Maximinimalist : Great Thoughts on Simple Living

Enough

“He who knows that enough is enough will always have enough.” – Lao Tzu

Platonic ideal

Beauty of style and harmony and grace and good rhythm depend on simplicity.  – Plato

Sensory minimalism: seeking silence

I am here at Borders bookstore, which I love for its free wireless and its Seattle’s Best Coffee vanilla javakula.  The seats are clean and comfortable, the scenery generally pleasant, and the air conditioning on — which is more than I can say for my own house.  What it lacks, however, is good old-fashioned peace and quiet.  The library it ain’t.

The fellow behind the bar is one of those cultivatedly (yeah, I made that up) friendly coffee-and-tea-nerds — reminiscent of WYPR’s wine guys — who discusses the well-being of his customers and the characteristics of his coffee with great enthusiasm, a fair bit of earnestness, and a slightly louder than necessary voice.

I like him; I like that he seems to like his job.  But lately I’ve been thinking about minimalism for the senses.  And today I’m wondering if he — or any of us — might not make just as many sales and feel as connected as ever if we simply forewent speech altogether — and maybe just went with a smile instead.

The minimalist woman’s wardrobe — it doesn’t have to be all black!

This is dangerous territory, I realize.  But I’m feeling the bravery born of necessity.  Every time I read an article on streamlining ones closet, investing in “forever fashion,” or acquiring the Top 10 wardrobe “must haves” — the list reads black, black, black. As in: black suit, black pumps, black skirt, black cardigan, black pants, black turtleneck and black sleeveless shell.

I love black.  I look terrible in black.  And the older I get, the worse I look in it.  I can’t possibly be alone.  After all, if you’re not a Winter, chances are you don’t look good in black either. You might look fashionable, you might look thin, you might look New York-y, and you certainly won’t look “incorrect,” but you won’t look your best, either. And just because we’re minimalists, doesn’t mean we don’t care.  [In fact, it may well mean we care more, but that's a posting for another day!]

Today, then, a step-by-step guide to a minimalist wardrobe for the rest of us.  Here goes:

First, pick three colors, at least one of which should be fairly neutral. These colors can vary by season. For example, for fall and winter, you might choose gray, ivory, and red, while your spring and summer colors might be stone, ivory, and dusty blue.

Depending on where and how you work (law office vs. personal trainer vs. stay-at-home mom), the people you live with (nursing baby vs. hubby of 50 years), the climate (I once tried to import an all-black wardrobe to Austin, Texas; it didn’t last two weeks), and your hobbies (yoga, grape-stomping, ceramics?), you will probably need/want some or all of the following:

1.. A trench coat and a winter coat in one of the neutrals, and maybe a more casual jacket appropriate for your local weather (e.g., slicker, parka, running hoody) in one of the colors you’ve chosen.

2. A winter suit and a summer suit, most likely in one of the more neutral colors you’ve chosen.

3. A pair of jeans: dark blue so they can be dressed up or down.

4. One or more of the following items in any [or all -- if you happen to be a talking head or otherwise highly visible, as well as minimalist] of the colors you chose: skirts, pants, turtlenecks, cardigans, shells, T-shirts, tanks, dresses, and blouses. [Personally, I hate to recommend that m/any women over 35 buy shorts, but ... I do understand they are the summer uniform of choice in, say, the Rocky Mountains.  Moreover, I wear cutoffs myself, against all manner of good judgment and regard for others.]

5.  Black, gray, navy or brown leggings, shoes, and boots.

6. A scarf or two — both summer and winter weights (oblong is particularly versatile) — in solids and prints that contain a mix of “your” colors and complimentary colors.

7. The shiny bits: e.g., a metallic sequined pencil skirt, a tulle pouf, vintage taffeta top, or burned velvet wrap … a little glam for the holidays and other special occasions.  Complimentary jewelry — keep it streamlined and wearable — pearls, gemstones, and “your” metal (platinum/white gold/silver vs. gold/bronze/copper).

A monochromatic, minimalist look should be elegant, never boring, so don’t forget texture.  Picture yourself, for example, in a navy blue wool three piece suit with navy blue leather pumps and a navy blue leather handbag.  Eeks and double eeks.  Now picture yourself in all creamy ivory, but wearing a silk camisole, ribbed cashmere cardigan, and sueded ribless corduroy jeans.  Much better, hmm?  It’s all in the texture.

Other keys to a minimalist wardrobe:

• Get the most classic lines and the very best quality that you can afford/find so that you needn’t reinvent the wheel (or wardrobe) every year.
• Make sure your clothes fit you properly.  Sometimes you can get away with spending less money at the store if you spend more at the tailor, and — surprisingly often — this is a trade-off worth making.
• Take good care of what you’ve got.  Fortunately for us minimalists, this generally means washing, drying and drycleaning your clothes LESS often and simply airing them out more often.
• It probably goes without saying (we’re minimalists, aren’t we?), but I’ll say it anyway: no visible logos. Anywhere. Ever.  Well, maybe, just maybe, if you own the company.

How much space does a minimalist family need?

So the woman across the street is moving.  Actually, she has already moved; she left for an assisted living facility last week, and her daughter is now undertaking the sale of the house.  It is a difficult, wrenching process, not surprisingly, and sad for us, too.  As we are not originally from Baltimore, my sons do not have the nearby grandparents that most of their friends do, and Mrs. C filled that role a bit: bringing them treats every Halloween and Christmas and enjoying (or so she said!) their early morning boisterousness and general mischief-making.  We’ll miss her.

