The Joy of Less, a Minimalist Living Guide Read Free

sub-category of items we own: “aspirational stuff.” These are the things we buy to impress others, or to indulge our “fantasy selves”—you know, the one that’s twenty pounds thinner, travels the world, attends cocktail parties, or plays in a rock band.
    We may be reluctant to admit it, but we likely acquired many of our possessions to project a certain image. Take automobiles, for example. We can satisfy our need for transportation with a simple car that gets us from Point A to Point B. Why then, would we pay double (or even triple) the price for a “luxury” car? Because automakers pay advertising firms big bucks to convince us that our cars are projections of ourselves, our personalities, and our positions in the corporate world or social hierarchy.
    It doesn’t stop there, of course. The compulsion to identify with consumer products reaches deep into our lives—from our choice of homes to what we put into them. Most people would agree that a small, basic house more than satisfies our need for shelter (especially compared to Third World accommodations). However, aspirational marketing decrees that we “need” a master suite, bedrooms for each child, his-and-her bathrooms, and kitchens with professional grade appliances; otherwise, we haven’t quite “made it.” Square footage becomes a status symbol; and naturally, it takes many more sofas, chairs, tables, knickknacks, and other stuff to outfit a larger house.
    We’re told that the contents of our homes are reflections of ourselves—and we should take care to display the “right” things to convey the desired impression. Bear rugs and deer antler chandeliers proclaim our outdoorsy, pioneer spirit; Old World antiques speak to our refined European tastes; Moroccan lanterns and floor pillows reveal our exotic, bohemian side. Yet none of these things are really necessary to communicate our interests or personalities; it’s what we do—not what we have—that’s far more illuminating.
    Ads also encourage us to define ourselves through our clothing—and ideally, with brand name apparel. These designer labels don’t make our clothes any warmer, our handbags any sturdier, or our lives any more glamorous. Furthermore, such trend-setting items seem to go out of style mere minutes after their purchase—leaving our closets packed with outdated duds which we hope someday will return to fashion. In reality, the majority of us have no need for celebrity-sized wardrobes, as our clothes and accessories will never garner widespread comment or attention. Nevertheless, marketers try to convince us that we live in the spotlight, and would do well to dress accordingly.
    It’s not easy to be a minimalist in a mass media world. Advertisers constantly bombard us with the message that material accumulation is the measure of success. They exploit the fact that it’s a lot easier to buy status than to earn it. How many times have you heard that “more is better,” “fake it ‘til you make it,” or “clothes make the man?” They tell us that more stuff means more happiness, when in fact, more stuff often means more headaches and more debt. The purchase of all this stuff is certainly benefiting someone…but it’s not us.
    Truth be told, products will never make us into something we’re not. Designer handbags won’t make us rich, premium lipsticks won’t make us supermodels, and expensive pens won’t make us successful executives. Pricey garden tools won’t give us green thumbs, and high-end cameras won’t turn us into award-winning photographers. Yet we feel compelled to buy, and keep, stuff that holds a promise—to make us happier, prettier, smarter, a better parent or spouse, more loved, more organized or more capable.
    But consider this: if these things haven’t delivered on their promises yet, it may be time to let them go.
    Similarly, consumer products are not surrogates for experience. We don’t need to own a garage full of camping gear, sports