I recently read an article that asked what were some of the not-so-obvious signs that someone is super rich. I have to admit this peaked my curiosity. I am not super rich. It made me wonder how I might appear differently to the world if I was? I was most interested in what they said that was relevant to design and it made me ponder the significance of these choices:
“Minimalist homes. I don’t know why, but many rich people like the simple aesthetic, which honestly doesn’t feel homey. They’d rather live with very few things.”
“Once you know you have money to replace things, it’s much easier to let go of them. Minimalist decor aesthetics are very rooted in this idea.”
“Minimalism is for people who didn’t grow up saving all the plastic food tubs to use as Tupperware.”
If I were to be cornered into a design aesthetic, I will have to say I am definitely NOT a minimalist. But I do find great pleasure in the simplicity of the aesthetic when I look at it. I could absolutely create a minimalist design with great zeal. I just can’t seem to let go of my own stuff, or some treasures from others I have collected over the years. I am proud to have a home that reflects my personal history, and a good amount of my family history. It makes me feel good. It makes me feel surrounded by loved ones even when I am alone. Their memory is something that guides me through the various stages of my own life.
My relations did save butter tubs to store leftovers, and the few purchases they made that retained any value were passed down generations. The privilege of purchasing objects for pleasure is fairly recent in my family history, for better and for worse. At best, it made us appreciate things that gave us pleasure and treasure the opportunity to acquire them. At worst, the pleasure of acquiring things took on outsized importance, especially during periods of sadness. I don’t struggle with the emotions that drive excessive acquisition, but being surrounded by the artifacts of that family history keeps me aware of it. It makes me reflect a lot on the importance of sustainability, avoiding excess, and also the importance of buying things that last and can be used by future generations. I don’t feel compelled to apologize for the fact that acquiring beautiful things brings me great joy – particularly when I consider that the opportunity is a product of many generations of struggle. In order to truly feel good about that however, I am trying to balance it with other values that keep my actions from being harmful to myself or others.
It seems to me that we could all be in a process of striking a similar delicate balance. of embracing and celebrating a complicated history that can inform and affirm us in many ways but should be evaluated for the extent it can or should define our future. We can do this individually, but we ought to be doing this collectively as well. Are we best served by a minimalist, uncomplicated approach that makes things appear more manageable in our complicated world or do we want a maximalist reminder of everything gorgeous and awful that surrounds us? Do we have to choose and/or can we accept that each can mean different things to different people based on their own history and circumstances? Perhaps we focus less on how people make sense of their current surroundings, and more on the future choices that will allow us to co-exist.
Sara L. Hinkel, M.S.Ed. 