Omit to Commit Research: Minimalism, Essentialism, and Maximalism

Omit to Commit is all about the resources needed to opt into (and out of) behaviors, such as time, traditions (individual or group behaviors), trust, and treasures. By regularly making and breaking habits, life becomes more fulfilling and satisfying. I’m drafting a book called Omit to Commit, and in 2023, I’m posting research on the 20th of every month.

What resources are needed to commit to yourself, an idea, or a group? And what are the norms? Those are the key questions in my Omit to Commit research. I have found parallels across organizations, worlds, and disciplines. Today I’m diving into a cause near to my heart (and home): The pursuit of less/more. This topic may polarize, as it’s frankly political. Minimalism and maximalism are about exchanges of energy, including goods, services, and finances. This is a BIG topic across centuries and worlds. And so here, in this post, I focus on twentieth and twenty-first century organizational trends, touching on behaviors, psyche, and history. Most of my research is from primary sources. If you’d like to further my habits research, such as your pursuit of more, less, or essential, let me know by filling out this short form on making and breaking habits. Thank you!

Fundamentally, humans need food, water, shelter, and warmth in order to sustain life. Such essentials are often satisfied by work. But what comes after? How one uses this space in-between is highly dependent on the individual and their environments, and behold: The key resource in any habit is time. Specifically, leisure time. Democratically, this time can be spent doing anything (as long as you’re not hurting anyone, of course). In the modern world, this time is often divided, between people, exercise, service, education, more work, play, and perhaps even relaxation. Within leisure time, these environments are very much dependent on resources. Some may only have one job, and so they may have more time than others for other obligations, such as family.

Recognizing time as a key resource, both minimalism and maximalism require a commitment of exchanging energy, such as finances, goods, and services.

The methods of using time for one’s treasures are surprisingly similar across groups, at least in the first attempts of minimizing or maximizing. Marie Kondo, a super-heroine of modern minimalism, suggests the individual gather all cataloged goods in one space, and methodically go through each item, deciding one by one if the stuff in question brings joy. If not, thank the stuff for their service, and move on to the next object (I penned a “review-ish” about Kondo’s tidying up in 2019 here). That’s a big commitment, but that assortment of feelings, stuff, and time-space are not unlike maximalism.

Treasures are at the focus of minimalism and maximalism. Each item carries an energy but perhaps there are more whites and grays in minimalism and more animal prints and patterns in maximalism. When maximalists are curating, rules aren’t as set, such as Kondo’s technique of sorting and caring, and that is a fundamental difference between groups. While both organizations require time to curate, collect, discard, and donate treasures, maximalists don’t have specific rules or tenants to abide by.

Time is of the essence for minimalists, as one goal is to not think about the items again. Efficiency is the hope of this minimalist habit and therefore greater group. By reducing physical clutter, a theory is one’s mental clarity becomes sharper. Again, the pursuit of more/less varies, but minimalism may require a shorter journey of time, as maximalists may continue curating their collections long after minimalists have boxed up their goods for donating or decluttering. But that could be because of how time and space play together, which leads to…

Environment, whether at home, work, or play, is critical in recognizing (dis)attachments to one’s belongings. The Covid-19 pandemic affected, and still affects, much. Compartmentalization may just be a pre-pandemic goal. In 2020 and beyond, spaces have become muddier, multiuse: Work/school became home, and home became work/school. That kitchen table you almost donated? Now a desk and play-place, all at once. Remarkably, 3 years later, with Covid-19 still raging in its variants, many employers and educators are moving back to brick and mortar. Whether that’s returning to their old (often beloved) buildings or finding a hybrid model of virtual and physical, has a sense of making a space outside of work/school returned?

Making space is a privilege, and it’s often a personal and political statement.

Minimalists in particular crave white or blank spaces while maximalists continue to edit and curate their spaces. These are not inherently political statements. However, let’s look at the context of a modern movement in the western world. In the 20th century, having a home to return to was a privilege and became the norm for the middle class. Post-war, “home is where the heart is” took root, and so suburbia was born. Engineering homes that looked like one another was part of the machine, a key tenant of the (often male) return to work. Gender roles became “tradition” and, yes, sexist. Homecraft (often created by those not working) forged flourishes within homes, but those (often female) individuals were also operating the house, such as laundry, cooking, cleaning, a job in itself. Often while raising a family, another job. Thus, if there was any leisure time, the home-space was for showing often influenced by magazines, fashion, and relationships. Seemingly gendered activities, like crafts and style, were maximalist in the sense that individuals considered them self-expressions. Some researchers argue homestyle in post-WW2 suburbia was more minimalist, as the houses’ straight lines, machinery, and uniformity were manufactured, contrived by “traditional” family units.

