Minimal-ish: The case for only throwing away ‘some’ of your stuff
Last year was when the whole world acted like minimalism and “living with less” was new and groundbreaking. Thanks to the Marie Kondo’s bestseller, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up, we all believed — finally — that a little less made everything a whole lot better. Millions of people stood in front of their closets holding onto age-old wardrobe faves and asking of them: “Do you still spark joy?” Then, after a massive cull, the same people feel all brand new and run to the nearest store (more often than not, the nearest Uniqlo) to fall in love again with the idea of wearing basics.
Minimalism, even in its most basic sense, is almost always related to clothing. We can attribute the rise of minimalism to all the articles that seek to validate our need to jump on the bandwagon. We see these all the time — articles that tell us that the common thread among billionaires is that they dress in a variation of the same thing every single day to Mark Zuckerberg’s H&M “collaboration” of gray crewnecks and straight-cut jeans to photos and even down to Japanese people in their homes with literally five things in it. Minimalism has now become an essential part of the internet’s it-content — joining the ranks of cats, memes and being an a-hole in the comments section. I find that this drive towards minimalism is kind of like the newest iteration of normcore: feigning simplicity and nonchalance, without having to commit to the appropriation of blue-collar garments.
I can’t even begin to unpack how minimalism is actually super-complex and, ironically, very cluttered. We always try and ask the question: Are you the type of minimalist who is broke and you need to make money off of all the useless things you bought previously? Or are you “minimalist” because an Acne sweater in the hand is worth at least two Zara ones in the bush? Is less really more? I even begin to question whether I should be into minimalism or simplicity, which are two very different things.
Recently, an article came out on the Guardian site talking about how minimalism is the newest product only rich people can buy. And to some extent, I agree. “Minimal” across disciplines of aesthetics is cerebral and lofty. If I had a dollar for every time I understood minimal music I would probably have one dollar — and that’s probable because I’m not sure I understood it completely. The look of less usually comes with a pricier buy-in from the additional premiums of quality materials and conscious consumption. Minimalism is one of the most beautiful and visually striking areas of Pinterest and, no doubt, the minimalist splurge has its steal counterpart, but where would all that extra money go? Just kidding.
Personally, I’m a bigger fan of assortment and clutter than I am of having very few luxuriously nice things. I sometimes find comfort in surrounding myself in “more” like the child of capitalism that I am. There is a place in my heart for both Gucci and Gudetama as they spark joy in equal measure. But I do find merit in owning fewer things. While I won’t paint my room white and contain my whole wardrobe in a 12-inch-wide clothes rack — thinking about keeping less and taking care of less has made me a “better” person, possibly? (A Ron Burgundy-esque rhetorical question.) Okay, maybe just a little bit more thoughtful.
Four years ago, I could have gone a whole month without repeating the same pair of shoes. I was even worse five or six years ago when I was still working retail with a hefty employee discount. Whenever I felt like an outfit was off, I’d run to a store and change a shirt and grow my wardrobe exponentially within days. Now, 16 pairs of unused and severely-dated Nike Roshe Runs later, I find myself rotating between four pairs of sensible trainers, six dresses and four jackets— building a uniform of sorts. Life is much easier, but sometimes it can get a little boring. Until I realize how easy it is and everything is okay.
When I was cutting down my wardrobe to what it is now, I couldn’t help but feel silly for attaching so much emotional baggage to a piece of clothing just so I would be inclined to keep it over others. As a failed practitioner of “turning the hanger the other way so you know what clothes you don’t use” school of decluttering, I’ve found that being realistic and honest is a lot more helpful guideline to cutting the fat than any other life hack.
