Marie Kondo is a Japanese author, very famous for her method of achieving happiness through homelike order. After selling millions of books, now triumphs on Netflix with a reality titled To order!, in which it helps families that rub the Diogenes syndrome to keep a little house where the stacks of dirty clothes do not threaten to devour the children. The success of the program is inexplicable, because it is as boring as it sounds. If instead of a Japanese woman who smiles all the time and speaks softly, Alberto Chicote presented him with a peeled cry ("fuck, what amount of shit you collect, in this house would not live or the pigs more pigs of Cerdilandia, etc.") , the thing would win a lot.
That someone as bland and as little telegenic as Marie Kondo triumphs is because her religion has many faithful. The idea on which it balances is a truth universally accepted: the orderly people are morally superior. Reproach has nothing to do with hygiene or aesthetics, but with virtue and vice. A messy person is an abject person.
As a chronic disorder that I am, I have endured my whole life this deaf (sometimes explicit and loud) reproach, and I have always felt that there is something Nazi in that moral superiority, as I believe that there is something Nazi in the doctrine of Marie Kondo. The desires of cleanliness and neatness always hide a disgust towards the world, towards the mass, towards the uncontrollable. In the most innocent of cases, they are illusions of control of a life that, in the end, is known to be unmanageable, but which is supported while the pencils are in their beaker, and the books, on the shelves. The disorderly are a memento mori, a perennial reminder that minutiae are not going to free you from any catastrophe and that chaos can not be contained outside the walls of a house. That's why we are hateful. That's why Marie Kondo has to come to kill us with boredom.