Minimalism: the Perfect Number of Possessions

“The best thing is to possess pleasures without being their slave; not to be devoid of pleasures.” Aristippus, 435-356 BC

What is the perfect number of pants for a minimalist to own? I read this question on forums a lot. I’ve even typed it in the Google search engine a few times. Surely whatever I own now cannot be the ideal number.

Chasing is ingrained in us. If we are not racing to a pinnacle, it seems we are racing to a valley.

By searching for this question, I read accounts of several triumphant minimalists who manage to live with only one pair of pants.

I compared myself to these minimalists. “I have several pairs while they are fine with one… how do I declutter? Do I have too much, or too little?”

The problem for me was not that I owned too many pants, but that I felt the need to compare my belongings and standards to another’s. That I felt the need to move one direction or another to fix my relationship with things.

Ironically, such a mindset stems from the same source as maximalism. It involves a chase, and it presumes that one’s current state of being cannot be satisfactory.

A chase for less is as pointless as a chase for more if the parasite that is the consumerist mindset is not removed from the host. Because ironically, chasing places one’s thoughts on the very thing that shouldn’t be prioritized: stuff.

What is the perfect number of pants to own? The answer is what I have now, unless what I have now is causing legitimate life issues. Maybe what I have isn’t sufficient for work, or isn’t acceptable for my social gatherings, or simply doesn’t fit anymore. Then it’s time for a replacement. And the replacement should be affordable, and intentional, and used to the bitter end.

I consider myself “maximal” only in that I like to enjoy ”stuff”. I have summer pants that are breezy and winter pants that are cozy. I have loose pants and slim fitting pants. I have pants for winter running and cycling. I’ve used every pair. At the end of the day, it’s just fabric.

The perfect number of pants will be different for each person. The nomad living from a backpack may answer, “one”. I’ve been that nomad. The banker with a wardrobe of business suits may answer, “fifteen”. The point is the function, not the quantity. I’ve been closer to that lifestyle as well.

My purchases are intentional enough, so I don’t think about the number of things in my closet. I am not an ascetic, nor do I find asceticism alluring in any way. It is true that the things we own can enslave us if we let them, but they can also enhance us if their primary use is to help us go places.

The key, for me, is a shift in mindset away from a common “minimalist” branding that focuses on quantity (“check out my empty room, is yours this empty?”) and more towards an objective mindset that focuses on efficiency. If “stuff” serves a purpose, let it serve. I’d rather be served than serve another; serving something material sounds like hell.

Of note is that one’s base level of happiness does not seem to increase from the act of being served, or from the peacocking of one’s own status. It is a dopamine rush, an injection of heroin, and it does feel good for a moment. But the drug depletes quickly, and the depletion rate accelerates over time. In contrast, being enslaved, or in service, or indebted, will always exacerbate one’s base level of misery.

Base happiness seems to grow more like a tree, requiring carefully planted seeds, a steady yet moderate amount of water, and a lot of time.

At some point, we will think about our stuff. Maybe we have to consider our possessions in order to resolve a deeper issue within ourselves. In considering our possessions we ask ourselves, are we actually using our purchases or letting them collect dust? If a coating of dust forms on our shirts, if moths eat away at our sweaters, then our purchases were obviously not intentional. Why? What part of advertisements was it that sucked us in? Are we chasing a pinnacle or enjoying a process?

The key, for me, is to avoid a chase, whether it be up or down, left or right, forward or backward. Stay put, enjoy what’s here.

“The white rabbit is a slave to the queen.” - Tom Hodgkinson

Filling the Void

There is a void in our lives. If we continue living with this void, it will lead to unprecedented misery and corporeal decay.

Companies brilliantly convince us this is so. It’s how they convince us to buy their things.

I’ve been paying more attention to car commercials lately. The typical car commercial portrays a happy couple or family driving across a natural landscape, over terrain they never could have otherwise accessed. Text implies that to purchase this vehicle would be a steal. Video hints that this vehicle is a key that can unlock unprecedented freedom. A corporation is practically giving it away.

Buy me and you unshackle the chains that render you inert.

Drive me and leave behind the misery of a life stuck in one place.

But what is the reality?

Car registration at the DMV.

Thousands of dollars in car insurance, an expense not ending for as long as the vehicle is “yours.”

Thousands of dollars in gas, an expense not ending for as long as the vehicle is “yours.”

Thousands of dollars in maintenance, accumulating like a snowball rolling downhill for as long as the vehicle is “yours.”

We want it shiny. We want it new. Yet a steady degradation and rusting inflicts all shiny new things unless one is willing to spend a fortune to fight Father Time and slow down the inevitable destruction that all things come to. Botox for the face and for the car. Injections for the lips and for the tires.

The drain is unending unless one finds another shiny new object to replace the current one.

And yet the voices in our heads whisper: Buy me. You need me. I’m the last thing you’ll ever need.

“The things you own end up owning you.” -Tyler Durden

The lack oozes and burns into every pore of our existence.

Your frizzy hair makes you unattractive, but this special shampoo will save you.

Your male pattern baldness makes you look as pathetic as Gollum, but this Rogaine will save you.

Your pectoral muscles are flat and flimsy and your bench press sucks, but this protein powder will make your pecs adequate.

This tethers the puchaser to the shampoo bottle, the rogaine, and the protein shake. If a product depletes, the void, a disgusting tumor that will twist and contort all things beautiful, will grow. And if the void grows, what then? Death?

I want to embrace my aging rather than rely on a product to fight it. I want to jump into my own void.

I want to climb out of the consumerist rabbit hole that leads to a red queen I cannot reconcile with.

I do get value out of my material things and ironically, this blog will detail a lot of the material things I get value from. But I aim to only use what I find legitimate value in, and to find the best material possible to suit that need. That is why I consider myself a “maximalist.” I strive to maximize my output, but to do so efficiently. I have to be honest with myself. I am not necessarily a minimalist.

I am not perfect. I have bought things I don’t need and will do so again in the future. But I aim to separate my own intention from the intention imposed on me by external forces. I aim to embrace my materials while avoiding an emotional attachment to them. It’s not an easy balance. I don’t yet know if it’s even possible, but I will explore it.

I am incomplete. Therefore I am complete.