Should a revolution take place in the organizing community today, no doubt the label-maker would provide a rallying point. At the center of this fictional revolution I would stand, a rebel, decrying the virtues of these small machines that so efficiently spit out words like recycling, outgoing and pencils.
“But,” you might ask, “sorting and labeling are the bread and butter of the organizing trade, are they not?”
“I couldn’t agree more, my plucky friend!” I would retort from my soap-box. “It’s not the activity, it’s the reliance, the dependence on these little rectangular strips of paper to give one a sense of order. I believe we can move towards organizing systems that are so efficient, so transparent, that labels become unnecessary.”
“When I finish with a kitchen reorganization, for example, I want my clients to feel like they have x-ray vision with all of their drawers and cupboards. They should know what lurks behind every cabinet because the items there are logically and efficiently placed. Similar items live together, and items that are used most are handiest while items used occasionally are farther away.”
“But surely,” you might assert, “labels and label-makers must be useful sometimes.”
“Ah, too true,” I agree with a vigorous nod, “too true! In any place where there is a high volume of people in contact with the same organizing system, labels are essential to keep things in order. An office supply closet in a large company is a good example of this, with temps and part-timers coming in and out on a regular basis. But in a home or small office, let logic and transparency reign in lieu of labels.”
This revolution will probably never take place, but I’ll stand firm that labels are not essentially the mark of an organized space. Often, they are used as a crutch to justify the location of badly organized set of items. I mean, if you’re going to insist on keeping the paperclips with the tea towels, I suppose you had better label them.
