A trendy lifestyle concept from the 2010s (before the pandemic era scarcity panics turned us all into preppers and packrats) was “minimalism”—the art of living with less—and it’s making a comeback.

The allure is obvious. Choking in unused “stuff” bought impulsively because a shiny new object stimulated the pleasure centre in our brain (and kept because of that “sunk cost” fallacy philosophers have warned us about), we are enticed by the hope that fewer possessions will simplify our routines, save time and money, and make space in our life for more fulfilling pursuits. I’ve been wanting to “pare down” and “declutter” for years.

Then, suddenly the online influencers were all abuzz about it. I decided to see what they were saying.

It struck me how many minimalism gurus said to buy new things! Apparently, you must get stuff to “minimise” stuff. Throw out your belongings and replace them with newer—pricier—items to feel luxurious in your new asceticism. Well, that’s not exactly how they put it. They say you need a few “select” items of “higher quality” that will last longer and won’t need replacing often. Also, everything will look and feel more polished and elegant (all this with a side serving of lectures on being “less materialistic”!).

The next thing that struck me was how elaborate the procedures were for owning less. Charts. Inventories. Meditation and journaling about gadgets and furnishings and what they mean. Tracking which clothes you wear most often. When you weren’t being told to fork out a small fortune to feel extravagantly self-denying, you were told to devote all your time and thoughts to managing your things: what you want or need, what to keep or discard, and the psychology of it all. There were testimonials about personal “journeys” (lots of them).

Many minimising “systems” have grown into massive franchises with books, seminars, subscriptions—even merchandise, ironically! Hundreds of doctrines exist just on the sub-topic of wardrobe-pruning: “333 challenge”; “capsule wardrobe”; “100-piece wardrobe”– and so on.

The “333 challenge” was created by Courtney Carver, author of the book “Soulful Simplicity” and the “Be More With Less” blog. Many lifestyle writers have developed their own variations. The basic idea is that you select 33 pieces, and for 3 months, wear these exclusively.  After 3 months, update the wardrobe for the next cycle—replacing some items if you like—but keep the total at or under 33. Repeat every 3 months.

Opinions differ, but the 33 usually includes clothes, shoes, handbags, and accessories, but excludes underwear, socks, work or school uniforms, gym clothes, swimsuits, and loungewear. In some versions, instead of throwing out whatever didn’t make the selection, you store it away and, the next time you update, you go “shopping” in your storage. Others say you should select 33 pieces per season for a whole year (132 items total) and discard everything else. If you buy anything you must eliminate something from the existing repertoire to keep the total number capped at 33 per cycle. Some variants suggest adjusting the number to suit your needs.

Ok, I don’t know about you, but I’m not willing to put this much effort into achieving “simplicity”!

The capsule wardrobe concept began in the 1940s and has been revived several times, including by English clothier Susie Faux in the 1970s, American designer Donna Karan in the 1980s, and the internet fashionistas since the 2010s. In this system, you pick a signature colour scheme around a “neutral” (black, brown, navy, grey, white or beige) and choose a few items that all go together, topped off with a couple of “statement” pieces to add the occasional bit of panache. It’s suggested that you only keep pieces that are well-made, of high-quality materials, and in classic designs unlikely to go out of style. You can keep your look “updated” by swapping out one or two pieces per year (or season). If you don’t have such quality items already, you must “invest” in them now and you’ll “save” by not having to replace things too often. (They don’t say what to do if you can’t or don’t want to spend big bucks upfront for the sake of “having less” or if you’re too busy to send out your dry cleaning twice every week.)

Theoretically, it all goes together, so you never spend time coordinating outfits. But I wonder if it holds up practically. Depending on how we feel, how recently we did laundry, or what occasion we’re dressing for, can we realistically “just throw something together” even if our wardrobe is literally 50 shades of grey (or is it 33 shades)?

Marie Kondo, the Japanese “organising consultant” and international bestselling author, recommends a radical downsizing of everything—not just clothes—you own. She advises taking all your belongings, one category at a time, piling them up on a bed and picking through them ruthlessly, keeping only that which “sparks joy” and tossing everything else. She also has intricate methods for organising what you keep.

