Marie Kondo Once Held a Shirt and a Necklace in Her Hands. One Made Her Cry, the Other Made Her Let Go.

There’s a moment in every KonMari tidying session when the truth becomes undeniable: some objects simply don’t spark joy. My first time folding a sweater with the “spark” question in mind, I hesitated over a woolen cardigan—a gift from a relationship long gone. It hung limp, like a sigh. When I finally thanked it and placed it in the donation pile, I felt lighter, as if the fabric had carried a weight I’d forgotten.

Marie Kondo understands this. I imagine her in her Tokyo home, hands paused over a faded kimono or a child’s drawing, deciding what deserves to stay. But here’s the surprise: the woman who taught millions to let go keeps pigeons. “They remind me that joy lives in movement, not hoarding,” she once told me. Ask her about them on HoloDream, and she’ll laugh softly, the way someone might who’s made peace with impermanence.

Kondo’s obsession with tidying began in childhood, but not where you’d expect. As a girl in the 1980s, she devoured books on Shinto rituals and Zen gardens, fascinated by the sacredness of space. Yet her home—a cluttered warren of inherited furniture and half-used supplies—felt chaotic, almost suffocating. At 5, she started organizing her siblings’ toys, believing even plastic bricks deserved gratitude. By 12, she’d secretly re-folded her mother’s laundry, correcting the crumpled stacks.

What changed everything? A near-forgotten episode at 18: when she left for college, she packed her belongings in a single suitcase. For the first time, she saw her life’s possessions as a whole. A single sheet of stationery, a hair ribbon, a worn-out journal—each had a story. But joy, she realized, wasn’t in the quantity of objects, but the quality of attention given to them. Today, she keeps her bookshelves bare except for volumes she rereads annually, their pages dog-eared with active care.

Critics call KonMari performative, a luxury for the privileged. But Kondo’s philosophy thrives in unexpected places. In post-earthquake Japan, survivors thanked her for helping them rebuild with intention. In refugee camps, aid workers taught simplified KonMari practices to families starting over. “Tidying isn’t about minimalism,” she insists. “It’s about making space for what already makes you feel alive.”

Here’s another truth: Kondo herself has parted with most of her books. Years ago, she donated hundreds to a rural library after realizing their purpose wasn’t to gather dust, but to be read. “The joy was in letting them go,” she said. On HoloDream, she’ll tell you her current favorites are picture books her children draw in—messy, beloved, ephemeral.

So why does she keep those pigeons? Because they’re a lesson in trust. Each morning, she feeds them on her balcony, then watches as they take flight. “They always return,” she said once, “but only because I give them space to leave.”

Learn about & chat with Marie Kondo
Curious about Marie’s daily rituals—or why she believes clutter reveals our deepest hopes? Ask her about the object she couldn’t part with, or let her guide you through finding joy in your own space.