A good test for getting rid of anything is: if we didn’t have this, would we need it?
For example, let’s say you have a ratty old armchair. You love your chair, you do. It was a new chair once and fine, it reclines, and you have spent many cool evenings ensconced in it, drinking Henry Weinhard’s and munching Pringles, maybe indulging in a few controlled substances and watching Liquid TV (yes, the chair is that old). But many Pringles and not a little Henry’s have made their ways into its funky blue fibers, which are not, in any way shape or form, washable. And frankly, with the new set from Pottery Barn—you’re just not sure it goes.
Here’s one way to put the question. If you didn’t have your chair, and you saw it sitting on the sidewalk somewhere, would you say: “Dude, someone’s throwing out a perfectly good chair!” If so—definitely, keep it. If not…
Of course, to make the analogy accurate, the chair would have to be 231 years old, so full of beer and chips it makes a sort of slosh-crunch noise when you sit on it, have a huge sharpened coil that’s worked its way past the foam and stabs you in the ass on a regular basis, smell like a cross between a dead goat and an oil refinery, refuse to function at all without a staff of specialized chair administrators who must be onsite 24-7 and are extremely expensive and rude, and have expanded to fill the entire first floor of your house, with giant pseudopodia of ratty blue upholstery snaking out the windows and invading the neighbors’ lawns.
Mencius Moldbug
Everything after “If so—definitely, keep it. If not...” is (a) context-dependent and (b) debatable.