Minimalism: Sparking Joy while Stuffing Landfills
We often strive to thrive within a system of less. Weigh less, worry less, eat less, and own less.
As a result, our homes also need to be minimised.
Plants are encouraged, but no more than three, and they’re preferably Monsteras or Bonsai trees. Your bedside table is bare except for a straw woven lampshade handmade by a farmer in Bali. Beds are only for sex, sleep and reading. Pick a soothing violet Indian cotton duvet that compliments your threadbare Moroccan rug.
The simpler and cleaner our lives are, the easier we can clog out the outside bullshit. Sanded concrete benchtops and Chabudai tables aren’t just an aesthetic – they’re a quiet rebellion against the 9-5 corporate rat race.
Having a home not riddled with mismatched Tupperware and a sea of tangled computer chords is as pretentious as flashing cold hard cash.
Marie Kondo — the visionary of modern minimalism — says in her book, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up, that we should only hold onto possessions that make us happy. This practice is based on Shinto tradition which focuses on simplicity to welcome space for the spiritual realm.
When Kondo's techniques shot to fame in 2019, we threw out our possessions to ease this hunger for clarity.
But in journalist Kyle Chayka's book, The Longing for Less, he says that minimalism is rooted in the pursuit of diffusing human suffering.
He writes: “Your bedroom will be cleaner, but the world stays bad.”
Minimalism is a marker of modern opulence.
Kim Kardashian and Kanye West’s sixty-million-dollar Californian mansion was the magnum opus of this philosophy. There was no evidence of human inhabitancy with its stark white walls, flat coffee tables and interactive art pieces in place of couches.
In a 2020 article by Architect Digest, designer Axel Vervoordt says the couple were in “search for cosmic values of peace and positive energy”. They envisioned the mansion to be a “space of the mind” and “silent”.
Kanye and Kim split a year later. But the house still stands barren — the gothic-style hallways roamed quietly by Kim.
The article, On Contemporary Minimalism’s Maximal Lies, reports that Westerners' lives are cluttered with so much stuff that doesn’t make us happy. As a result, we seek a cure for “psychogenic emptiness through physical austerity”.
Desperate to ease suffocation, we turn against our material items, often disposing of things that we actually need.
As freshers move from uni halls to flats, charity shops and landfills are swamped with the cheap furniture and items we bought to make do. In a ‘dump it’ frenzy, items in almost perfect condition get disposed. It’s only two months later that we get sick of eating off the floor and buy the same coffee table we dumped.
Furniture waste is one of the largest polluters of our landfills. According to Stuff, nearly 300,000 mattresses and bases are sent to New Zealand landfills every year.
Donating isn’t always a sustainable option. Activism group Nonstop Solutions reports that only 10% of items donated to New Zealand charity shops are purchased. The other 90% usually end up in landfills, and staff are left to deal with damaged and unhygienic items.
Ultimately, I don’t think there is anything wrong with the fundamental ideas of minimalism. But it's the unrealistic, extreme approach we take to it that is a problem.
Buddhist philosophy believes that minimalism is a state of balance, neither focused on excess consumption nor self-restraining material possessions. Buddhism prioritises the joy of life rather than material possessions.
Chi — an important aspect of the ancient Chinese practice of Feng shui — theorises that less clutter gives energy space to move.
But in true colonial fashion, we hang onto the aesthetic principles of foreign cultures and merge it with Western ideals of consumption.
The quality of products has decreased in the past ten years. According to Vox, industrial designers are less focused on quality and more on making it unexpensive for manufacturers.
To break the buy and ditch cycle, we need to prioritise quality. But quality isn’t always achievable, especially on a student budget.
Therefore, we should turn to our community.
Neighbours who want to rehome their unused copper pots. Garage sales. A relative’s porcelain mugs needing a trusted home. These practices matter.
We should be mindful of our donations by ringing up charity shops about what they need —making sure our items are wanted and not wasted.
Going back to diva Kondo, joy is sparked from being content with what we already have.