Her total system is much too convoluted for me. But I love its core, salient feature: the often (unfairly) maligned and mocked “sparks joy” concept. Joy, in this context, means comfort, satisfaction, and a recognition that an object is useful or enjoyable or has sentimental value. Crucially, “sparks joy” indicates that this recognition is immediate and instinctive. If you need to think about whether it is useful or enjoyable or sentimental, then it doesn’t pass the “sparks joy” test, even if there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s a brilliantly concise and practical piece of advice on how to intentionally choose what stays in your life and just let everything else go without bellyaching over it. Although Kondo undermines her own elegant point by telling you to allocate heaps of time and mental energy toward getting rid of things and “tidying up” what you retain, the beautiful truth is, I don’t have to accept those parts of her advice! I take the underlying insight and leave the aspects that… don’t spark joy!

The “subtraction project” was developed by podcaster and blogger Cass McCrory, whose approach to “living with less” is more sensible and less fussy than most. Basically, you set aside some time periodically to go through one area of your home—maybe a room, a closet, a set of drawers, or even just one drawer—and look for things that are useless, unsightly or overly damaged. Get rid of those. Start with the easy things, the obvious “junk” you don’t have to think about. You’ll do another round later, and you’ll consider more carefully.

Alas, even this charmingly no-nonsense idea soon got cumbersome, as its purveyor kept expanding the “project” to the point where it seemed to be recommended as something of an on-going obsession rather than as a finite plan to declutter your home and get on with life. She also offered a paid subscription to get regular tips on what to throw out next. (well, I’m not really looking to take up this “throwing stuff out” thing as a lifelong hobby… but, um, thanks?!)

Still, I like that she’s focused on a gradual, comfortable process and not arbitrary numerical goals or gimmicky philosophies.

Most of the methods I encountered ultimately defeat the purpose of minimising, which is to free ourselves from the trap that “stuff” can become. Stuff taking up space and time (time spent looking for that ONE thing you need in an overstuffed cabinet or time spent coordinating an outfit from too many choices). But, if you’re just swapping this kind of time-drain with the equally giant time-drain of the “minimalist” or “decluttering” program you’ve set up for yourself—constantly sorting, cataloguing, organising, experimenting, meditating—then, what’s even the point? Obviously, I don’t mean to speak for others or suggest we all have the same goals. For some, maybe it IS all about achieving a stark, streamlined look as an aesthetic principle, regardless of the time, effort, or expense it requires. But they ought to be straight about it and not try to co-opt the deeper psychic appeal of simplicity and non-attachment (as found in some spiritual or philosophical traditions) while at the same time, turning it into the hottest new lifestyle trend: “Renunciation Chic” (if you will).

So, what’s the takeaway from my dive into this minimalism craze? Avoid crazes! Also, implementing byzantine new processes is no way to achieve simplicity. This ridiculously obvious realisation helped inspire my own simple 3-point plan for owning less.

(1) Stop the influx. The only way to reduce bulk is to stop acquiring it. Otherwise, you’re just replacing a hoarding habit with a binge-and-purge habit. Impose a buying moratorium on yourself, with an arbitrary end date (mine was one calendar year). Apply it to everything except consumables like food, cleaning products, etc., and things for kids (they’re only young once and for such a short time!). You’ll probably do some “emergency” buying, like if your running shoes wear out or your phone breaks. Unless it serves this kind of vital function, nothing you discard needs replacing. If your beloved red leather bag falls apart, don’t buy another. Grab that lovely brown leather bag that’s in your closet, neglected. Eventually, NOT buying will become your default habit. Like eating. You never need a reason to “not eat”; you need a reason TO eat, which is that you’re hungry; and (hopefully!) you stop when full.

(2) Declutter as you go. Don’t obsess. (I now keep a “donation hamper” where I toss things I don’t want but which are in good condition. I take them to a donation centre when I have time.)

(3) If “simplifying” takes any more effort or stress than this, it’s not worth it. Just embrace the remaining mess and live an otherwise happy life!

The author is a lawyer, writer and editor based in Manhattan, New York

(Photographs by the author)