Minimalism is elitist and exhausting. Let me be messy

My husband did this really cute thing a while ago: he started renovating our kitchen, then remembered he had a full-time job, three kids and an angry wife, and decided he would “circle back” and “finish the project later”. Two years have passed since “later” commenced. For the entirety of this time, our kitchen has been without cupboard doors, so that my addiction to mint slice biscuits and his habit of bulk-buying nutritional yeast flakes are visible to all who enter.

Initially – or at least before we actually filled the doorless cupboards with items – I was able to deal with the idea of naked, public cabinets through a combination of optimism and delusion. I imagined a new version of me, someone much more organised and aesthetically aware than the previous iteration, gently placing single items neatly on shelves that were not so much incomplete as they were minimalist and thus on trend. The kitchen I was convinced I could maintain would be as visually soothing as an Aesop store, rather than the sensory assault that inevitably comes with a significant Bonsoy collection and an Amazon subscription for 60-pack boxes of chips.

But, here is the thing I have come to realise: we in the West have been sold a beautiful, aspirational falsehood. Minimalism – in architecture, in fashion, in interior design – is desirable because it is impossible for the ordinary person to achieve. For much of the past two years, I have looked at our overstuffed cupboards and yearned for it all to be so much less. I have craved simple lines, smooth surfaces, shelves housing only a single bottle of small-batch olive oil and four grey earthenware plates. Instead, I have reckoned with daily failure and the overabundance of family life. This suggests to me that this whole “no colour, no contents, no texture” life I envisioned was as doomed as Sisyphus’s. So I have reprogrammed myself, have reminded myself of all the ways that minimalism sucks. Minimalism is elitist, it’s exhausting, it’s bland, and we, the people, deserve better!

Let me start my rant properly with the innate hypocrisy of minimalism, an element that I find particularly galling. Now, I should state at that point that I love hypocrisy generally. I am the feminist who loves The Inbetweeners, the mother who yells at her kids to stop yelling and the vegetarian who wears leather. But the hypocrisy of the minimalism movement is a delicious opportunity to punch up. Because the people who buy Australian-made, white-linen smock dresses and have reclaimed hardware, handle-free kitchen cabinets (but with doors!) are only those who can afford it. The aesthetic of having the expensive plain thing requires the budget and the access to acquire the same, and the confidence to enter the places that sell these lifestyles (places that are deliberately unwelcoming and austere). Just as I could never set foot in a Jack & Jac or COS, I could never justify spending $145 on a single candle from Aesop (seriously, WTF, guys?). The appearance of having nothing is, perversely, for those who can afford anything.

Attached to this is the exhaustion that comes with acquiring and retaining nothing. It is a particular type of person that can buy and display only a single loaf of bread and six shining apples, who can wilfully dispose of books that have already been read and sporting paraphernalia they no longer need. This is because these same people can replenish their stock instantly, no worries. There is, too, the privilege that comes with refusing things, with knocking back the complimentary hotel toiletries, the perfume samples and hand-me-downs. Accumulating and retaining belongings is a necessity for most people, but an annoyance in homes with purposefully empty spaces and discrete, limited storage.

This of course, is part of minimalism’s appeal, this aspiration to need less. And I get it! We are all attracted to the things that seem unobtainable – to the unadorned, mono-toned clothing, the deliberately sparse bookshelves, the lack of curiosities, the cupboards with actual doors. But it is just a trick of consumerism that will surely lead, when fashion demands it, to these same people repurchasing the things they disregarded, reintroducing colour, coming back to life.

So bearing all this in mind, I’m calling the minimalist era over. I say, let’s away with bland clothes and sleek, polished nothings, with the constant battle to ensure that houses, shirts and furniture are devoid of personality. But what shall we replace it with, you ask? Well, we are currently in an era of economic stagnation and the darkest geopolitical time, so let’s at least enjoy the food, the books, and the mementos we already have! Let’s bring back trinkets and knick-knacks and rooms full to bursting. Let’s bring back having stuff and not being ashamed of it, and while we’re at it, let’s make not having cupboard doors a thing, too.

The Booklist is a weekly newsletter for book lovers from Jason Steger. Get it delivered every Friday.