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Think Outside The Subscription Box

By Frugaling 22 Comments

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Think Outside The Subscription Box

“Show someone you care with a random box of stuff this holiday season.”
— CNNMoney

There’s Graze, Birchbox, Barkbox, Brobox, Dollar Shave Club, Trunk Club, Blue Apron, and now, there’s Minimalism & Co.’s new minimalist themed subscription box. Each box has their own flavors, qualities, and featured products. Some use corporate partnerships to market products through these boxes, while others are hand-selected items by the box creator. These subscriptions can include makeup, food, and much more.

The subscription model is usually set at one box per month, but this varies between companies. The prices range from $25 to $100s each month. If you’re using Blue Apron — a meal preparation service — you’ll likely sign up for more regular deliveries. Although, Minimalism & Co. sends their box once every quarter (3 months). Regardless, once you sign up, you’ll be getting regular deliveries of unexpected “gifts.” It’s like getting a surprise present each month!

However, there’s another way of looking at this subscription craze. To mindlessly subscribe and receive trinkets, makeup, and/or men’s grooming products seems to be the epitome of conspicuous consumption. It’s unclear who might need these products; I mean, truly need a product received through a subscription box.

Initial subscriptions are often discounted to make the first box free or inexpensive. Subscription services know that once they have someone on the trial, they’re more likely to continue using their product and/or try it again at a later date. And even if you were done with the service, you might not want to go through the terrible phone trees and/or automatic email exchanges to get your cancellation confirmed. All the while, you’re spending money, adding clutter, and struggling to cancel the onslaught.

Subscription boxes have made minimalism, orderliness, and frugality harder. Fortunately, there’s an alternative to this madness. Today, I want to introduce a solution to effortless consumption. In fact, I’ve come up with a clever name for the subscription, too: “ByeBox.”

Our worries will be solved. It starts with a nearly empty box. When you subscribe to ByeBox, you receive nothing but a cardboard box and a piece of paper. Isn’t that revolutionary and minimal!? And there’s no need to be careful when carrying the box into your house, as there’s nothing to break. Once you’ve opened up the box to see no goodies, makeup, razors, grooming products, or exotic foods from Chile, you can prepare for a far more intentional decision.

Written on the 8.5 by 11-inch paper is a simple request: “Pick something from your house that you once wanted/desired, but no longer find enjoyment or need. Place it in box and ship it back to ByeBox for another empty box!” It’s just that simple!

We are faced with countless opportunities to spend and collect every day. Surprisingly, many have embraced subscription boxes and taken to spending outsized proportions on tchotchkes that provide little value to our lives. My idea — ByeBox — might be a joke, but wouldn’t this make more sense to those working to live a minimal and frugal lifestyle? The harder decision always seems to be fighting against the mode of consumption — to find ways to minimize by going without and throwing out.

Filed Under: Minimalism, Save Money Tagged With: ByeBox, Conspicuous, Consume, Consumer, Consumption, frugality, minimal, Minimalism, subscribe, subscription box

5 Lessons From Minimizing My Wardrobe

By Frugaling 20 Comments

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5 Lessons From Minimizing My Wardrobe. The day has come to minimize my wardrobe. After much delay and caution, I eliminated tens of items from my closet and feel lighter than ever!

I’ve been aching to clear out my closet and see what can be minimized, but I’ve constantly repeated, “I’ve got more important things to do!” Well, today is the day to clean out the unnecessary, unworn, ripped, tattered, and otherwise useless. Spring is here, and now it’s time to find some clothing to donate or throw out!

I’m a rather failing minimalist. Life circumstances (being a graduate student) require that I keep ungodly numbers of papers for years. In an effort to minimize the clutter and paper space, I’ve scanned and digitized everything I can. The rest — what must be held for safe keeping — goes under the bed.

Clothing can’t be moved or digitized, and space must be occupied. While I have ample room in my apartment, there isn’t much “storage.” I don’t have any furniture (i.e., bureaus, dressers, etc.), either. Every time I look in my closet, I’m reminded of the unorganized mass I own. After many weeks contemplating, I decided this would be the day to really review what I have, and decide, In or Out?

Before I review the photos and take you on a little tour of what’s left, I want to explain some rules that informed my choices:

1. While minimal, I haven’t moved to uniforms; thus, multiple outfits remain

2. I’ve trained and run two marathons (and plan on more), which require athletic clothing

3. I don’t like multinational brand names stamped across my chest

4. I won’t replace or buy more clothing by reviewing and donating excess

5. Furniture could help make it look more minimal, but see rule 4

Review socks
Review socks
Review boxers
Review boxers
Review shirts
Review shirts
Review pants
Review pants
Review athletic gear
Review athletic gear
Review hangers
Review hangers
In or out?
In or out?

