A deep clean? Some decluttering? Spring cleaning can be so much more. You can use it for inspiration to do that one thing you’ve been putting off. Whether it’s your skincare or your inbox, you can use the changes in the seasons to make some life changes.
Here, The Independent’s writers share what they’ll be spring cleaning:
The clocks have changed. The winter fug is lifting. And it’s time for a sleep reset. Begone, cosy hibernation; see you later, comforting red wine and sleep patterns that are all over the shop (sometimes, over the endless gloom of winter, I’ve found myself wondering as early as 7.30pm if it might be bedtime).
Based on the advice I’ve heard from sleep experts over the years, but am adept at ignoring, I’ve embraced two major changes: I’m going outside into the sunshine, or at least the daylight, as soon possible after waking, to alert my circadian rhythms to the fact that the day has begun (exposing your eyes to natural light early in the day regulates your body’s “sleep clock” and triggers the sleep hormone, melatonin, making it easier to fall asleep and stay asleep at night).
The other change is no alcohol during the week. I mean, yes, what could be nicer than a glass of wine or two in the evening – especially when it feels like you live in a cave and spring will never come? Well, as it turns out, what’s nicer is sipping only nighttime tea in the hours before bed, then being kidnapped by a slumber so deep and sound, I feel I might be in a fairytale. Dreams are so much more vivid. And I awake almost giddily well-rested.
Other little boosts may well sit firmly in the placebo camp, but who cares? They are working for me and create “sleep sanctuary” vibes: deliciously laundered sheets and pyjamas. Magnesium butter – instantly absorbent – massaged into my feet before bed. A spritz or two of This Works lavender pillow spray.
And, now that I know that I’m actually going to sleep rather than toss and turn fitfully, I’ve started going to bed earlier to enjoy my bed time routine, before reading (on my kindle – not my phone; I’m not an amateur!) something relaxing enough to transport me away to what feels like another land; one which smells faintly of lavender.
My spring cleaning is always about detoxifying. Last year, I tried to get rid of ultra-processed foods from the kitchen cupboards, and the year before, it was alcohol. This year, with all the talk around microplastics and the everyday toxins in our homes, it’s an obvious choice to detoxify my home.
I’ve never been particularly obsessed with health and wellness, but it’s impossible to ignore the scientific research showing the effects of using plastics in our kitchens (when they heat up, the plastic gets absorbed into our food), and some of the ingredients used in personal care products like phthalates which are endocrine disrupters, and “forever chemicals” showing up in our clothes.
So this spring, I’m going to be getting rid of as many toxins in my home as possible. That means no plastic in the kitchen, no synthetic fragrances (goodbye perfumes), and getting rid of any clothes that contain “forever chemicals”. That part’s easy enough – but it also means slowly rebuying natural alternatives such as organic Soil Association-certified personal care products (being organic means they can’t use any toxins), and purchasing natural clothing.
None of this is cheap, so it will be a slow process. But the plan is to throw away something toxic every time I treat myself to something new and gradually detoxify both my home and myself.
Every April, when the weather is nice and everyone’s outdoors, I sit inside hunched over a laptop, tapping away at my “Financial Spring Cleaning” Excel spreadsheet. “I am…” I announce to the room, “…balancing the books”. Typically, I half-balance the books. It’s still all a bit wobbly, but just about stacks up.
I enter every transaction item by item from my banking app for the last six months. I colour-code them. Green for “fine”, orange for “hmmm”, red for “what were you thinking?!” Purple is also in there, and I can never remember what purple means. I wonder why there are so many £1.99 payments to M&S every week in February (pork pies, it’s always M&S’s price-locked pork pies), or when I picked up an Amazon Prime subscription.
I keep it going for a few months and then forget. Still, it helps me steady the pennies, save a bit of dosh, and bore my wife with optimistic “projections” for dream holidays.
Here’s the thing. I am a beauty slacker. Whereas my friends commit to all kinds of treatments – and increasingly tweakments as midlife hits – I only plunge into serious beauty routines twice a year. Summer for a full-on pedi to show off brown beach feet, and spring for a deep facial to scrub away dull winter skin and enter the season with a new glow.
Since I only manage it once a year, I like to try something new. Last year, I tried a high-tech facial at Skin Laundry, designed for people like me who want results but are scared of anything invasive. The year before, I went for a deep hydration and lymphatic drainage treatment, which left me looking and feeling ‘lifted’ for weeks.
The last 12 months have been all about the “glassy skin” trend – Korean beauty routines and products that promise ultra-smooth, poreless, deeply hydrated, almost reflective skin (hence: glassy). The Beauty Edit in Mayfair seemed like a good place to start. Known for its curated K-beauty brands (Medicube, Joseon) and ethical, natural, hydrating ingredients, their K-Beauty Signature Facial is all about mindful rejuvenation – perfect for a new spring glow.
