The Best Way to Organize a Shared Closet

Time Required: Three hours (depending on your closet—and partner)

When Peter Walsh tells Michelle Holt and her husband, Niall McKeown, that they are "every couple," he means that they have two jobs, two kids, too much stuff, and too little time. The closet they share—which they've been meaning to clean out for eight years—is stuffed with Michelle's colorful blouses and flowing skirts, which threaten to suffocate Niall's modest assortment of button-downs like so many weeds. "I get so claustrophobic that I just grab the first thing I see," says Niall. Michelle admits that finding a matching pair of motorcycle boots involves a major excavation. Walsh tells the couple—who have gamely offered to test his methods for O's readers—that "when it comes to closets, it takes two to de-clutter." Working with a ready second opinion is more efficient. It's also an exercise in communication—so Walsh tells Michelle and Niall to "give each other permission to be honest." And they're each allowed three vetoes, for things they may keep over their partner's objections.

First up is Michelle, who immediately starts flinging items onto the bed, i.e., the "donate" pile: a blue tracksuit from the '80s, the wine-stained green chiffon gown she wore to a friend's wedding in 1998. She pauses when she reaches a cropped red shirt whose bedazzled letters spell LUCKY. "I used to wear this when we were dating," she says wistfully. She turns to her husband: "Want me to make a pillow out of it for you?" Walsh winces. But it's ten minutes into the purge, and rather than argue, the couple have retreated into a happy bubble of nostalgia. It bursts only when Michelle holds up a pair of denim overalls embroidered with Winnie the Pooh characters. Niall says, "That is so—" "Terrifying," supplies Walsh. They move on to the stacks of black cargo sweatpants left over from Michelle's pregnancies. "They're fine," Niall mumbles. Walsh reminds him that criticizing his wife's weekend pants is different from criticizing his wife: "Do you love her? Do you want what's best for her?" Niall nods vigorously. "So let's try this again. Do you like these pants?" "No!" Michelle looks shocked—but instead of using a veto, she says, "I would've gotten rid of them years ago if I'd known." Michelle wants to keep her embellished J.Crew T-shirts, but Niall, emboldened, admits he thinks they look "like somebody puked on them." In the end, Michelle is so energized by the slow creep of open space—and the mounds of barely worn clothing bound for charity—that she uses none of her vetoes. But when Niall, during his turn, expresses a desire to throw away almost everything he owns ("Where I grew up, you didn't have 20 coats"), she vetoes that. "I don't want to buy you a new sweater the next time you get cold," she says.

Their purge complete, the couple group dresses with dresses, blazers with blazers. Niall gets one section of closet rod for stained "work" shirts he can wear to his woodshop and another for "nice" shirts. "Boom, done, no thinking!" he says, relieved.

Walsh installs a shoe rack (3-Tier Grippy Shoe Rack, $30; containerstore.com) so that Michelle's shoes no longer have to spill forth from a laundry hamper on the floor. From now on, she'll keep only what fits on the rack. "It feels like you have more now, not less," observes Walsh, "because you can actually find what you need." The couple are thrilled with their airy new space—and mildly disgusted when they gaze upon the giveaways piled high on their bed. "How did it all fit in here?" marvels Michelle. "We should be forced to sleep in that for a month," says Niall.

Due to the varied nature of their donations, Michelle and Niall may want to take their donations to a local Goodwill Industries drop-off center (goodwill.org).

Next: Pare down your pantry in 30 minutes or less