 

 

Clearing out and reviewing all your clothes is rather time consuming. The first thing I did was wash everything dirty and prep it for the preceding photos. Afterwards, I grabbed my box o’ socks and box o’ undies, and dumped them out. Pair by pair I reviewed for stains, holes, and other unmentionables. I eliminated 8 pairs of worn out or otherwise mangled socks, and 2 stray socks (inevitably lost to the magic of the washing machine). From the boxers, there were 5 that were in total disrepair — waistband wasted. Out they went!

Then, I moved to tee, long-sleeve, and collared shirts. Despite advocating for a more minimal life, I found it hard to let go and/or donate some of my more sentimental — however aged — clothing. The soft texture and wild memories of concert tees were the hardest to rule over. Images of dancing, friends, former girlfriends, and everything in between seemed stained into the shirts. In the end, those with massive pit discolorations were thrown out. Although, I couldn’t help but keep a couple for sentimental purposes (and I wear them frequently). One collared shirt was a big no-no, as it featured a brand I no longer wish to advertise across my chest nor support.

Two pairs of jeans unfortunately needed to go. I had wiped out on my bicycle in one of them, and they no longer met professional work standards. The other had started out as skinny jeans and were quickly shrinking into leggings. I’m not sure if that’s a consequence of weight gain or the dryer; let’s go with the latter option.

My wonderful mother insisted I take a bed protector with me, and I’ve had it for quite some time — unused. I’m not opposed to fitted protectors, but this one is loose. Invariably, it crumples up into an awkward ball in my bed and messes up the fitted sheets. No, it was time to be rid of that stinky old “protector.”

Extra hangers? Out!
Extra hangers? Out!
Halloween costume? Out.
Halloween costume? Out.
Old boxers? Out!
Old boxers? Out!
Lint? Out!
Lint? Out!
Old bed protector? Out!
Old bed protector? Out!
In
In
In
In
Donations to charity!
Donations to charity!

 

 

Despite being an avid runner, I owned too many shirts. Each race you run, there’s a new shirt. Nobody needs this many athletic shirts. I was able to get rid of 3 shirts and one pair of shorts. While they weren’t in bad shape, I’m hoping someone else can enjoy them — I have plenty.

This little In or Out experiment netted 28 items. Those items will either be donated or thrown away. Additionally, I was able to take out 14 hangers from my closet (bringing the total to 42)! Now, it’s easier to get at what I want, as opposed to fighting back and forth to get jeans and a t-shirt. There’s room again, which feels fantastic.

The following are 5 lessons learned in the process of eliminating the unnecessary from my wardrobe:

1. Sentimentality is piqued by things, but inspired by brains

Humans are inherently pulled to place energy and emphasis in things. We name cars, put stickers on everything, and place creative cases on phones, all with the desire to make something nice and unique. Our things get special treatment. They become a time capsule and place to store our memories. It’s important to remember that those mental images are within us — not in things.

2. Clearing out old clothing is therapeutic

What seems to be a chore at first is rather calming as you go along. There’s a routine: open, dump, review, decide in or out. That’s all there is to minimizing your wardrobe. In the calm of a weekend day, it can be a meditative task to focus on the here and now.

3. My nice things might be necessary things to another

I have ample clothing, even after minimizing some. What helped me decide to donate a couple more items are other people. It helped to focus on them. The “nice” stuff that I rarely — if ever — use could be immensely helpful and necessary for another person or family. I’m not just removing stuff from my closet and tossing it, as I want some of these things to have better owners.

4. It’s embarrassing what we keep around or forget to throw out

I don’t know how 2 stray socks slowly buried their way into the bottom of my box o’ socks, but they did. I probably wouldn’t have noticed for a couple years, if I didn’t engage in this cleanse. Also, the Halloween costume from a couple years ago? Yeah, no need to keep that around.

5. Minimizing your wardrobe takes far less time than you think

I procrastinated for weeks about getting rid of extra clothing. I didn’t want to let go of anything, and felt like I had more important things to accomplish. In some ways, I did, but that was also a tool to delay the inevitable. Now, the day of reckoning is here and complete. My closet looks way better. In reality, what I thought would take hours only took one. One and done to be lighter than ever.

Filed Under: Minimalism Tagged With: Charity, closet, Clothes, Clothing, Consumer, donate, jeans, minimal, Minimalism, Shirts, socks, Wardrobe

What’s Your Most Prized Possession?

By Frugaling 29 Comments

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Colorado State University Oval

Hello, roomie!