The luxurious 90-minute treatment was exactly what I needed for a deep pause, I felt rested and my skin looked fresh and polished. While I promised my facialist, I would follow her instructions (SPF, scrubs, rollers, hydration!) to maintain my spring glow-up, I’m sorry to say my box of Vida Glow marine collagen sachets sadly remains unopened. Once a beauty slacker, always a beauty slacker. But I will most certainly be seeing them again next year.
My one-bed flat is fast turning into more of a live-in library. I’ve always been a speedy reader and prolific book buyer, and my job has only enabled these tendencies further, as I’m sometimes sent advance proof copies of new releases. This means that almost every surface in my home has been overrun by stacks of novels and my bargain bookcases are doing their absolute best not to buckle under the weight of years of hardbacks.
I know, woe is me, I have too many books – what an absolute first-world problem. But I also work from home, and having a relatively clear space helps me to focus better, so my Easter goal is to rationalise this sprawling collection.
I’m planning to adopt a pseudo-Marie Kondo approach by picking up each one and asking myself one of two questions. If I’ve already read it, did I like it enough that I might read it again? And if I haven’t read it yet… am I likely to ever do so? It’s not looking good for the 600-page biography of melancholy novelist Richard Yates that I picked up six years ago and have dragged from flat to flat ever since, without so much as flicking through the pages.
If something wasn’t to my taste, but might appeal to a friend, I’ll give them first dibs. If the remaining titles are in good enough condition to sell, they will end up either at the charity shop or on Vinted, although I’ve heard mixed things about how easy it is to shift books on there from my more entrepreneurially minded friends (can I interest anyone in a 600-page biography of Richard Yates?!)
There are also plenty of apps, such as World of Books, WeBuyBooks and Zapper, that let you scan in a barcode and then give you an estimate of how much they’ll pay for them. And then, inevitably, I’ll use all the space I’ve freed up to… store some new books. At least I know I’m incorrigible.
As the cherry tree erupts in pink bubble gum coloured blossom in my garden every April, I have this overwhelming desire to throw everything out – and start afresh. But my philosophy is, “Why not make money doing it?”
With the Iran war traipsing on, petrol prices soaring, out-of-control energy bills, and my mortgage hike, a spring clean with a paycheque feels timely.
I’ve had a Vinted account for ages. But this spring, I’m using it to cull my children’s old clothes – and I will be sifting through the Mini Rodini leggings, even ones with holes, that sell like hot cakes for £10, and piling Zara and H&M tops, sweaters, coats and even fancy dress costumes onto my bed to photograph for the listings.
It often brings up nostalgia: “Oh, those pink Barbie shorts! Argh, that Frozen princess dress!” I’ll feel a tug of sadness when I package up a Liberty print dress and whizz off to my local Evri drop-off.
But when I look at my Vinted balance – and start withdrawing the cash into my bank account, it’s a satisfying feeling. Mainly, though, I’ve created space. I feel uplifted, like I’ve cleared the energy of my two-bed flat, and, with all the old clothes leaving home, I can move forward again.
I am an e-hoarder. I have over 40,000 photos on my phone, keep all of my messages with my ex-boyfriends carefully preserved, and hide any other uncomfortable conversations in my WhatsApp archive (the digital equivalent of under the bed) rather than swiping them into the abyss. That is, until this spring, when I got sick of carrying my cyber-baggage around.
For the first time since my phone – heartwrenchingly – got wiped in 2019, I’ve embarked on a digital spring clean to shake the megabytes off. This hasn’t just helped with infuriating low storage warnings, but freed me from the sometimes thrilling, mainly chilling, (1) archive notification, which signifies someone you shouldn’t be talking to is getting back in touch. You wouldn’t store a bunch of letters from former lovers, ex-friends or even old bosses and landlords in your back pocket. So, there’s truly no need to cart them about digitally, either.
With the photos, there are tiers to this removal process. 99.99 per cent of screenshots, for example, you fundamentally don’t need – and will never look at. Meanwhile, memories – holiday photos, blurry night out snaps, stupid selfies – are a little harder to part with. First, I ditched all the duplicates (of which there were many). Then, I went through and decided which images I truly loved looking back on (a very sunny Devon trip with my oldest friends from school, for example), and which were actually as satisfying and harmful as picking the scab off a healing wound. If, like me, you’re prone to bouts of nostalgia, those have to go.
As the decluttering messiah Marie Kondo preached in The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up, the best question I asked myself here was: “Does it spark joy?” If not, I sent it into the “permanently deleted” black hole and emerged lighter, no longer hauling my past around.