Her real estate agent held an open house on Wednesday, and I — like a slew of other nosy neighbors — took the opportunity to take a peek beyond the front rooms.  I thought it charming.  Well built, solid brick, nice neighborhood (if I do say so myself) with a brand new elementary school, 3 bedrooms and 2 1/2 baths.  Honestly, the size of both the kitchen and the master bath had me fleetingly considering a move across the street.  So I was surprised — and more than a bit dismayed — to hear the informal consensus at the bus stop that afternoon:  Mrs. C’s house — at 1800+ square feet plus a partially finished basement — is “too small for a family.”  Say what?

First of all, my own house is far smaller than Mrs. C’s.  Setting aside –as best I am able — the question of whether it is rude to call a house “too small for a family” in front of a person that you KNOW is raising a family in a house that is even smaller, I submit that a smaller house makes for a happier — or at least closer-knit — family.  I intend to post on the topic of micro (household) environment on general happiness at a later date.  For now, I will just note that Mrs. C herself raised three children in that house.  Before she added the giant sunroom to the rear.  Most families today have just two children.  How much room does a family need?  And when — if not now, in the midst of a recession and a financial crisis brought on in large part by a nationwide yen to own more house than we could afford — will we stop thinking we need what we merely want?

Raising a minimalist child

Much has been written about the – how shall I put it? — moderating affect of children on parental minimalism. By their very (dear) natures, children tend to be maximizers. They are all primal want: bred-in-the-bone collectors of the first order. [James Grayson's very funny piece Minimalist Decor vs. the Children rings oh-so-true.]  And, in general, children’s extravagance does not dissipate during adolescence, in large part because adolescents (and even young adults) are still in the process of figuring out who they are — still trying on a number of  different personae (complete with requisite clothing and gear, naturally).  So the question is: Is it ever fair to force minimalism on our offspring?

Parents come down on both sides of the debate.  Some minimalists favor strict limits on the number of toys, shoes, movies, etc. that their kids have.  Others do not.  But, if it is not fair to force another person –- even a four-foot high person living under our roof, raiding our fridge, and turning our Town Car into a taxi cab — to divest themselves of half their toys, then how can we ensure that our littlest loved ones embrace – or at least do not thwart – our minimalism?  Some suggestions:

1. It almost goes without saying, but limiting TV time really helps.  For the first four years of my oldest son’s life, he never saw a commercial, except during football games. (Game day ads pretty much exclusively promote adult beverages, cures for athlete’s foot, erectile dysfunction and other manly ailments, and R-rated movies.)  Once my eldest learned to operate the remote control, he and his two younger brothers saw -– and purported to want — a lot more (albeit more age-appropriate) “stuff.”  We responded by ditching cable.  Voila, they are back to watching G and PG movies and sports on weekends, playing Wii, and … enjoying drawing and crafts, reading, and the great outdoors.   Mission accomplished.
2. Have them pay — at least in part — for their own stuff.  Not only will this teach them the value of a dollar, it will help acquaint them with two nearly extinct concepts:  delayed gratification and the ability to prioritize among several conflicting desires.  [Once they have a handle on these two concepts, feel free to encourage them to enter public service.]  Moreover, kids who shell out their own clams for a few over-hyped duds will almost certainly become more discerning, less Pavlovian consumers.
3. Have your children share a room with a sibling or two.  If you have half the space, it’s a pretty good incentive to have half the belongings.  Particularly if you are required to keep your room in good order.  This works for parents … and it works for kids too.
4. Encourage hand-me-downs and charitable giving.  Lead by example, and talk it up.  Cousins in particular love getting from and giving to one another.  And among the many charities that are happy to take gently used toys are the Salvation Army and Goodwill.  Homeless shelters also often need toys and craft supplies.
5. Older children can help sell their own stuff at yard sales or through online auctions.  My youngest son, a kindergartener, snapped some of the photos I used to list his old clothes on eBay.  Somehow being involved in the process made it a lot easier for him to let go of those two-sizes-too-small soccer cleats.
6. Finally, try to get extended family members in on minimalism, too.  This can be tricky.  Doting grandparents – not to mention childless aunts and uncles — are notorious for giving full rein to their generosity in the form of loud, light-up, battery-operated toys.  (I admit it: I was once one of those aunts.)  Minimalist parents might tactfully suggest the following clutter-free alternatives:

• Useful-but-fun items such as umbrellas, hats, toothbrushes, bubble bath, place settings, bedsheets, water bottles, bungee cords, flashlights, binoculars, maps, camera or tape measure;
• Replacement art supplies;
• Annual memberships to the local zoo or museum;
• Movie tickets or sports tickets.  Or try tickets to one of the children’s programs at the local opera, symphony or playhouse.
• Gift certificates to favorite restaurants like ESPN Zone, an ice creamery, or fun  bookstore;
• iPod gift card;
• Magazine subscription;
• Favorite foods, including the fixings for flavored popcorn, ice cream sundaes, or pizza;
• A class.  There are a number of varied adult/child offerings in towns and cities of every size, including singing, karate, and sailing lessons and art and pottery classes — you name it.

Finally, while it’s tempting to mount a full-scale assault on the playroom while they’re at school, older children in particular will find this intrusive, disrespectful, and sneaky–and with good reason.  It may even cause them to hide – and hoard — their belongings.  Instead, encourage a quarterly clean-out — maybe setting a goal of 10 toys or 25% of their stuffed animals –  but let them decide which to keep and which to pitch.  Don’t get discouraged or criticize them for starting small.  After all, throwing out one broken Kids’ Meal toy is better than nothing at all, and allowing them to exercise their own discretion gives them the sense that they are both in charge of and responsible for their stuff.  Trust me, once they realize they’re responsible for it, they may well want less of it.