In my early, dogmatic days of minimalism, I spent months trying to find the perfect pair of shoes. The ones that I could wear every day, every way. The ones that would be comfortable and chic, appropriate for a meeting or for happy hour, for summer or for winter. The ones that would be part of my aspirational signature look, the ones that would communicate to the outside world my commitment to living with less. (Why, yes, I was smug and insufferable. However did you guess?)
So, I purchased pair after pair, thinking I had finally found The One. I bought black leather Chelsea boots and wore them everyday, until summer heat made them feel like mini saunas for my feet. They were donated.
I bought Sanita clogs and wore them everyday until they made me feel frumpy at a chic restaurant. They were donated.
I bought slip on sneakers and wore them everyday until I felt underdressed at a work function. They were donated.
I bought sleek leather ballet flats and wore them everyday until chilly November temperatures threatened to give me frostbite. They were donated.
I’ve lost track of how many other shoes auditioned for the role of The One, but you get the idea.
The irony of this obsession with finding The One is that I actually spent more time, money, and energy shopping, not less. More environmental, economic, and human resources were used up in the production of those shoes for me, not less. Sure, I donated the shoes when they failed to meet my impossible every day, every way standards, but that does not negate my wastefulness.
I’ve realized that I need more than one pair of shoes to successfully navigate the changes in seasons and the changes in my activities. I can have 10 pairs of shoes and still use them all, love them all, care for them all. That doesn’t make me a victim of materialism, consumerism, or excess. It makes me a person with a full and varied life living in the full and varied climate of the Mid-Atlantic region.
Maybe you’re trying to get out from under a pile of possessions, or maybe you’re hitting a rhythm in simplifying your stuff. Either way, here’s a helpful heuristic for considering the objects in your wardrobe:
Where does your stuff fit? Do you have 15 pairs of heels when you could make do with 4? That’s where you can pare down.
You can also use this tool to, dare I say, go shopping. You might value being active outdoors, but have no appropriate footwear for the colder months. Could a pair of water resistant hiking boots add value to your life? Get a pair. But not before adding them to your list shopping, y’all.
This also helps with thinking through outerwear, bags, and other accessories that seem to multiply like gremlins in the closet.
And remember, like Voltaire said, don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good.