UrbanUpdate

A few years ago I had my first and last New Year’s party. The next day, I cleaned up my first and last New Year’s party. That morning I woke in a war zone, feeling bilious and dizzy. My skin was blue, and I thought I was dying until I realized the cheap velvety dress I wore the night before had stained my skin. I surveyed the mess, deeply depressed. Spilled champagne had dissolved all the confetti, leaving semi-permanent splashes of color on every surface. There were little Solo cup obelisks all over the place and everything was sticky. I found a used condom in my shower and cried.

I took the only appropriate course of action. I chugged some water, ate an egg, put on Frank Sinatra, and began to clean. I fell into a fugue state. I got rid of the party wreckage and then I kept going, deep-cleaning every corner of my home—even the spooky gap behind the fridge. I had to stop a few hours in to go buy more Windex, and then I was back at it. The cleaning process took about eight hours, during which I went through a whole emotional arc. I had long, muttered conversations with myself, possibly in tongues. I settled on a New Year’s resolution (find out who left the condom in the shower!) and worked through my rage at the events of the past year. I didn’t notice as my hangover crescendoed and then dissipated, and when I was done cleaning I felt I had been given a second chance at life, which is what you’re supposed to feel like on New Year’s Day.

People talk a lot about the curative powers of the Marie Kondo method and this year’s au courant cleaning trend, Swedish death cleaning. I move to add hangover cleaning to the canon. I first became aware of the healing powers of hangover cleaning in college. I’d left my gloves at a friend’s frat party, and when I stopped by the next morning to collect them, the house was transformed. The brothers were wandering around in their boxers with sponges and brooms, pale and silent. My friend brought me my gloves and explained that the brothers spent the whole day after every party cleaning—not just cleaning up the party stuff, but thoroughly cleaning the whole house. “The process is the cure,” he explained solemnly, “We basically just clean until we’re ready to start drinking again.” Ugh.

Cleaning is as good for your desiccated bod as it is for your space. We all know, on some level, that mainlining brunch and watching nine hours of The Office won’t make a hangover run its course any faster. It also won’t distract you from the misery. What will distract you is moving around a little bit. I’ll never be the psychopath who “sweats it out” at the gym and then has a normal day, but I’ve found that cleaning is a gentle, monotonous activity that allows me to move without requiring me to leave the home. When you clean, you exert yourself without feeling like you’re exerting yourself. Some people would say the same of yoga, but yoga doesn’t leave your kitchen smelling pleasantly citrusy.

Your hangover might feel debilitating, but it is actually the source of great power. If you can harness the total ennui of your hangover, you can accomplish great things. When I’m hungover I can plod along for hours without stopping, confronting the clogged drain with apathy, purging my closet without emotion, and eliminating the brown recluse under the sink without fear. We become ruthless, duty-driven machines during hangovers. Much like how a mother is able to summon great strength to lift a car off her trapped child, I am able to make myself presentable, buy a bagel, and get to work when I’m operating on two hours of fitful wine sleep. On those days I can work for hours, immune to distraction and stress if only because I don’t have the energy to seek out distractions or feel stress. So it is with cleaning.

Getting going is the hard part, so you'll want to start with something low effort and high-impact. If you’re cleaning up after a party, begin by collecting stray cups. If you’re in really dire straits I recommend starting with something very passive, like laundry, and then graduating to advanced tasks like the toilet bowl later in the day. Commit to doing everything: You’re shooting for a clean space, yes, but more than that you’re trying to pass the time in a healthy way. On New Year’s Day in particular, hangover cleaning carries an appealing symbolism. You are literally sloughing away the grime of the past year and Swiffering away your sins, all while your ravaged body does its own cleaning from within (vomiting).

And bonus! If you force yourself to clean every time you get a hangover, you might drink less.

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