I think I’ve always known I would write this article -- it was, in many ways, my destiny. Forget school, university, working towards a steady financial income; no, my duty in life is to lay out, in painstakingly clear terms, why, exactly, I hate minimalism.
And I really hate minimalism.
If you’re unclear on what minimalism is, the standard google search will tell you that it’s a form of decor “characterised by simplicity, clean lines, and a monochromatic colour scheme.” Picture a lot of white, interspersed with random (oh-ho, but they’re not random, they’re perfectly placed according to the twisted rules of minimalist logic) green potted plants in order to create the lie that the space you’ve just created isn’t a barren wasteland of cream coloured coffee-tables.
If you look up why minimalist decor is the way to live, you’ll get answers like “less clutter” “more freedom” “more simplicity.” In fact, the minimalist ideals are almost unnervingly parallel to the existence of the ‘that girl’ archetype that has conquered tiktok (don’t even get me started on her, that’s a whole other article.) Funnily enough, if you look up why maximalism is the best way to live, your google will make the amusing assumption that you’ve actually just mis-spelt ‘minimalism’ and present you with the same results. To twist the knife further, as I write the word ‘maximalist’ in this article, the dreaded red line pops up because apparently, no one sane could possibly prefer a decor which has, I don’t know, personality.
According to this reasoning, I’m not sane. And yet, hopefully, by the end of this article, you might join me in the thought camp that says that perhaps, just maybe, we like colour and not having our bedrooms look like the waiting rooms at our local GP.
Here is my argument for why minimalism is the worst trend to dominate the 21st century, through the eloquent medium of the pie chart (I took GCSE maths, not going to waste an opportunity to whip this skill out, sorry.)
I don’t know. Maybe you have a minimalist room. Maybe you like the sense that your life is perfectly ordered and structured and that possessions don’t weigh you down. You’re living that ascetic lifestyle, and I respect it. Sadly, I must be surrounded at all times by a collection of stuffed toys, possibly the whole world’s supply of candles, and random blankets that are thrown wildly - and without any logic or use of my brain at all -- around my room. I like to think that if I died suddenly and without warning, my family would be cursing me from beyond the grave for making them sort through my 8000 belongings. It’s the little things in life.
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