Man, this cluttercore thing hit me weirdly hard last week. I was scrolling through stuff online when I spotted a picture of this room that looked lived-in, kinda messy, but also… right? Full of books stacked sideways, plants everywhere, those little trinkets crowding a shelf. Not dirty, just overflowing with personality. It stuck with me.
My “Too Clean” Reality Check
I looked around my own home office after that. Wow. Felt like a doctor’s waiting room. Super tidy, nothing on the desk but the laptop, shelves kinda bare. Everything put away, sure, but it felt dead. Functional, but totally soulless. No spark. Where was me in that space? It was just… sterile.
That clean look everyone goes for? It wasn’t working for me anymore. It was making the space feel cold and uninviting. Honestly, it was stressing me out just sitting there. What a mess, ironically.
Diving In Headfirst (And Messing Up)
Got excited, maybe too excited. Thought: “Right, cluttercore! More stuff = good!” Pulled out bins of old photos, dug out weird souvenirs from trips, unpacked books I’d hidden away. Dumped it all on every surface – desk, shelves, windowsill. Looked less like a vibe and more like my basement exploded. Pure chaos. Couldn’t think straight, let alone work. Instant regret. That whole “curated chaos” thing? Yeah, I missed that memo entirely.
The Lightbulb Moment: Stories Matter
Sat in the middle of the mess, overwhelmed. Needed coffee. Badly. While sipping it, I really looked at one shelf. Saw a photo from that trip to Maine jammed behind an old trophy. Knocked the trophy over. Not cool. Stopped fighting the urge to organize. Realized it wasn’t about just piling things up. Each thing needed to breathe, needed its own little spot where you could actually see it.
The key? Things had to mean something. Not just random junk.
- That weird little ceramic bird my niece painted? It earned its spot near the monitor.
- My old guitar picks gathered in a chipped mug I found at a flea market? Found them a home next to a favorite plant.
- Colorful geology field notes got clipped to the wall, right by the shelf holding the actual rocks.
- Favorite books weren’t just stacked anymore; they stood up, laid flat, grouped by color loosely.
Started grouping things that felt connected. Music stuff together. Nature stuff. Childhood things. Stopped caring about perfect spacing. Let things bunch up naturally. Instead of hiding plants, crowded a bunch together on one shelf with moss. Focused on texture – rough pottery next to smooth wood, shiny picks near fuzzy moss.
Where It’s At Now
Took a few days of shuffling. Walking in here now feels totally different. It’s busy? Absolutely. But intentionally busy. My eyes land on things that spark memories. Reaching for a notebook involves moving a plant or nudging a box, and I kinda like that interaction now. It feels personal. Lived-in.
It’s not for everyone, this cluttercore deal. If you like things pin-neat, it’ll drive you nuts. But for me? This organized, meaningful, comfortable mess? It just works. It finally feels like my space.
