Can a minimalist survive in a home of materialism?

A few weeks ago, my spouse bought a Fitbit to track his workouts and vitals. None of us had ever had anything like it before and had connected to cell phone apps to track exercise. We were both enthralled with the device.

The following week, I spent several hours reviewing various sports watches with the intention of buying one for myself. From the $400 units, I dropped to a few $60 units, knowing I was sacrificing quality and name recognition for a reasonable price on a device that met my particular needs.

I point out that these were “wants,” not “needs.” The features each of the last three watches had were the same as what I already had on my cell phone app, with the exception of heart rate and sleep patterns. However, the watch would always be with me, tracking my movements. And it was something elegant, a marker that I had a certain prestige and that I was concerned about my physical condition.

It was at this stage that I realized that I was falling into the material trap.

If I wanted to track my sleep, I could do so by recognizing when I was tired, when I was awake, what triggers were involved in my insomnia episodes, etc. If I wanted my heart rate, I could press my thumb into the veins in my wrist and count. And, when you had a cheap sports watch on your wrist, there were always others who pointed out the superiority of your watches.

I really only wanted the watch for vanity reasons and to keep up with my wife and her friends who had similar units.

That is the trap of materialism, encapsulated in a simple technological contraption. We want and, most of the time, we wait because others have. But we need? A minimalist lifestyle is built around the idea that we can enjoy more with less. Without the watch, I become more aware of myself and body rhythms, less aware of what others display as their latest possessions.

My spouse is not very material. However, he likes her variety of clothes and jewelry. And it’s easy to follow that path, without acknowledging it. Last year, I cleaned out my own closet and donated over two dozen garments. Some, I had not used. Others, he had used less than five times. Others were very similar to shirts and pants that I already had. How did this happen?

Like most of us, I love a deal. Most of the items had been purchased, over the past ten years, at a discount of at least fifty or sixty percent off the regular price. But he hadn’t needed them. Once again, when she shopped with my spouse, she saw these deals and convinced me they were too good to resist. She would then take the item to the shelf and find a cheaper one. Still, she was shopping unnecessarily.

A friend recently donated two of her husband’s $3,000 suits to charity. She hadn’t worn them in a few years, but she hated to throw them away. She was able to convince him that they were worthless if she didn’t use them, and if she donated them to a charity, someone would use them. She agreed, somewhere in town a homeless person may be wearing a $3000 suit!

It’s hard to resist the urge to acquire, but the most effective way to do so is to pause (perhaps even for a day or two) and reflect on whether we’re fulfilling a need or a want.

I am not suggesting that we avoid all our desires. But, effective minimalism allows us to prioritize our desires, so that we can get what we value most in our lives, with the lowest cost-benefit ratio. Let the family live the way they choose, but go their own way with regard to their material needs.