I Tried to Be a Minimalist… Then I Met Online Shopping 🛒🤦♀️
Let me paint you a picture: It’s 2022. I’m wearing beige linen pants 👖, sipping matcha 🍵, and decluttering my life with the intensity of Marie Kondo on an espresso bender ☕️💃. My Instagram bio reads “Less stuff, more soul” ✨. My closet? A pristine wasteland of 15 identical white T-shirts 👕👕👕. I was a minimalist, baby—until I discovered the siren song of “Add to Cart” 🎵💳.
Phase 1: The Delusional Zen Era 🧘♀️
It started innocently. I read a book titled “The Joy of Less” 📚 and immediately donated 80% of my belongings, including my will to live 😅. My apartment looked like a Scandinavian prison cell 🏠❄️. I owned:
One plate (to “encourage mindfulness”) 🍽️.
A single houseplant named Steve (RIP, Steve) 🌱💀.
A yoga mat I used twice before it became a cat bed 🧘♀️➡️😺.
I felt so morally superior, I practically levitated 🧘♀️💫. Then… I opened TikTok 📱.
Phase 2: The Downfall (a.k.a. “Free Shipping is My Love Language”) 📦💘
One fateful night, an ad for a “vintage-inspired garlic press” popped up. “You NEED this,” hissed the algorithm 🧄🔪. I didn’t even cook. But it was $9.99 with free shipping. Suddenly, my minimalist manifesto felt… negotiable 🤔💸.
Exhibit A: The Organizer Trap 🗄️
I bought a $35 bamboo drawer organizer to “simplify my life.” But my drawers were empty (thanks, minimalism!), so I filled them with… more organizers. My sock drawer now resembles a tiny IKEA showroom 🧦🏠.
Exhibit B: The “But It’s On Sale” Vortex 🌪️💰
Why buy one artisanal soy candle when you can buy six? “They’re 70% off!” I whispered, as my credit card wept 😭💳. My apartment now smells like a haunted pumpkin patch 🎃👻.
Exhibit C: Fitness Gear Graveyard 🏋️♀️⚰️
A peloton? Too bulky. But a foldable, solar-powered, Bluetooth-enabled hula hoop? “This’ll finally fix my posture!” Spoiler: It’s collecting dust next to Steve’s funeral urn 🕯️🌱.
Phase 3: The Denialist Era (Minimalist + Denial) 🙈
My packages arrived daily 📦📦📦. I hid them like a cheating spouse hiding lipstick collars. “This isn’t consumerism,” I told myself. “It’s… curating a lifestyle!” 🎨✨
Lowlights include:
Buying a “minimalist” shelf to display my 12 new minimalist ceramic mugs ☕️🏆.
Spending $200 on noise-canceling headphones to “meditate” (I listen to ASMR unboxing videos) 🎧📦.
Ordering a “digital detox” journal… from Amazon Prime 📓🚚.
Phase 4: The Intervention 🚨
My wake-up call? When the delivery guy said, “See you tomorrow!” and I replied, “You too, buddy!” 👋😅 My cat started napping in empty cardboard boxes for emotional support 😺📦.
I tried to return things, but the “free returns” policy required me to solve a Rubik’s Cube of logistics 🧩🚛. My garage is now a warehouse of shame 🏭😔.
The Epiphany (Sort Of) 💡
Minimalism isn’t about owning nothing. It’s about owning regret. Regret for that avocado slicer 🥑. Regret for the neon sign that says “Good Vibes” in a font only a 2016 bachelorette party could love 💃✨. Regret for trusting a stranger on Etsy who swore crocheted coasters would “spark joy” 🧶✨.
But here’s the twist: I’m not giving up. I’ve merged minimalism with online shopping into a new philosophy I call “Maximalist Denial” 🤷♀️💎. Rules include:
If it arrives in a package smaller than your head, it doesn’t count 📦🤯.
Plants are décor, not clutter (RIP, Steve Jr.) 🌿🏠.
Anything labeled “storage solution” is a moral imperative 📦✅.
Sidebar: My Cart Right Now 🛒
A shirt that says “I Hate Consumerism” ($24.99, free shipping) 👕🚫💰.
A “minimalist” app that blocks shopping sites (rated 2 stars: “Too many ads”) 📱🚫🛒.
A self-help book: “Decluttering Your Soul (But First, Buy This Book)” 📚🧘♀️.
So yes, online shopping broke me. But I’m thriving in my new identity: a minimalist with a storage unit, a dopamine addiction, and 37 unused phone cases
📱🎭. Progress, not perfection, right? 🤷♀️✨
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go rearrange my drawer organizers. And maybe buy a bigger shelf 🛒🏃♀️.