Would you throw away your keepsakes to live a minimalist life?

Is it time to clear out and live a minimalist life? Photo / Getty Images

Is minimalism here to stay, or is downsizing just another fad? Chris Schulz cleans out his closet to find out.

"Just do it," says Alana Puschmann. The Auckland-based team manager used to own an entire room full of collectibles, including a prized set of Gwen Stefani Harajuku dolls.

But she sold them, and cleared out 80 per cent of her stuff, after watching a popular Netflix documentary. "I got rid of everything I didn't need," she declares. "It's freeing."

Puschmann might not realise it, but she's joined a growing underground cult, one that feels like a wonky religion supercharged by celebrities.

Just like Scientology, minimalism has celebrity converts. Kiwi comic Dai Henwood's one. He outed himself during a recent episode of 7 Days, telling his fellow comedians he's been "on that minimalism buzz ... getting stuff out".

Henwood tells Canvas he's an absolute believer in its power, comparing minimalism to meditation, another hobby of his. He started by getting rid of surplus tables, general household items, and electrical cords, then donated an unused Xbox to a needy friend.

"I thought, 'Shit, what if I just got rid of everything and started from scratch?"' he says. So he took it a step further, throwing out a lifetime's worth of joke books. The cull had unexpected consequences.

"It got rid of the mental clutter I had comedy-wise, and gags I'd been holding on to," he says.

Henwood's new hobby didn't go down well with his buddies on 7 Days, who started to mock him — on- and off-air. "They're completely the opposite," he says. "Jeremy Corbett describes himself as a 'maximalist'."

Henwood still feels he has his minimalist "L" plates on. He's ready to take it further. "I'm barely a few steps down the path ... it makes me want to practise it deeper."

Should I take Puschmann and Henwood's advice? Was minimalism for me?

I looked around my house at the kids toys lying everywhere, boxes of unorganised papers, years of magazines, unused cookbooks, ancient appliances, that cupboard full of CDs and DVDs.

It was time to find out.

When, exactly, did less become more? You could blame Life-changing Magic: A Journal — Spark Joy Every Day, another of Marie Kondo's books and considered to be the minimalism bible.

"My mission is to organise the world and spark joy in people's lives," said the Japanese organising consultant recently. She'll be on Netflix soon, helping hoarders make over their lives in a TV adaptation of her bestseller.

Or you could blame Joshua Fields Millburn. He and his all-American buddy Ryan Nicodemus were corporate slaves who turned their backs on their careers, cleared debt, sold or gave away almost all of their stuff, then started a website.

"We started it to document simplifying our own lives," Millburn tells Canvas. "We found out the message really resonated with people. It added value to their lives. It took off from there."

Books, podcasts and that Netflix documentary that everyone raves about followed. So did tour demands. They spend several months a year travelling the world, spreading the gospel of minimalism. They'll be in New Zealand on March 17 for their "night of less".

So what, according to Millburn, is minimalism? "Minimalism is the thing that gets us past the things so we can make room for life's most important things — which actually aren't things at all." he says.

He's an advocate for spending money on experiences rather than consumer goods. In short? Instead of buying that new iPhone you're aching for, go skydiving instead.

Millburn and Nicodemus have found a way to maximise minimalism. Tickets for their New Zealand show start at $69.25 or $190 for the VIP experience.

Millburn is an extreme case. At one point, he got rid of his phone and computer, and started writing books on a typewriter. He is even minimalist with his time — he spends 80 per cent of it alone.

Ryan Nicodemus and Joshua Fields Millburn.

Why? So that "when I do decide to immerse myself in social situations, I'm pretty awesome to be around."

Is this healthy? Psychotherapist Kyle McDonald says minimalism can work for some people. "But the downside is it does tend to put forth the idea that there is only 'one way' as opposed to the fact that people can live happily in many different ways," he says, via email.