Interestingly, the early 21st century rise of social platforms like Instagram and YouTube, along with Covid-19’s isolation, have spurred trends of creating and collecting crafts again, such as a maximalist, nostalgic bent to thrift stores. Grannycore, anyone? Maximalists in particular crave this expression of style and stuff, but I believe minimalists can find spaces for crafting, too. It might be a little difficult within the parameters of owning less on principle, but I think it’s possible (I asked, Can creatives be minimalists?, here). Home is often where the (emotional) stuff is, indeed.

Creation of arts and crafts is a marker of humanity, especially in one’s home and style. Celebrating what makes us human, art simultaneously allows windowing and mirroring to the soul. Writing is my craft, and I also collage, make short films, and dance. Art, when expressed, isn’t inherently minimal or maximal, it just is. Display of art, by comparison, is a minimalist and/or maximalist activity, as it shows one’s sense of style, whether that display is in one’s home or on one’s body. Curation of treasures requires thoughtfulness, such as using all the same frames for photography or preferring silhouetted neutrals for clothes (minimalist) or preferring patterns (maximalist). Thus, an individual can be both minimalist or maximalist, or somewhere in-between (I’ll get to essentialism shortly!).

Blank spaces give room to think, ponder, feel, and/or lounge. Currently, in the early 21st century, creating spaces, whether mental or physical, may still be a sign of privilege or poverty. The stuff within a space requires discernment, whether the owner ascribes to a particular group or otherwise. Maximalists’ curation process is ongoing, and may have less blankness, often resulting in rooms with more adornment. Decorations in particular are a sign of personality, regardless of one’s style or group alignment. Collections might be more maximalist. Both groups will probably tell me it’s not simply decorating a body or room, it’s making space for what you value. And so I ask:

• What are the costs of committing or omitting stuff? Style?
• What are you/your spaces signaling, to yourself?
• Who and what are you showing, to others?
• How’s your psyche, is there shame, guilt, and/or joy attached to ownership (of less or more)?
• Where, in time and space, are you recognizing? A nostalgia of past experiences? A forward-thinking potential?

The omission of clutter may make space for other projects. Or not, perhaps that space is variable, dependent on who and what are walking in. Space and time to think, work, and play, are crucial to humanity, and I believe giving yourself time to curate environments leads to fulfillment. Clean or blank walls do not always translate to one’s thoughts and feelings, as minimalists suggest. But the other extreme side, hoarding, has psychological effects, too. Attachments to “owning” one’s things is part of what makes us human, after all.

Ownership, of more or less, is not simply about the items in question. It’s moral.

Being proud of one’s stuff and style is a deeply personal idea, and that is a newer definition of ownership. Similarly, ownership requires standing by the pursuit of more/less. That is a personal task and may even be moral. Stuff so often has an ethical connotation, such as “owning” a cross if you’re a Christian. The items themselves do not carry anything. Instead, humans assign value to stuff and things, based on relationships, culture, and experiences. You can’t take it with you, but these meanings carry loads. Perhaps that’s why humans hold on? In the hope of enjoying, manipulating, and/or controlling physical and mental spaces.

Essentialism, therefore, may be a solution, if we even need one. By focusing on core values of what’s meaningful to a particular person, this group has less rules than minimalism while still allowing more individualized expression of collections like in maximalism. Is such a middle ground like essentialism possible? I don’t think this group has taken off as much as minimalism or maximalism, partially because an “even” medium is unusual. What, who, and where has value is a personal, purpose-driven question. Distractions from core values, plus theories on why humans need stuff and style so much, abound. Optimizing takes time and space, regardless of ascribing to particular group(s). Omitting stuff and focusing on your unique style require time, but so does committing to what’s left. Personally, I believe individuals can be any combination of these groups, such as having a more minimal sense of style for clothing but a maximal home. Pattered dresses and colorful tees are my norm, but so are white walls with a handful of collages.

Stuff tells a story of who humans are, were, and perhaps who we strive to be. Space is required to highlight individual, social, and cultural expressions, and the stuff and the spaces that contain them are treasures. Time is absolutely essential to forge a sense of belonging within any and all groups. One’s habits vary as organizations, trends, needs, and people change. Ultimately, this pursuit of more, less, and/or what’s essential is a personal task, and therefore it can be a political and privileged undertaking. I’d love to hear what you think! If you’ve considered a pursuit of more, less, and/or what’s essential, consider filling out this form. I’ll see you again for more Omit to Commit research a month from now, on March 20th!