When I first came back to Canada after three years overseas, my possessions fit into two suitcases—and I liked it that way. It was the year Minimalism: A Documentary About the Important Things came out, and the lifestyle seemed to go hand-in-hand with my desire to be a conscious consumer.
View this post on Instagram
So far, this is my favourite spot in my new place. #readingnook #vscocam #interiors
My minimal apartment in 2015
But, even at the beginning, I started to feel that nagging sense of FOMO, and even guilt, that I wasn’t doing it “right”. I couldn’t afford Nisolo shoes, a makeup bag full of Ilia, or a capsule wardrobe full of Everlane, and that bothered me more than I cared to admit. In that way, minimal influencers were having the exact same effect that luxury lifestyle influencers have on most people— they were making me dissatisfied with the things I owned, and my current circumstances.
So I stopped paying attention to minimalist and ethical fashion and lifestyle bloggers. When their videos came up in my feed, I no longer watched them, because so often they would tempt me to long for expensive ethical products I couldn’t afford, or make me want to move to a trendy minimal apartment out of my price range. Instead, if I needed encouragement to downsize or shop less in a certain area of my life, I would actively look up that content, and watch or read only that.
At the same time, I began to be more flexible with my possessions. I let inspiration, the necessities of daily life and my budget dictate what I owned instead of a rigid idea of exactly how many items I should have in my closet, or dishes in my cupboard. I built a collection of vintage teacups that I use often and love, and a bag full of makeup items that bring me joy (when before I had only one lipstick and one palette).
I also no longer believe that my life will be infinitely better by owning a Cuyana silk dress, rather than one originally from Gap that I picked up at a thrift store. I still believe in fewer better things, but rarely arrive at BEST. Most times I arrive at GOOD, and I have learned to be content there.
I also let go of my guilt at not doing the whole ethical, minimal thing perfectly. As much as possible, I try to shop second-hand so I’m not contributing to an unsustainable system that often involves child labour. As much as I can, I try to bring my reusable coffee cup and my mesh produce bags with me. But I now give myself so much more grace if I do resort to purchasing a fast fashion piece, or forget my cloth bag at home. I don’t pressure myself to be all or nothing anymore, I just take small steps to do some GOOD, every day.
Wearing a thrifted skirt from Mission Mart and Old Navy shirt while buying glasses at BonLook recently.
I’ve let go of the pressure of living an Instagram-worthy minimal life. But living simply, with kindness to the earth, my fellow human beings, and myself, is something I will be practising for the rest of my life.
Yes, minimalism helped me on the path. But, in the end, I believe we have to honour the fact that not everyone can afford (in time or money) to buy all organic produce, wear only the most sustainable fabrics, and smother their faces in RMS and Tatcha. We have to make room for GOOD when BEST just isn’t possible or fair to expect of people. Because, if we don’t, then minimalism and ethical living will continue to be just another elite status symbol of a self-righteous upper-class.
Grace’s Way 