One shelf, one box, one folder
Every system for the home eventually becomes three systems. The minimum that survives contact with a real household is smaller than you expect.
A household accumulates objects with no owner: a letter that might matter, a charger for something, a key to somewhere. They land on whatever surface is nearest, and the surface becomes a category nobody chose.
The usual response is a system with places for everything. It works for a fortnight, because it requires a decision per object at the exact moment nobody wants to make one — walking in the door with hands full.
The minimum
One shelf for paper that has arrived and not been dealt with. Not sorted, not filed — arrived. Emptying it is a task you do weekly, not a decision you make at the door.
One box for objects with no home yet: cables, keys, the part that came with the thing. It is allowed to be a mess inside. Its job is to be the first place you look, and it only works if it is the only such box.
One folder, digital, for scans of the papers that matter. Named by what they are, not when you scanned them.
Why three and not twelve
Because the number of places you will actually check when looking for something is small, and it does not grow with the number of places you created. Twelve categories means eleven places to look and one place the thing actually is.
The weekly emptying is the part that does the work. A shelf that is never emptied is the pile it replaced; a shelf emptied on Sundays is a system, and the only maintenance it needs is on Sundays.
The honest limit
This does not organise a home. It stops one specific failure — the thing that was somewhere and is now nowhere — and it does it with three places and ten minutes a week. Anything more ambitious usually ends up as a fourth category called miscellaneous, which is where everything goes.