The bedroom looked ransacked. Bags, stuffed with clothes, littered the floor. Kris’s dresser was missing a drawer. It sat between us, bare from being turned upside down. She separated the shirts into keep and discard piles while I folded and filed the keeps.
Ten minutes later, I slid the half full drawer into the dresser’s gap. “Are you sure I’m not overstepping,” I asked.
“This is great,” she said. “All I have to do is say yes or no. You do the rest.”
So far, I decluttered the living room; the kitchen; and my office, reorganized the linen closet and attic, and sorted the sellable items. Piles sat in the basement, waiting to be garage-saled or donated.
This wasn’t my first decluttering frenzy, but it was the first that focused on a home instead of a bedroom or shoebox apartment. The urge to reduce usually arose when I needed to regain a sense of control. This time around, I wasn’t an innovative teenager or dealing with a narcissistic ex. Perhaps, after a year and a half of calling Kris’s house home, I’d reached a new level of comfort.
Whatever the cause, I couldn’t resist riding the wave. I’d familiarized myself with the KonMarie1 method years before and needed something new. As I explored books on minimalism, I came across “The Longing for Less” by Kyle Chayka.
What is Minimalism?
Scroll through #minimalism on your platform of choice and you’ll be bombarded with bland beige rooms, decluttering challenges, arguments against minimalism, and arguments for it. Scroll long enough and you’ll realize everyone’s talking about seemingly different things.
The movement towards minimalism originated as a counterculture response to larger society telling us “more is always better” through the constant bombardment of advertisements. Minimalists prioritize simple, intentional living in a society that prioritizes consumption.
Eventually, minimalism itself became “commodified and turned into a source of profit” according to Chayka.2 Today, it’s is a philosophy. A product. A contradiction.
Aesthetic Minimalism
TikTokers point to Kim Kardashian and her sterile, minimalist apartment as an example of minimalism being for the elite. “That’s not what minimalism’s about,” I wanted to say. But they aren’t exactly wrong. It takes money to keep up with an aesthetic.
What I refer to as aesthetic minimalism started as an avant-garde movement— though most of the artists hated the term— in the late 1950s. Donald Judd’s simplistic furniture designs resemble today’s IKEA and his permanent art installation in 101 Spring Street, New York functioned as the artist’s home and studio. But Judd was not a minimalist. (Does a collection of more than 13,000 books sound minimalist to you?)
His goal was to showcase his art in non-museum settings. To him, moving an art piece from its original setting and into a gallery felt false. Today, minimalist architecture that resembles Judd’s work can be found in many public places. Minimalism “allows for just enough character to make a space interesting, but not too much” according to Chayka.3 A goth-inspired coffee shop might appeal to some people, but Starbuck’s minimally interesting space appeals to the general public.
In a home, minimalism might bring comfort to the occupants. (Japanese homes often lack knickknacks compared to American ones.) And as much as I tease my girlfriend for painting the living room “millennial gray” the walls make the seasonal decor pop. Besides, it makes sense that a generation overwhelmed by bright, attention grabbing advertisements might want a break from the bombardment where they can get it.
A minimalist aesthetic isn’t inherently problematic, but the aesthetics of a thing shouldn’t overpower the usability of it. How functional is Kim Kardashian’s home? She might not have to clean up spilt wine, tomato sauce, or muddy paw prints from her white furniture, but an average person will. And a “sad beige mom” has to be able to tolerate some level of color and mess— kids are kids and you can’t control a teenager’s clothing choices like you can a toddler’s.
Judd’s “minimalism” works, because a minimalist art piece just needs to be. A minimalist coffee shop still efficiently serves coffee. A minimalist home works only when the aesthetic comes second to the livability of the home.
Minimalism, a Philosophy, a Lifestyle
The art of reduction is the most popular form of minimalism. Chayka points out that we purge our items so “the only things left are those that you choose.” We can then build a sense of self around what we decided to keep.
This, too, can be problematic when taken to the extreme. You can’t, and shouldn’t, always control what your spouse, roommates, or children bring home. Chayka suggests we take notes from Zen Buddhism, which encourages us to accept a lack of control over life and to adopt “a path between worldly materialism and intentional self-mortification” known in Buddhism as the Middle Way.4 Extreme self-indulgence and extreme self-discipline are both undesirable. Our goal should be to strike a balance between the two.
I think the art of reduction has its place. It’s a step towards simple, intentional living. But like the act of acquiring useless junk, reducing our items might be a distraction. It’s best to practice self reflection throughout the process— and throughout life— so we can make the most of it.
Life circumstances can also nudge people towards minimalism. If you live on the street, there aren’t many options for storing your stuff. If all you can afford is a shoebox apartment, you’re forced to minimize or clutter the already small space. If you spend more than you make each month, you’re forced to minimize expenses or max out your credit cards.
Lifestyle minimalism is a reasonable— maybe even a responsible— reaction.
Minimalism vs Materialism
While aesthetic minimalism often goes hand and hand with consumption, the philosophy of minimalism has the potential to mitigate it.
At our current rate of consumption, we’re “using up the planet at a rate 1.7 times faster than it can regenerate. If everyone consumed like the average American, it would be five times faster.”5 When it comes to consumption, individual actions only help so much. But as a counterculture, minimalism opposes the materialism and overconsumption that prevails in rich countries.
If we brought the right aspects of minimalism into the mainstream— if we each consumed a little less— Earth would be better off and our “individual” actions would ripple.
You don’t need to call yourself a minimalist to adopt pieces of minimalism and you don’t need to limit yourself to the bare essentials to call yourself a minimalist. Instead, find a balance that suites your lifestyle and roll with it.
- Kondo, Marie. The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing. (Ten Speed Press, 2014.) ↩︎
- Chayka, Kyle. The Longing For Less: What’s Missing From Minimalism. (Bloomsbury Publishing, 2020), 20-24. ↩︎
- Chayka, Kyle. The Longing For Less: What’s Missing From Minimalism. (Bloomsbury Publishing, 2020), 55. ↩︎
- Chayka, Kyle. The Longing For Less: What’s Missing From Minimalism. (Bloomsbury Publishing, 2020), 234. ↩︎
- MacKinnon, J.B. The Day the World Stops Shopping: How Ending Consumerism Saves the Environment and Ourselves. (An Imprint of Harper Collins Publishers, 2021), 22. ↩︎
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