My closet’s overabundance of pants seems to be the category in most need for Marie Kondo’s “joy test”. In the past, I’ve made jokes about how there is only two categories of objects I seem to have no self control over: pants I’ll never wear and sketchbooks I’ll never fill. Since I recently moved into my apartment this past August, I was forced to bring only the pants I would see myself wearing. Once I got to New Paltz, I still continued to purchase pants even when I knew I had no room. Funny how that goes.
As Marie Kondo suggested, I took out every pair of pants that I had with me and spread them out on the floor. I (embarrassingly) counted 7 pairs of blue denim, 6 pairs of colored denim, 4 khakis, 9 linen/fitted pants, 3 sweatpants, 4 denim shorts, 4 active wear pants, and 2 patterned wide-leg pants. Thirty-nine pairs of bottoms total, and that is only the items I consciously decided to bring to New Paltz, from the larger collection at home.
With that, I started the process of holding each individual pair of pants and asking myself if it sparked joy. When I took my pants out of the drawers, I had already categorized them by style/material. I started with my 7 blue denim jeans. I immediately decided to keep 2 medium washed jeans that fit just about perfect. I then had 5 pairs left to consider. One pair was my go-to in high school. They still fit well, look good, but the spark that once lived in the pants has dimmed. I felt the lifespan of the jeans were coming to a close. I thanked the pants for the life it served, and added it as the first discarded item. Another pair struck a response within me. They are paisley jeans that I acquired less than a week ago, gifted from my close housemate. My roommate thrifted them for me, stating “the pants reminded me of you”, and despite her having no idea what my pant size was, she decided to take the risk and bring them home. To our surprise, they fit perfectly. Not only did I have sentiment attached to the jeans because they were gifted, I think the fact that they fit perfectly by chance adds its own magic; this is the joy Marie Kondo is talking about.
Next, I moved to colored jeans. I love the pop of color for each of my colored jeans, and that “spark” happened once again, because I was excited at the thought of bright eyeshadow colors I could wear in partner with the pants. I continued this process with each subcategory of pants. I could see my collection gradually getting smaller as more pants were being moved from the floor to my discard dump. After the process was completed, I turned 39 pairs of pants into 19. I looked back at the discard pile and felt no emotional response. The discard pile is fabric, the keep pile is a collection of pieces that express myself and my style.
Reflecting on the work I had just done, I recognized a couple of patterns. Cost of the item never crossed my mind, as the stakes were always low. This is because I was gifted or thrifted every item in my pants collection, with maybe a few coming from the back clearance wall of a JC Penneys. I do not own any articles of clothing that I consider an investment. If anything, I consider value based on the strokes of luck I have with how cheap the deal was. Psychologically, there’s a part of me that likes to brag about “what a good deal I got”, as if it’s some testament to how smart or lucky I am. So when considering the root of “joy”, I might have a brighter spark for a brand new pair of vintage Wranglers that I got for $5, rather than a Forever21 pair of jeans for $15.
Another pattern I noticed is that I found myself keeping items that are a part of a specific outfit I like to wear. By itself, a pant might not stand out as a stellar item that needs to be kept, but I recognize that it is owned to a larger look. Therefore, the article of clothing must be kept, or else the spark of “joy” the outfit brings would be lost.
Lastly, I recognized my struggles of letting go seemed to root from the idea that each pair of pant was different. I have this distorted perception in my mind that I should own every style, pattern, and color, of each pant that ever exists, when in reality there is no need.
Closing the experiment, I was left inspired to actually start donating clothes, considering I could probably eliminate 20 pairs of pants from my closet and feel just alright. However, I know myself too well, and know I would find another 20 new pairs of pants to fill my drawers.
The Materials of History, Thought, and Art 
Hi Kim! Reading this made me want to go dig into my pants drawer…I also have way too many pairs of pants and skirts! When you said “Thirty-nine pairs of bottoms total, and that is only the items I consciously decided to bring to New Paltz, from the larger collection at home,” it reminded me of how when I lived in the dorms, I somehow managed to go through the whole semester with only five or six pairs of pants. Now that I have moved out of my house and have all of my pants with me, I certainly am hitting a number close to yours, if not higher.
I like what you said about the cost of pants. There’s that commercial that always comes up as Hulu commercials that says something like “clothing consumption has doubled in the last 15(or 50) years,” which always scares me because I know that I am contributing to it. The cost of pants has decreased, as well as the quality so it can be mass-produced.
Hi Kim! I really enjoyed reading your post and how you vividly described the experience of using the Kondo method on your pants. It felt like I was also going through the process alongside you. I find it hard to describe the emotions evoked by objects, but I think you did so perfectly and succinctly.