maximalist (n.)
“an artist or designer whose style uses the largest range of materials and colors possible, and very complicated shapes or forms.”
–Cambridge Dictionary
Plainly put, my style is absolutely that of a maximalist. I enjoy splashes of color, weird patterns, and interesting cuts in my closet. It’s part of who I am: I value an eclectic, wacky style, seen not only in my wardrobe, but in my bedroom, too. I collect M&M cookie jars and ornaments, boast a growing cow plushie collection, and am a perpetual victim to thrift store purses. Are they possibly just knockoff Coach bags? Sure. Do I care? Nah, they’ve got cool lining inside, and their chains clink!
I wasn’t always this way, though—at some point, I wore nothing more than simple brown, white, or black outfits; it’s true you can’t go wrong with neutrals. They exude an air of maturity and tighten my features (brown hair, eyes). Plus, I would always receive compliments about my “English teacher” vibe. Once, I even explained what the “dark academia” aesthetic is to a woman twice my age, who was totally enchanted!
Neutrals also suggest money. When I went to California over this spring break, I was amazed by the lack of color in others’ outfits. Maybe it’s just San Jose, but I couldn’t look less like a tourist with my bright blue tops with hibiscus patterns or my knotted shirts with palm fronds printed all over. Trust me, nothing says “I’m from Florida!” more than jean shorts and a crop top when everyone else is wearing chic baggy jeans and overcoats with the newest iPhone in their pockets and a pair of Gentle Monster glasses over their eyes. In my defense, we’re not in New York. And it’s almost summer, but I digress.
This isn’t to say I hate the Beige World takeover and I devalue minimalism. Every so often, I actually contemplate getting rid of my stuff. I’m constantly cleaning and reshelving and reorganizing, evaluating which of my precious items and clothes make the cut, and which I think will be enjoyed more frequently by someone else. But then I look around my room and think, I couldn’t possibly give most of these things away. The figurines and jars I collect that sit atop my bookshelf, the various Warrior Cats and Marie Lu novels I’ve collected over the years (some dating back to the fifth grade!), the ginormous cow plushie I bought at Cracker Barrel for $20. They make me so happy, and I look at them every day—I even positioned my bed in the middle of my room’s back wall so I’d wake up facing all of the things I’ve collected and take pride in owning.
To “make up” for the amount of things I find happiness in, I always try to extend what I can to others, too. I love donating old books of mine that I know I’ve exhausted (since I now own a Kindle, and there are sometimes free versions of books online, so it only frees up space) for events like Blind-Date-With-a-Book on campus, or for donating to my local thrifts. I get ecstatic when I see novels I recognize on the thrift’s shelves, actually. I feel so much excitement for the person who’s going to stumble across them, who will read and love them as much as I have.
I don’t think a maximalist attitude stops at the closet door. It envelops your entire life: it’s kooky, weird, and undoubtedly authentic, just as intense as someone who values minimalism and owning only what is necessary for their emotional and practical needs. Minimalism doesn’t equal coldness, or a lack of appreciation for items. It’s just a more low-key approach to material possession, and I think that’s important, too!
The obsession with detail is what gets me. I don’t wear neon colors because while Barbie can rock hot pink, I don’t find I can, and I have to make sure all of my metals match (gold, not silver) and the shapes coincide. You wouldn’t catch my corpse in a plaid skirt with a polka-dot shirt, for example. Maximalism is not just throwing everything together and hoping it looks OK. Quality always trumps quantity, even when quantity is the goal!
Simply, maximalism is a great lifestyle for people who have a deep personal connection to their items. But it’s not any better than minimalism, nor does it equate to hoarding or dramaticism. It merely is, and that agency is what makes it so great.
