What do you feel when watching yet another “haul” video on Instagram? Inspired? Addicted? Or a bit annoyed? If the last one sounds familiar, you are not alone. I feel uneasy seeing someone unpack another mountain of clothes from ZARA, H&M, Bershka, or worse, Shein and Temu. Knowing the environmental toll of fashion, from chemical pollution to labor exploitation, it makes it hard to watch.
The Minimalist Psychology of Wanting Less
Fast fashion made brand-style clothing accessible to millions. But it also created a culture of overconsumption, where people chase “unique” looks. Social media rewards this endless cycle of buying, posing, and discarding, while textile waste piles up quietly in the background. Did you know we already have enough clothes to dress the next six generations of humanity? Yet we keep producing more.
Without pretending I was above it, I admit I used to be part of that cycle. I loved shopping. Retail therapy was my comfort, and I called every new outfit “self-expression.” But over time, that joy faded. It began to feel hollow, mechanical. So, four months ago, I quit: no new clothes, no thrifting, no “just in case” purchases. I didn’t set a time limit, just an intention to pause. Four months later, I see fashion and myself differently.
When less becomes more
When you stop buying, you start seeing. That forgotten blouse becomes a layering piece. Those “boring” jeans become the backbone of ten new outfits. My closet turned into a creative lab. Research calls this the paradox of minimalist fashion: the fewer choices we have, the more creative we become. Of course, it’s not always easy when a limited wardrobe doesn’t suit every occasion. Yet that discomfort brings growth. It forces self-acceptance and reminds me that expression doesn’t depend on novelty.
Online, minimalist influencers show perfectly curated capsule wardrobes: neutral tones, high-quality fabrics, and a calm aesthetic. But these ideals can become pressures, too. The “perfect” minimalist wardrobe is often expensive and exclusionary, turning simplicity, as some scholars note, into another kind of performance. True minimalism, I’ve learned, begins with what you already own.
Shopping is not a chocolate
Let’s be honest, buying things feels good. That “order confirmed” email is a five-second hit of joy until it fades, and the guilt sets in. However, studies show that cutting down on consumption reduces stress and increases well-being by simplifying our daily decisions. And I can confirm that. I no longer waste brainpower choosing between nearly identical t-shirts.
Interestingly, research on minimalist aesthetics also links this lifestyle to a sense of competence, the sense of being efficient, capable, and successful. Minimalists tend to rationalise pleasure. They replace impulse-based joy with thoughtful reflection, choosing intentionally rather than emotionally. Reducing possessions, thus, isn’t just practical; it signals you are in control of the situation, both internally and externally. I’ve found the same shift in myself. Now, when I crave dopamine, I’d rather eat chocolate.
Consumption has its loopholes
Even after I stopped shopping, new clothes found their way into my life as gifts, hand-me-downs, minor exceptions. Consumption, it seems, always finds a way. That’s when I realised minimalism isn’t about complete abstinence. It’s about boundaries. Saying no not because you can’t have something, but because you’ve decided you already have enough.
From Style to Self
Somewhere along the way, I stopped defining myself by what I wear. I repeat outfits unapologetically. I care more about comfort and confidence than micro-trends. I wear what feels like me. The minimalist fashion challenge Courtney Carver’s Project 333 captures this perfectly: limiting yourself to 33 items for three months to rediscover joy and simplicity in dressing. Studies confirm that people who try it often report feeling calmer and more content. I may take on that challenge myself someday—but for now, I’m curious to see how far this experiment can go on its own.
Lessons learnt
Minimalist fashion isn’t just about decluttering your closet — it’s about changing your mindset. There’s peace in knowing exactly what you own and loving every piece. Fewer choices mean less decision fatigue and more headspace for what really matters.
It’s not always glamorous. Sometimes I get bored, or tempted, or nostalgic for the thrill of newness. But each time, I remember why I started: to see what happens when I stop consuming.
Maybe the real luxury today isn’t having more. It’s wanting less.
