The solution? KonMari your sex life. Immediately. Mercilessly. And with great sparks of joy.

 Every KonMari addict knows the purge starts with your clothes. Pile all of your date clothes and underwear into one big pyramid on your bed. You need to see everything at once to see how desperate it’s gotten. Notice: have you been falling back on the same stale black tee and jeans since the land before spandex? Sex, and eventually love, fall for a well-outfitted butt, so Marie would send you to the dumpster with your Levi’s 501s. If variety is the spice of life, your date outfits should show you’ve got more than two or three positions up your pant leg. Consult a personal stylist at a department store for three or four key new items, or head to a vintage shop with a sexy salesperson. But also, toss out those unsexy home clothes and invest in a silk slip, a cashmere hoodie, super-soft tees, butt-fitting sweats and a luxe robe your honey will just want to snuggle into. And for the love of beachgoers everywhere, chuck the baggy Bahama shorts and the pilling neon bikini before this summer (but make sure to thank them for all the times you got laid in the early aughts). Don’t ever want a lover to spy saggy bras greyer than Miss Havisham’s veil and holey, busted-waistband boxers proclaiming your love for golf? Thank them for their service and gently, joyfully place them in the landfill because not even Goodwill harbors any good will for your elastic-less underwear.

Once you’ve dusted your sartorial cobwebs, it’s time to take a look at your little black book. Most people are in one of two states: You haven’t had a bangin’ date since mullets were popular, or you’re so settled into couple life that the closest you two get to weekday sex are your spoons smashing together at the bottom of a pint of Half-Baked. If you’re single, open up your iCloud and start deleting—permanently. What are you going to do with those contacts titled “Boston Boy From Beer Garden” and “Girl from Subway Amy???” and those sickening, tear-inducing couple photos of you and The One Who Got Away? How is drunk-texting Alejandro from high school going to help you find the best sex of your life when his sexual currency trades in butt stuff and you’re a fronts-only gal? Some lovers fit like an itchy $9.99 track suit with uneven legs. Hold each phone contact in your mind, thank him or her for the joy of learning from bad sex, and delete, delete, delete.

The same goes for all dating app inboxes. Immediately inquisition yourself over which messages in your Tinder inbox spark joy (answer: one, but only because you got the last word). You’re wasting energy arguing about music and politics with people you haven’t even met, don’t care to meet and will never fuck. Does this give you joy? (If so, quit reading here and consult a shrink.) And if you’re not enjoying an app like The League, for god’s sakes, hit the X. Sometimes an entire app needs to be KonMari’d into oblivion (but smile and wear a spotless white Muji cardigan while you do it, because Marie would want you to).

Next, it’s time to open up the bedside drawer (or the Rubbermaid tub beneath your bed). Whether coupled or single, sex toys are better best friends than weak-ass diamonds (do your diamonds make you moan?). Place each sex toy on your bed, and examine each one in turn. Even vanilla peeps have some of these items: a Magic Bullet. A Tenga egg. A We Vibe. A Rabbit. A Hitachi Magic Wand. A Fleshlight. Some generic restraints (probably non-functional fuzzy handcuffs). Ropes they haven’t used since one class at the local sex shop. Lube from 2010. Mint chocolate-flavored condoms no one with taste buds wants to taste. If you’re not using them, why are you holding onto all of these things? In case you haven’t noticed, there’s been a revolution in everything from lube to vibrators. Even the old We Vibe Version 1.0 has undergone a couple remodels. There are vibrators now that have magically precise points, multi-speed cock rings, and lube that combines the best of silicone and water for bed-to-shower play. You wouldn’t let your Mac languish in OS X 1.0, but your pleasure collection peaked in 1999. If you’re ashamed of your collection or grappling with your sexuality, it’s a good time to realize you and your lover deserve every ounce of pleasure that comes with educational play, and that a lame old toybox is holding you back.

That brings us to the most important moment of your KonMari reckoning. Turn to your broken, beaten-down body that hasn’t dated since real dates were a thing and people didn’t just hook up, and thank it for everything it’s withstood. It’s dragged you to the bar for awkward first dates. It’s gone dancing on Monday nights in hopes of finding love or just a warm body. It’s worked hard in the name of pleasing someone in bed. And what does it really want? Not mere mechanical sex, but the feelings of titillation, pleasure, validation, bonding and relaxation that come from sex. If your mind has been self-sabotaging your poor body, it’s time to acknowledge those behaviors and start flushing them down the chute one by one. Marie would suggest making a list, thanking them for teaching us what doesn’t work for us, folding them joyfully and placing them gently in the trash heap.