I’ve always been a serial collector of random items and tchotchkes — sue me. God forbid I like my bookshelves and desk to have some whimsy. I mean, when you think about it, who wouldn’t want to do their work under the gaze of a little troll with a crystal glued to its head?
While attempting to find dorm decor ideas, on Pinterest, of course, I was met with absolutely nothing fun. As I scrolled, a graveyard of white rooms filled with white furniture and maybe a single plant shivering in the corner, if that, flooded my screen.
I wondered, have these people never spilled a cup of coffee in their lifetime? I can’t imagine accidentally tracking dirt into their room. Does minimalism assume we all hover a few inches off the ground? Being in minimalist spaces feels like I’m being punished for having a personality.
Think of those moms you see on TikTok painting their babies’ plastic toys shades of grey and beige to match their living rooms. I don’t know about everyone else, but I always feel sad for their baby. It’s like they’re in some sort of cult where you can’t own more than three mugs, and any statement rug or pop of color is an act of treason punishable by excommunication.
To be honest, I went through a phase where I tried to be a minimalist. I packed up all my graphic t-shirts and took down my wall decor, replacing it with a few framed prints. I felt like the only way to secure my identity as a “clean girl” was to replace everything in my life with a beige alternative.
And I hate to admit it, but I enjoyed it for a little while. I was living out my Instagram influencer dreams, starring in my very own skincare commercial. I drank lemon water and wore my hair in a claw clip. I walked into my room and thought, “Yes, this is the habitat of a woman who does Pilates and starts her day at 5 a.m.” For about 72 hours, I really believed I had ascended.
But then, the worst thing possible happened — I caught a cold. The whole illusion crumbled as the sleek surface of my nightstand was ruined with a single used tissue. To be a true “clean girl,” I had to erase every trace of my existence — no graphic tees or silly doodles on post-its adorning my walls. Suddenly, I was living in a jail cell, except my only crime was loving patterns. It started to feel like I was living in a staged bedroom at IKEA.
By the end of the week, I had fully caved. I put up a few of my posters again, and it all snowballed. I had a maximalist relapse. If minimalism is sobriety, I was drunk on clutter again, and it was glorious.
Trends can inspire some people, illuminating a style they didn’t know existed before and helping them to find their own way in the world. However, it’s easy to lean into your own ways so heavily that you make others feel like their natural style isn’t valid, and maybe even that it’s embarrassing.
Your home isn’t an Instagram grid — it’s your personal space. Whether you feel like your identity flourishes with clutter or bare walls, the important thing is that it reflects your true self. At the end of the day, your space should make you feel at home, not like you’re staring into someone else’s commercial.
Everything cycles in and out of popularity, and there was a period where maximalism was all the rage. The ’70s were defined by bold colors, shag carpets and funky patterns, and over-the-top glam, neon and clashing aesthetics owned the ’80s.
I’m not saying my maximalist personality is some groundbreaking discovery, but minimalism also isn’t new. It had waves in the ’90s (think sleek IKEA modernism) and is now resurfacing on TikTok as a “clean girl” aesthetic. What’s “in” now has been “out” before and most likely will be again.
Chasing trends is exhausting because they’re entirely cyclic — what’s considered “timeless minimalism” today can feel entirely dated and tacky tomorrow. If you try to design your entire life around a trend, you will always feel behind, and at some point, the beige wallpaper will feel as gaudy as your mom’s ’80s wallpaper. So why not just decorate your space in a way that feels like you?
If people enjoy their minimalist homes, all the power to them. Personally, I believe everyone should live their truth, and if minimalism is yours, that’s all that matters. Everything of mine sparks joy for me, so I can’t Marie Kondo my way into living like that.
Collecting tchotchkes is my personal rebellion against the minimalist takeover, and I have tried to reframe my clutter as proof of living, not failing — I’ll be buried with my trinkets before I let the beige win. Minimalism may own Pinterest, and maybe even TikTok right now, but maximalists own souls.
Proudly stack your books, display tiny, maybe useless toys, embrace loud patterns and spill your coffee without fear.
Mia Kirisits is a sophomore majoring in psychology.
Views expressed in the opinions pages represent the opinions of the columnists. The only piece that represents the view of the Pipe Dream Editorial Board is the Staff Editorial.