaps the strongest motivator for hoarding. What if you throw away that long forgotten phone charger and need it two years later? This mindset leads to “decision paralysis,” where the easiest choice is to keep everything — just in case.
If your own sh*te drawer is starting to resemble the nervous breakdown of moulded plastic convention, here’s a three step practical guide to reclaiming order:
Dump everything onto a flat surface. This is your 'reckoning' moment. Prepare to confront objects you forgot existed. They will appear mysterious and aloof but mustn't give in. Do you hear me? They mean nothing to you.
Create piles: tools, stationery, mystery objects, and actual junk.
For each item, consider:
- Have I used this in the last year?
- Does it hold real sentimental value?
- Would it cost more than €1 to replace?
If the answer to all three is 'no', it’s time to let go.
As I worked my way through the drawer, I stumbled upon a long forgotten key. It was mysterious, and completely unidentifiable. My wife now exhausted by my feeble histrionics eventually decided to answer me. “It’s probably for something we don’t own anymore.” (I’m paraphrasing)
But I couldn’t let it go. The key became my white whale. I wandered the house, testing it on every lock I could find — padlocks, suitcases, even the shed door. Nothing.
Eventually, I gave up and tossed it into the bin. Two weeks later we were off to Center Parcs and while packing we discovered that unbeknownst to me my wife had locked her bike with a u-lock.
“Where’s the key?” my wife asked
I stared at her, realising I’d just thrown away the one thing that could open it. Enter my father-in-law's bolt cutter.
In the end, my sh*te drawer is still a chaotic mess — much like myself.
I didn't transform it into a minimalist masterpiece; I barely made a dent.
If Marie Kondo has to decided to embrace the clutter, well so can I.