Is Millburn happy? He sounds it. "I've found balance in my life. Sometimes yes, I'll tell the same story. But I realised it's new for the people asking the question. It's new for them so I have to treat it with the same importance as the last time."

Everyone who identified with minimalism spoken to by Canvas point to Millburn and Nicodemus' movie Minimalism: A Documentary About the Important Things as the starting point.

Puschmann realised how few things she actually needed — or wanted — after spending an entire Christmas break decluttering, finding things she didn't need. "I would be like, 'This doesn't bring me joy'. It was very easy to get rid of a lot."

Henwood spent years "gathering things, just buying stuff". He heard a few of Millburn's podcasts, then threw out some things. Now, he compares minimalism to his love of meditation. "I find minimising your possessions down to what you need is a meditation in itself".

Minimalism isn't for everyone. Just ask Jeremy Corbett. He quite likes stuff. He says stuff can be good. And he's got quite a good reason for saying so. He thinks it helps define a person.

"Walk into a maximalist's home, with the flotsam and jetsam of life, and you can get a vibe off them," he says. "The books on the shelf, the things they've given prominence to. A guitar's handy, they obviously play guitar. The cookbooks are out, so they like to cook a bit.

"When you walk into a minimalist's home, you don't know who they are. You just sit in a room, scared to touch anything. It's a bit OCD."

But even Corbett, with his guitar collection and childhood collection of Matchbox cars on display, admits he wishes he was better at throwing things out.

"I have a tinge of jealousy that he [Henwood] can be that clean with his life. I'm fighting a pretty strong hoarding gene that has been passed down from generation to generation," he says.

Puschmann and Henwood say they'll never go back to their cluttered lives. "This is just what I do now," says Puschmann. Henwood wants to take his practise a step further. He's planning to clear out the apps on his phone, a digital purge.

I sat down, flicked on Netflix, and pressed play on Millburn's movie. It is well-made, compelling, and a little pretentious. It follows all kinds of downsizers, from tiny-home lovers to families who appear to have only one dish each in their kitchen cupboard.

It also comes with a strong anti-consumerist message. I'm an entertainment reporter: getting rid of my TV and PlayStation isn't an option.

But it made me start looking at things a little differently. I started questioning junk lying around, sifting through stuff that had been clogging cupboards for years. I examined my consumer habits, wondered if I needed any of the things I'd been aching after. Turns out I didn't.

Slowly, over several months, I got rid of stuff. Quite a lot of stuff. I cleared my closet of clothes that didn't fit, sold or gave away every single CD and DVD I owned, flagged several older gaming consoles, donated boxes of kitchen utensils, and gifted a bunch of kids toys. I made trip after trip to the Salvation Army bin.

Then I wondered if I'd made a massive mistake.

Sure, it's easier having all the kids' toys organised. There's less stuff to sift through to get my bike out of the shed now. And vacuuming the house is certainly much easier.

But, like many religions, minimalism can become an obsession. Yes, I threw out knick knacks. But I also threw out keepsakes. Family photos. Drawings my kids had done for me. Father's Day cards. A few years from now, it might have been nice to look at those. They're all gone.

Plus, I found myself getting angry. Any item left on a table, or askew on a shelf, was against my beliefs. My family saw this and turned on me. The kids, knowing I was monitoring their stuff, started rifling through the bins, pulling out things they wanted to keep.

Our recycling bin was constantly overflowing. My wife got angry at everyone who arrived during dinner to pick up things they'd bought on TradeMe. Whenever we left the house, I would have to detour past a Salvation Army bin. It became impossible to relax. The work of a minimalist is never complete.

It was after yet another trip to the bins that I had my first real minimalist epiphany. Staring at the empty walls and floors, I realised I'd taken things too far. As I was daydreaming, my wife walked in, saw me thinking and said, "What's next? What comes after minimalism?"

"Let's go shopping," I replied. I was only half kidding.

* Joshua Fields Millburn and Ryan Nicodemus will appear at the Ellerslie Event Centre March 17 as part of their "Less is Now" show.