I deleted my social media accounts in 2022, I don't have internet at home, and yet I'm still very much aware of the internet's storage-container obsession. Whether I'm watching a house tour on YouTube or browsing articles online, it seems inescapable. Admittedly, there's something fascinating about it, too — I've consumed entire video essays dissecting what the immense popularity of posts can tell us about class divides and late-stage capitalist societies.

Also referred to as "decanting," the trend of transferring pre-packaged products into clear, plastic containers is so huge that I don't even have to go online to find myself interacting with it. I rarely shop online these days, and I still can't stock up on groceries without seeing shelves of plastic containers for sale, almost always advertised as the answer to any and all of my assumed organizational woes. To be clear (yes, pun intended), as a self-proclaimed, "Monica Gellar without the secret messy closet," I can understand the appeal of decanting videos.

The act of cleaning and organizing has always soothed me. I enjoy taking care of my space and the spaces of my loved ones — I recently wrote an entire essay about why — and I'm a minimalist by necessity, so I . I also won't pretend there's nothing satisfying about watching a pair of beautifully manicured hands transferring fresh products from their original containers into empty, spotless, clear ones.

It's ASMR; it's escapism. It's beauty and order in an increasin.