Minimalism vs. Simplicity: Choosing What Fits You
- Todd Rowley
- Nov 6
- 6 min read
A few years ago, I stumbled across minimalism. We've all seen the person standing in a nearly empty apartment — white walls, one chair, one plant, one coffee mug. Everything about it looks.… peaceful. Or maybe sterile. I'm not sure which. And I'm not here to cast any judgement on their choices.
Over time, I began to see the difference between minimalism and simplicity. They often get tangled together, but they’re not twins. They’re more like cousins — raised in the same family of intentional living, but with different personalities and priorities.
Minimalism, for many, is about less. Simplicity is about more of what matters. Hint: it isn't stuff.
Minimalism: The Pursuit of Less
Minimalism became mainstream through blogs, documentaries, and glossy white Instagram feeds. It’s both a design aesthetic and a personal philosophy, one that promises freedom through less. It's become the art of subtraction. What can I live without? It’s a lifestyle that favours clean surfaces, small wardrobes, and carefully curated possessions.
For many, it works. The minimalist home feels calm. There’s no clutter to dust around or piles of laundry threatening to topple. You can find your keys. You spend less time cleaning and more time living. You buy less and, often, save more.
It's good. It's positive. And there’s power in that.
But minimalism can also turn into another form of social consumerism. It's a new standard to chase. The quest for less becomes a competition of who can own the fewest things or live in the smallest space. It can start to feel like a performance: proof of how “intentional” or “mindful” we are.
You can throw away 80% of your belongings and still feel anxious. You can live in a minimalist apartment and still be cluttered in mind.
Because the heart of peace isn’t in the number of things you own — it’s in how those things serve your life.
Simplicity: The Pursuit of Ease and Meaning
If minimalism asks, “What can I live without?” simplicity asks, “What truly matters?”
Simplicity isn’t about restriction. It’s about alignment. It’s not defined by a number — how many shirts you own or how much you’ve decluttered — but by how your life feels.
A simple life might include a cozy, overflowing bookshelf or a kitchen full of ingredients for shared meals. It might mean fewer commitments and more slow mornings. It’s not sparse — it’s intentional.
The simplest lives often feel full in the best way: full of purpose, full of connection, full of quiet contentment.
When you live simply, you create space for the things that nourish you — and release the rest. That could be physical stuff, but also digital noise, toxic relationships, or the pressure to keep up.
Simplicity isn’t an aesthetic. It’s a rhythm.
Where minimalism can sometimes feel rigid — a checklist to maintain — simplicity feels fluid. It moves with you. It adapts to seasons, to energy levels, to what matters right now.
For example, a minimalist home might limit you to five pieces of décor. A simple home might just choose pieces that have meaning. Maybe the worn rocking chair from your grandparents. The watercolour your child painted in fourth grade. The plant that somehow survived your neglect and keeps growing anyway.
Simplicity invites life in, not out. It celebrates depth rather than emptiness.
The Overlap — and the Tension
Minimalism and simplicity do share some DNA. Both are about intentionality, awareness, and the refusal to be ruled by clutter or chaos. Both invite us to slow down and choose with purpose.
But they diverge in where they find peace.
Minimalism finds peace in control — in reducing variables, in clean edges and empty corners.
Simplicity finds peace in flow — in clarity, meaning, and ease.
Minimalism might tell you to own one perfect pair of shoes. Simplicity might say: own what you love and use what you truly need, no guilt attached.
Minimalism can be about what’s absent. Simplicity is about what’s present.
For some people, minimalism is a powerful entry point into simplicity. Decluttering can feel like exhaling after holding your breath for years. But if the focus stays only on less, it can start to miss the point.
How to Choose What Fits You
There’s no one-size-fits-all path to peace. The right approach depends on your personality, your stage of life, and what fills or drains your energy.
If you’re unsure where you lean, ask yourself:
1. Does your space feel calm or constrained? Minimalism might make some people feel serene — others, sterile. Notice your emotional response. Does open space make you breathe easier, or does it feel impersonal?
2. Do your “rules” serve you, or do you serve them? If you find yourself following arbitrary limits (like “I can only own 30 items”), it might be time to loosen up. Simplicity isn’t about rules; it’s about freedom.
3. What’s enough for you — and how do you know? “Enough” is deeply personal. Maybe for you, it’s two pairs of jeans. Maybe it’s five. Maybe it’s a garage full of camping gear that lets you explore nature on weekends. The point is knowing why you keep what you keep.
4. Where do you crave ease? Some people crave minimalist wardrobes but simple, cozy kitchens. Others prefer simple digital lives but full bookshelves. You can mix the two. Minimalism and simplicity can coexist beautifully when tailored to you.
Try asking:
What feels heavy right now?
What feels light?
What could I release to make room for something better?
You might find that the answer has less to do with objects and more to do with obligations.
A Personal Experiment
Try this: pick one area of your life and simplify it, not necessarily minimize it.
If your kitchen overwhelms you, don’t just toss things — reimagine it. Keep what makes cooking a joy. Release what creates stress. Maybe that’s organizing your spice rack or paring down dishes to what you actually use.
If your schedule is suffocating, look for white space. Leave a few evenings unscheduled. Say no more often. Protect your time like you protect your health.
If your digital life feels cluttered, try a minimalist reset — unsubscribe, delete unused apps, set screen limits. You’ll create room for quiet.
But then, fill that space intentionally. Don’t leave it empty for the sake of aesthetics. Fill it with music, nature, prayer, conversation — whatever makes you feel alive.
Tools for the Journey
You don’t need much to begin simplifying. Often, a journal and a bit of reflection go a long way.
If you’d like to explore these ideas more deeply, two thoughtful resources are:
The More of Less by Joshua Becker — a guide to discovering that owning less can lead to more freedom, purpose, and joy.
The Daily Stoic Journal — a beautifully minimalist journal designed to help you reflect each day on what matters most.
Both encourage mindful living without turning it into a trend or competition.
The Freedom of Your Own Definition
Maybe you’re drawn to minimalism — the clean lines, the discipline, the sense of order. Or maybe you crave the gentler path of simplicity — slow mornings, meaningful rhythms, and cozy imperfection.
Both paths share the same question: What matters most?
The real magic happens when you stop trying to live by someone else’s definition of simplicity or minimalism and start shaping your own. Maybe your version includes a tidy home and a full garden. Maybe it includes fewer commitments but more laughter. Maybe it’s just learning to breathe before you say yes.
You don’t need to live with less to live well. You just need to live with intention.
Whichever you choose, make it yours.
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