I am a proud collector of things and a micro-maximalist through and through. I love my stuff. Though I wish I could curate a perfect, minimalist wardrobe with just two pairs of jeans and my “staple white tee,” nothing sounds less appealing. I can’t even narrow down my perfumes to five. Every August when summer comes to a close and I have to start packing for school, I do a major closet cleanout. I look at my pile of scarves and get choked up as I decide which piece goes into my giveaway Fresh Direct bag and which stays with me. It’s a spiritual experience, really.
But my closet cleanouts also expose my shame in collecting. While social media users drool over influencers who wear a new outfit everyday, rewarding their 20th statement coat with a like, comment, and subscribe, they simultaneously denounce constant consumerism and overall wardrobe excess. People should magically wear Guizio pants and have three different washes of the same style of vintage Levi’s, yet should really only own two pairs of pants, maybe a third, if they’re linen.
Many assume that minimalism is the key to environmental sustainability in fashion. They’re probably right. But for someone like me, purging my closet sparing only a few precious pieces feels not only sacreligious, but impractical. What minimalism says I should cleanse myself of, I know I would ultimately crave. I had to find the happy medium. How can we learn to consume things without giving them away at the same rate, while also saving room for clothing to re-circle in your life?
Marie Kondo revolutionized the idea of cleaning up clutter by urging her followers to ask, “does this spark joy?” I was at a crossroads after cleaning out my closet; after only giving away clothes that did not fit, I was still left with a significant amount of collected, found, and purchased pieces that any minimalist would scoff at. I realized that everything I was keeping did spark joy, so why the hell would I throw things away?
Enter timeless micro-maximalism in the age of overconsumption. I finally capitulated to my inner-truth: I am not a minimalist, and that’s ok! So what is micro-maximalism? To me, it means loving outfit possibilities without living in excess. While some maximalists might have trouble with not being able to say no, leading to constant consumption, micro-maximalists appreciate the right to have options, while recognizing the importance of reusing old clothes in new ways. Consider the micro-maximalist the quintessential overpacker.
In this newfound era of social media and influencers, overabundance is glorified to such an extent that us viewers are left with constant yearning. You scroll on TikTok for five minutes and are spoon fed over 20 new “it” gadgets, shoes, or supplements that promise to change your life. This extreme level of consumerism has generated an adverse party of minimalists, grouping us lovers of things onto the opposite spectrum without leaving room for nuance.
After my anti-only-the-basics revolution, I was finally able to attack my closet with care. Appreciating the value in clothing that I wear only a few times a month opened my eyes to a completely different facet of fashion and allowed me to find peace in living with a little bit of clutter. I shed my three different versions of a white Brandy Melville tank top (overconsumption and personal exposure at its finest) but kept my red crochet collar shirt that I swooned over when cosplaying La Parisienne in 10th grade. Maybe I don’t wear it all the time, but it still is a beautiful piece that I throw on every so often to feel like I have a baguette in my tote bag once more. I said goodbye to a vintage slip that I had only worn a few times to make room for new, eventual finds. Ultimately, I kept the pieces that I categorized as timeless because they are unique, well-crafted, and gorguíse to look at. I am not an overconsumer who supports going into your local Zara and buying everything on the second floor, but I don’t think minimalism is the only heroic path to fighting overconsumption.
As I approach my closet cleanouts now, I keep my multiple skirts that “spark joy,” regardless of their practicality and whether or not I wear them constantly. By appreciating the uniqueness and art of my textiles, I am dissuaded from ever buying a white Brandy Melville tank top again (again, shameful in and of itself), reducing my consumption without limiting my love of choice and possibility.
So first and foremost, closet cleanouts are necessary and must be performed annually. If something doesn’t fit, it is your civic duty to pass on the piece with care and love to its next owner. Honey, don’t call the shirt you accidentally shrunk in the wash in 7th grade a baby-tee, you’re better than that. Give it away. But what about the pieces that you don’t wear constantly? What role does sentimental value play in trying to attain the desired, minimal closet?
A woman deserves her right to choice!
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