The windows were open, and I could smell the grass outside. It was green and sunny — not a cloud in the sky. A prototypical Colorado day followed me around, as I moved what little I owned into a small cubby, under a lofted mattress, and into a petite wooden desk.

It was move-in day for college — fall 2007.

I rolled out a single-bed mattress sheet, chintzy comforter, and single pillow cover. The mattress was an ocean blue, and perpetually felt uncomfortable. But it was my new home.

Somewhere in this process, I learned to live with less. I didn’t call it minimalism back then. It didn’t feel like minimalism.

Forced space? Mandated minimalism

I wasn’t given the option to live any other way in college. My closet only accepted a few shirts, shoes, pants, etc. My bedroom didn’t allow for larger mattresses. And my desk only had room for the basic necessities: pens, paper, and laptop.

After my first year of college, I moved into another residence hall to become an “RA” or resident assistant. I loved my position. It was and still is my favorite job. But even then, with a little more room, I was forced to stay minimal.

Now, minimalism doesn’t always mean being frugal. Despite my enclosures, I cycled through lots of things. There was a $1200 road bike (kept outside and then sold), a mini fridge (under the bed and then sold), electronics (a desktop computer and then sold), and more. For everything I bought, I sold something else — both to afford the new item and make space.

I was hardly frugal. I was mad with the need to consume away my problems, concerns, and stresses of school. No matter how much I purchased, the feelings remained.

Where I failed budgetarily, I seemed to succeed in minimalism. My room was still neat and tidy, and presentable to residents and their parents. I didn’t have a need for lots of stuff — nor could I put it anywhere.

While I wasn’t ready to change my spending habits until years later, an inclination towards minimalism was cemented. All it took was a forced restriction from many years of residence hall rooms to prevent the purchase of more than I needed. I developed an affinity for a clean, organized room. I didn’t need or want to have tons of things.

The losses hurt immensely

Another component pushed me towards minimalism: loss. In college I was exposed directly and indirectly to losses in life. Three of my grandparents passed away, three people died by suicide on campus that I knew, and I went through some pretty nasty breakups.

These losses encouraged me to look beyond the petty grievances and consumer comforts of society. What was important was the life of those around me, and spending time with those I cared about. Again, things weren’t as important as people.

During this period of tragedy, I realized how loss of material possessions didn’t matter. Suddenly, I stopped worrying about people stealing my stuff, things failing, and/or leaving my home unattended. Renters insurance seemed irrelevant and unnecessary. I had nothing “priceless.”

What’s going to fit in the trunk?

After college and the losses, I moved for graduate school. Again, it was a time of forced minimalism. I could only take what would fit in my Honda Civic coupe. And there was an added caveat, as my brother would be occupying the passenger seat.

To lighten the load, I listed items on Craigslist and asked friends if they needed odds and ends. Then, my brother and I filled the car with deconstructed IKEA furniture, clothing, and other household items. Our seats were forced upright — unable to recline — by the tightly packed vehicle.

Everything I owned fit into one tiny little car. It felt freeing, but frankly, all I could think about was the truly precious cargo: my brother. If everything else disappeared, let it not be him. That’s all that mattered/matters.

What really matters in life is…

I never sought to be a minimalist in my younger years, it found me. When I entered a small space and shared it with a roommate, I was forced to have less. When I lost loved ones, I was forced to reflect on what was most important. When my brother helped me move, I pictured what I would really need.

Stuff never came first.

Recently, I was grabbing a drink with someone and this question came up: “What would you grab if your apartment/house were on fire (excluding pets and humans)?”

I thought briefly about this question and almost cried. I couldn’t come up with anything. Nothing mattered beyond the human and pet connections in my life. Nothing. I feared the loss of… nothing.

Filed Under: Minimalism Tagged With: apartment, Consumer, family, Frugal, home, Minimalism, minimalist, Space, Stuff

Refuse To Be A Customer In Training

By Frugaling 7 Comments

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Consumer in training Whole Foods cart

A seed is planted

As a 4 and 5-year-old, I slept comfortably on an IKEA bed frame. Like many of their products, it was probably called a Flickanflack, Dottbland, or some other uniquely random, proper Swedish name.

I remember a drawer that occupied the bottom of the bed frame — so large that I could fit my little self inside it. When the drawer closed, and the world turned off, I felt protected — even if I was a little afraid of the dark. Nothing could find or get me in my enclosed space.

My parents would go to IKEA and drop me off at Småland. This little taste of the Scandinavian language was the play place for children. Parents could browse through the store — even eat lunch — and then come back to pick up their kids.

