Let me paint you a picture: It’s 3am, and I’ve just emailed myself a reminder to buy olive oil and cotton wool. No, I’m not running a crime scene cleanup crew—I’m just a 0-inboxer Type A person trying to survive in a world of chaos and unread WhatsApp messages.

Now, let’s set the record straight: This article wouldn’t even be allowed to exist in my brain if it didn’t come with a list. I live for lists. Lists are my personality. If you’re reading this and feeling seen, congratulations—you might also be a Type A unicorn with inbox zero dreams and mild control issues. Welcome, friend. Keep reading.

So what does AI say a Type A personality is? Blah blah blah, achievement-oriented, high-strung, organized, probably competitive. Basically, someone who treats productivity like an Olympic sport.

But I say: Type A-ness is less about being perfect and more about being a little neurotic, sometimes fabulous, and frequently exhausted.

Are women more prone to being Type A? Who knows—but it feels like it. Every woman I know has a Google Calendar that could rival NORAD’s missile tracking system and a skincare regimen that runs longer than some doctoral theses.

But here’s the kicker: being Type A isn’t the same as being a perfectionist. I’m not a perfectionist. Let me repeat: I am nota perfectionist (see what I did there?) My house looks like it was decorated by a toddler with a glue stick, and I’ve absolutely published things without rereading them because the high of ticking it off my to-do list outweighed the fear of a typo. Emotional regulation? Yeah, I’m working on that too. One deep breath, yoga class and internal monologue at a time.

Being a Type A 0-Inboxer Actually Means:

• If you add me to a WhatsApp group and there’s an RSVP involved, I have exactly 30 minutes to reply and put it in my calendar or I will mentally combust. Like, spontaneous combustion. Bye-bye, me.
• Sick days don’t exist. My body may be horizontal, but my brain is guilt-tripping me into answering emails from the grave.
• I cannot go to bed with unread emails. If I see that red bubble, I hear the Jaws theme playing.
• If I think of something I need—cotton wool, olive oil, a new soul—I must email myself immediately or I will forget and it will haunt me until death.
• No shopping list = total emotional collapse.
• I have never gone to bed without washing my face and brushing my teeth. Even when I’m so drunk I accidentally brush my face and wash my teeth. True story.
• I throw away perfectly good things if I don’t know where they belong. Recently, I tossed three eyeshadows because they had no “home.” I now regret this, but the garbage man probably feels fabulous.
• Loose cables and tangled wires? Actual anxiety. I once nearly fainted trying to untangle a drawer full of chargers.
• My calendar is a blood sport. It’s Tetris meets Hunger Games.

Let me tell you, making this list is basically free therapy. 10/10 recommend. And I’m not done.

Being Type A Also Means:

• I am exhausted, but in a fabulous, efficient way.
• It’s a superpower, and also a curse. Like having x-ray vision, but only for clutter and inefficiency.
• I can be the world’s most reliable friend or an emotional hurricane full of chaos. There is no in-between.
• I always have a holiday booked. Even if it’s just “leave the house and go stare at trees for 20 minutes, if I can book it on EasyJet I am happy.”
• Budgeting? A+ with distinction. My bank thinks I’m boring. I call it responsible.
• I never miss a sale. I once spotted a discount code from the corner of my eye and I could swear it winked back at me.
• Online shopping is my self-care and my battlefield. Returns? Already printed the label before it arrived.
• Everything is a competition. I once lost a mountain bike race to a 9-year-old and I’m still in therapy. She was wearing a unicorn helmet. I’ve never emotionally recovered. I hope she has, the little rat.
• I am imperfect, but obsessively aware of how I’m imperfect, which is maybe worse?

If you read this and thought, “Yes, this is me,” then I beg you—add to the list. Let’s trauma-bond over calendar invites, inbox phobia, and the fear of messy desk drawers.

Your turn:
What are your weird Type A or 0-inboxer quirks?

Let’s build the ultimate Type A manifesto. Bonus points if your answer is color-coded or in alphabetical order.