It's time you reclaim your right to idiosyncrasy

Minimalism promised us freedom from clutter and a simplified way of life, but it ended up doing damage. Thankfully, we can reverse it.

Over the past decade, minimalism (a quasi religion to designers especially) promised freedom from clutter and a new way of life. We all fell in love with minimalism and embraced it without question. But to our surprise, it ended up bringing us something unexpected: a kind of cultural and personal emptiness.

While minimalism started as a thoughtful movement against consumerism, it ended up becoming our aesthetic prison where museum-like beige walls, empty spaces and carefully curated Instagram feeds replaced the chaotic beauty of personal collections and idiosyncratic tastes.

Ahh, nothing inspires like a fake plant, stock photos and a white wall.

And the keyword here is idiosyncratic. A mode of being in which we are authentically, unconsciously and unapologetically ourselves, quirks and all. (The word “idiosyncrasy” itself comes from a Greek word meaning “one’s own mixture.”) Something we’ve lost in this new age of conformity.

And let me be the first to admit: I became everything I’m criticizing here. But I’ve been on a journey of change, inspired by the beautiful oddities of life.

Remember the uncle (we liked to called crazy) with his insane collection of Swiss vintage toy trains in his basement? All trains in perfect shape, with their original packaging and labels neatly organized.

Or the neighbor whose garage was a museum of hundreds of vintage traffic signs? Where the hell did he even get all those from? And why traffic signs?

Or that one peculiar friend (a full-grown adult) with her collection of weird rocks?

Joan Didion’s mantle

Remember when homes felt like archaeological caves of someone’s personality? When you’d walk into someone’s house and you could piece together their entire life story just from the odd furniture, weird items on their shelves or crooked framed photographs on their walls? Those things only made sense to them, but each room was filled with meaning. They’re items that weren’t chosen to impress but accumulated because they meant something for them, not because everyone else on social media had them too.

You know someone like this. She collects something obsessively, like shells: beautiful shells, odd shells, broken ones. Some of them sparkle, some of them are kind of boring. The criteria for what makes a shell worthy of her collection remains a mystery, but you can see how each new addition brings her joy. Her rooms are full of personal trinkets and delicate figurines made of porcelain or glass. Every wall is adorned with her own paintings, and there are many of them. Her clothing and shoes all have some personal touch, embroidered or bedazzled or assembled in a way that seems haphazard to you, but is extremely intentional and instinctive to her. Everything in her life is unique and personal to her.

Georgia O'Keeffe with her rock collection

My mother is like this. While some might consider her space cluttered or kooky by today’s minimalist standards, I see it as a living museum of her spirit. When I step into her apartment there’s no doubt it belongs to a real person, someone with stories to tell.

Idiosyncrasy isn’t a fashion statement or a carefully curated aesthetic. It’s the natural result of someone letting their curiosity run wild. It’s a beautiful way of letting the souvenirs of your life’s journey decorate your space because they speak to you in a way nothing else can. It only has to make sense to you.

To me, it’s been like a second awakening. Letting go of the strict rules of minimalism opening my eyes to an entirely new world. It’s freeing.

I don’t care anymore if my home or collections are “Instagram-worthy” or perfectly curated according to one particular aesthetic. I want them to be weird. I want them to be random. I want them to be unapologetically MYSELF. Instead of the cold comfort of collective approval, I want the beautiful warm chaos of whatever I am currently interested in. Maybe it’s one thing today, and another one tomorrow. Who am I? What do I like? It’s a moving picture, and that’s okay.

It’s time to reclaim our right to idiosyncrasy. The version of us that doesn’t fit into the latest Tomato Girl, Cottage Core, Tech Bro trend on Instagram.

And remember, the beauty of collecting things isn’t in the objects themselves, but in the process of your personal discovery and curation. Each piece you collect is a small choice you make, a small but meaningful declaration of what YOU find beautiful, interesting or meaningful in that very moment. Not what others tell you to find beautiful. We’re not concerned about anyone’s approval here.

Over time these personal choices compound and you’ll find yourself surrounded by your own personal museum.

As we grow, our collections change and evolve with us. They become the story of our lives. They become manifestations of our identity. Some of those things will stay with us, and some of them may only visit. Our collections can and should be in constant flux.

A lovely bonus: I believe all this even makes me a more creative person, because my eyes are more open to the odd beauty of the world. It’s about finding inspiration in the overlooked, casting my net wide, away from the beaten path (ie. the aglorithm) we’re all inevitably on.

And to get you going on your own path, here are some examples that inspire me ↓

Charles & Ray Eames

The Eames name has become synonymous with sleek, modernist furniture design with their iconic pieces often showcased in stark, minimalist and restrained interiors.

But stepping into Ray and Charles Eames’ own home (I visited it years ago in LA) it reveals a radically different aesthetic. Shelves full of art, candles, seashells, interesting fabrics, patterns and personal trinkets everywhere. You’d expect that the Eames house would be a minimalistic modernist temple, but it’s far from it. It’s a true home, a playful space full of life and beauty.

Bill Cunningham

One of my all-time favorites. Beyond his well-known street photography, Bill Cunningham was a obsessed collector and archivist of historical fashion and architecture and his apartment and studio was a wonderful reflection of just that. Also, if you haven’t watched the documentary about him, please do.

Tony Duquette

This legendary designer’s personal home (or more like museum?) is a masterpiece of maximalism. The rooms are literally dripping in gilded furniture, exotic artifacts and sculptures. It has it all. And even if its not your taste, you can appreciate it for what it is.

Salvador Dalí

It’s no surprise Dalí’s Mediterranean home in Portlligat, Spain is an ode to eccentricity, but he wasn’t trying to be quirky or artsy with it. Every piece was meaningful to him, collected along the way of living. “He described the house as ‘a real biological structure…Each new pulse in our life had its own new cell, its room.’”

William Haines

A mix of Hollywood glamour and California modernism. The home of Williams Haines feels personal and full of treasures. Somehow it all feels mismatched yet so perfectly together at the same time. It’s a beautiful paradox that can only exist if you truly love collecting. There are some more photos of his former home here. Once you see it all it together it starts to make sense to you.

Thank you for reading, and happy collecting!