How I Decide What Stays and What Goes

People assume that because I love vintage, I must hang onto everything.

But the truth is: I edit my home constantly.

Not in a frantic, dramatic, purge-everything kind of way, but in this slow, intuitive rhythm of checking in with my space and asking what still belongs.

I don’t make decisions based on “should I keep this” or “will this come back in style.”

I base it on something much simpler:

Does this piece still feel like me?

Not me five years ago.

Not me in a different apartment.

Not me in a different season of life.

Me right now.

And you’d be surprised how often the answer quietly changes.

There’s usually a moment when a piece stops speaking to you.

It’s subtle.

Nothing dramatic happens.

You don’t wake up one day and hate it.

You just… stop noticing it.

Stop reaching for it.

Stop feeling connected to it.

It becomes part of the room instead of part of you.

Whenever that happens, I take a pause.

A little check-in:

“Is this piece still supporting the home I’m building, or is it holding space for a past version of me?”

Sometimes it stays.

Sometimes it goes.

Sometimes I move it to a different room, and it suddenly feels alive again.

But ignoring that moment and pretending not to notice… always leads to a room that feels slightly “off” without knowing why.

I also pay attention to how a piece affects the mood of a room.

Every item in your home contributes something to the overall atmosphere.

Weight, warmth, texture, presence. All of it adds up.

Some pieces bring calm.

Some bring energy.

Some bring nostalgia.

Some bring visual chaos even when they’re beautiful.

If a room feels unsettled, I look at who’s throwing things off.

Not in a disciplinary way, but more like,

“Okay, who isn’t getting along with everyone else right now?”

Sometimes it’s the rug.

Sometimes it’s the art.

Sometimes it’s the piece I love the most.

And sometimes it’s not the object at all.

It’s just the wrong place, wrong context, wrong moment.

Pieces evolve just like people do.

I let go of guilt. Fully. Completely. Without apology.

This is the hardest part for most people.

They keep things because they spent money on them,

because someone gave them the item,

because it used to mean something,

because they don’t want to “waste” it.

But a home full of guilt-objects will never feel peaceful.

A piece served its purpose even if its purpose was temporary.

If it helped you understand your style,

or taught you what you don’t like,

or carried you through a season - then it already did its job.

Letting it go isn’t disrespectful.

It’s gratitude in action.

My final question (and it’s the one that never fails) is simple:

“Would I buy this again today?”

Not in theory.

Not in a vacuum.

But right now, in this season of life, with who I am and what I value.

If the answer is yes, it stays.

If the answer is no - even a soft, gentle, undecided mehh - then I know it’s time to release it.

Homes shift.

We shift.

And the pieces that once felt essential sometimes quietly bow out so something new can enter.

It’s not loss.

It’s growth.

Letting go always creates room for what’s next.