Lucky for my parents, I actually liked the place and it afforded them some time alone. They could breathe easy, and I could have fun — a win-win (we thought). Unfortunately, something more nefarious was cemented at this young age, and it directly affects how my room looks today.

Companies market to nostalgia, memory

A couple weeks ago, I read an article about cereal marketing. It turns out that marketers know how to manipulate us to feel nostalgic responses — craving feelings from our past that can trigger consumption.

One food and consumer trend analyst suggests that “nostalgia is an important weapon in a marketer’s arsenal.” This effect was recently envisioned in the return of General Mills’ French Toast Crunch cereal.

For Millennials, this cereal brings back memories of childhood and happiness. And the company wants to recreate those emotions and benefit from increased income.

Like the potty, consumerism takes training

Some companies openly display their child-targeted tactics. For instance, Whole Foods, which has a wealth of natural and organic food options, provides tinier shopping carts for children. Attached to these mini-carts is a flag with a message: “Customer in training.”

Subtly, General Mills, IKEA, and Whole Foods (to name three in a sea of companies) display the power of marketing to children. By reaching young minds, ideas can be implanted for later use. Many of their efforts are initially free or nominal.

Swimming in the ball pit, playing video games, and racing around IKEA’s Småland didn’t exactly feel evil. As a child, I wanted that environment; heck, it was more entertaining than what was at home. I welcomed those moments.

The perfect corporate consumer creation

Companies are playing a long game with children’s minds. This training can suddenly be activated at a company’s discretion — making us adult automatons and primed for consumption. It’s the tinge when we walk down the cereal aisle and feel a pull for Captain Crunch, Reese’s Puffs, and Life. These are marketed moments of nostalgia.

Children become inclined to the shapes and designs of IKEA furniture when it’s in their rooms and they’re visiting the fun, comfortable ball pit. And I was just one of the many affected by these tactics.

IKEA Catalog on table

In 2011, IKEA opened their first store in Colorado. As a student in Fort Collins (northern part of Colorado), I made the hajj-like journey to the store only days after its opening day. Again, there was a magnetic force pulling me to visit, purchase, and come back again.

Walking through the doors, there were a flood of emotions, but I couldn’t resist smiling. The smell of cinnamon buns and fresh wood tickled my senses and felt familiar. That familiarity led me to buy a desk, bed frame, side tables, a chair, stool, and many other odds and ends.

Hundreds and hundreds of dollars later, I had become the perfect corporate consumer. IKEA’s tactics had worked, and at the time, I couldn’t even seen the connection. I just felt this unknown gravitational pull.

Preventing childhood brand loyalty

Before I go any further, I’m not sure that most people in Western culture can prevent children developing brand loyalty. Billboards, magazines, TV shows, shops, restaurants, and everything in between serve as powerful anchors for future consumers. Children are psychologically changed by these messages — corporations know this and parents should, too.

The consequence of perfect implantation of these advertisements is that people do not want to relinquish the connection. As a frugal person and advocate of minimalism, I can tell you that I still like IKEA. If someone said I couldn’t shop there any more, I’d be upset. The company’s gigantic, warehouse-like stores are too familiar to imagine letting go of. I’m deeply loyal to the brand.

Nonetheless, in this world of marketing, there are a few things parents certainly can do to raise children that evaluate these external messages.

1. Avoid companies that target children

For many parents and families, this is challenging. Most supermarkets and big-box retailers model the stores to affect children. Cereal aisles are, again, the perfect example. Children’s cereal is placed lower to the ground, features colorful packaging, and fun cartoon characters. Parents can decide to avoid shopping with children when possible and protest companies like Whole Foods that actively recruit consumption in children (i.e., “Customer in training” carts).

2. Be skeptical of “free” offers

There are many samples, courtesy gifts, and free offers for parents and their children. When a child is surrounded by certain products, a connection develops. If there is comfort in these items, those children will likely continue the cycle of consumption for that particular brand (whether they know it or not). IKEA’s play place may be free in price, but their corporate goals are to create return shoppers for decades to come.

3. Talk with children about the messages they receive

Advertisers don’t tend to explain themselves to children. It’s not like kids are provided a consent form that tells them what advertisements can do to them. But the young mind is malleable. What makes children incredible sponges for knowledge also makes them susceptible to untoward marketing behaviors. As parents, guardians, teachers, and leaders, we can share some of the truth and help explain how companies aim to affect our emotions negatively (by manipulating us to feel nostalgia and happiness).

Filed Under: Save Money, Social Justice Tagged With: Advertisers, Children, Consumer, Consumerism, Customer, General Mills, Ikea, Marketing, Minimalism, Nostalgia, Whole Foods

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