Making The Case for Minimal(ish)
My most amazing college professor (I think I took 7 of his classes!) always had us take a strong position on something from the book we read, and sometimes I would challenge myself by taking the opposite position. (Ok, it’s possible I did this because I wrote papers for this rower in exchange for his typing both our papers, but that’s neither here nor there.)
Anyway, I’m challenging myself to take a new position now. My point of view around spending and consumption and collecting clothes has always been something like “I earn my own money so I can spend it how I like, if there’s room for me to keep everything I love, why not? Fashion brings me joy like any other hobby people spend money on, and it’s part of my business. I’m not hurting anyone. If it’s a crime it’s victimless.” I wrote about it right here on Medium. Why then did something not feel right?
I had diagnosed myself as “all good” when it comes to shopping, but maybe I needed a second opinion.
Minimalist Me?
When it comes to minimalist fashion, I’ve swung back and forth on where I stand. Once upon a time, I gravitated toward the most exuberant prints possible. (This was a prized purchase, for example) and always in very feminine shapes. And then my tastes changed. And I didn’t feel so much like myself in these pieces. And I found myself drawn to the minimalism I appreciate in architecture. But when I’d try and restrain myself to the kinds of pieces and capsule wardrobe I see people creating (like The Flair Index with her Wardrobe Project), I felt too hemmed in. I figured that was on me. Maybe I just needed discipline.
So at some point last year I started working with a stylist, Tereza Brink. It started when I saw her Instagram and liked her point of view and how consistent she was with her style. She’s in Hamburg, and she’s both a trained stylist and a COO. I thought she’d whip me into shape and teach me how to be a minimalist.
Our meetings (over Google Meet) helped from the start. She gave me some homework up front; I pored over photos where I felt my best, went through her pinterest boards (“classic” and “bohemian” etc.) And I waited for her to tell me I needed to get some discipline and pick a lane and calm down.
She did but she didn’t.
She helped me understand that I can like and appreciate minimalism but I don’t have to be a minimalist. Sometimes when I would look at Instagram where everything was in three colors, all neutral, the mini Jodie handbag and the baseball cap, it made me feel a certain kind of way, like I wanted to pare down and live in this world where opening the closet would be soothing, where I’d know what to do.
But she helped me realize that I’m not all over the map and I do have a style. It’s not what it used to be. It’s also not minimalist. It’s a mix of traditionally masculine pieces with big dramatic twists. No wonder I’m drawn to minimalism — for its masculine elements. But the understated uniform does not appeal to me personally. If it doesn’t have drama it’s not exciting for me.
It was a total aha moment.
Lessons in Less
My style isn’t minimalist. But the “how it looks” part of minimalism is only one part. There’s also that less is more, very considered buying part. And that’s where Tereza thought I should get on board. Her point of view isn’t about restraint for the sake of restraint. It’s that … wait for it: The real luxury is paring down.
Because the more you have the more trouble you have getting dressed, the actual luxury is having less. So I shouldn’t look at paring down as depriving myself of something I’ve earned the right to enjoy. It’s that I’ve earned the right to have less. Whoa.
Tereza doesn’t suggest quitting retail indulgence cold turkey. More like cultivating my ability to look at things that are for sale or that other people are wearing and say to myself “yes, that’s nice and I can appreciate it but that’s not for me.”
Hmmm. I do find that I shop the way someone has a drink sometimes. At the end of a bad day for example. I don’t know if that’s concerning, but I don’t want to have any habits that have control over me versus the other way around.
Then there’s the fact that there always seem to be things in my closet that I love and haven’t worn. Just off the top of my head I’m thinking about a vintage Celine white runway skirt/belt, an Ann Demeulemeester leather halter type thing that I thought would look great with a T-shirt, the black Balenciaga hourglass jacket (my third one; did I need 3?), the statement necklace I decided would pull so many things together even though I have a lot of statement necklaces.
Hmmm. And then to top if off, we’re in the midst of this move, and as part of it, I took the pieces I loved the very most and couldn’t imagine parting with to our temporary place, and put the rest in storage. Soon, I’ll be reunited with those “other” pieces. Do I even need them? I feel overwhelmed with just what I have with me now. If it wasn’t on my precious-treasures-I-can’t-part-with list, do I even need it at all? I’ve been keeping a list of the pieces I miss. So far there are maybe 3.
Do Minimalists Have More Fun?
If I stopped buying so much, I would see more of what I have, and seeing it is the first step to wearing and enjoying it. Or selling it and letting someone else enjoy it.
Having fewer things would make me more likely to experiment with different ways of wearing what I have. Many of the outfits I like the most are experiments. I force that ability to loosen up and play sometimes by meeting with Tereza, who says, “take off the belt that came with it, try it with that belt, put on those sneakers, grab a bigger necklace, belt the blazer” — things I never think of. The other way I get to that place is by being in a rush, which forces me to not overthink it, like when I recently paired an Old Celine skirt with the brushstroke pattern with a piped pussy bow top and then at the last minute tossed on a houndstooth blazer and ran to a meeting. If I had a fewer things, I’d be more likely to see clearly; I could create an empty rack and move pieces around and challenge myself to pair them in new ways. I could play instead of just seeing … stuff. Overwhelming stuff.
Buying less also means fewer chances to make a mistake. It sucks to have fashion regrets, especially the expensive ones. Instead, I could repeat what I know I love. I admire the idea of repeating outfits; I think it’s smart to react to wearing something that makes you feel great by wearing it again. Why not? I’m not in a Miss America competition here. I worry that I’m too wedded to newness for an emotional lift; I like the idea of being in a place where I enjoy what I have.
Then there’s the wastefulness. Even when I get things from The Real Real, I notice how many boxes, wrappings, trappings are coming in and out of the house, trucks and planes taking things to me and from me. I could have considered, joyful shopping experiences and fewer of them in place of urgent fill-a-hole binges.
Dry Run
Last year I tried a dry (shopping) January. And I quickly saw the effect it had on me. It restored my time. It made me more likely to play and create. I also noticed how much I missed shopping, which provokes some thought. (It’s a blur, but toward the end of only month, I’m pretty sure I instructed my husband to order something for me and convinced myself it didn’t count.)
So I’m embarking on a dry January again. I’ve started unsubscribing to all my emails and replying STOP to all the texts I’ve allowed in exchange for 10% off. I’ve removed apps from my phone because they really get me. (On Day 1 — like, today — I was already tempted when I saw an Alexander McQueen harness dress that I’ve been stalking for 60% less, but I asked myself what Tereza asks me often: “What are you gonna do with that?”)
Actually, I have a few go-to tricks ready. One of them is to visualize myself standing in front of my current wardrobe and think about how each new piece that tempts me will make it that much harder for me to decide. The second is to remind myself —” you can like it without wanting it.” Appreciate the beauty and move on. And when all else fails, to tell myself “let’s check in after January and see if this is still important.” So let’s.
