The Time I Tried to be a Minimalist and Failed Spectacularly



Minimalism, they call it. A life free of clutter, full of intention, and probably powered by unicorn tears.

I, my friends, am not that person. I’m more of a “why have one coffee mug when you can have twelve with different cat pictures” kind of gal. But, inspired by the promise of inner peace (and maybe finding my keys for once), I decided to embark on my own minimalist journey.

The Great Purge of 2023 (Spoiler: It Backfired)

Armed with garbage bags and the unshakeable belief that I could, in fact, part with that sweater I hadn’t worn since 2007, I attacked my closet. Sweaters flew, shoes were judged, and I may or may not have sobbed over a pair of novelty socks.

like the entire textile production of a small nation, I realized I had made a critical error. I hadn’t gotten rid of anything. I’d simply rearranged my clutter.

Minimalism Means Less Stuff, Not More Storage, Right?

Undeterred, I decided to invest in some organizational tools. After all, a true minimalist wouldn’t be caught dead with a junk drawer, right? Cue the frantic online shopping spree. I’m talking under-bed storage, drawer dividers, a label maker (because clearly, the key to inner peace is color-coded labels), the whole shebang.

My logic? It was flawless. I was simply creating a home for everything, which is basically the same as owning less, right? Right?