Courtesy of Allison Kimsey
For years, I clutched bag after bag of clothes, home goods, makeup, or, most often, shoes, as I whispered to myself, "It's OK; it was on sale." All it took was one glimpse of a sale rack, a neon clearance sticker, or an overflowing bargain bin. Chasing this high led me to overstuffed closets and — I hate to admit this now — over 100 pairs of shoes.
I reasoned my stuff was worth a lot more than I paid for it, and when given a compliment on one of my treasures, I cooed about my deal like a proud parent. I thought I possessed a desired life skill — as if I had bartered for these items myself — not realizing I was simply a cog in the consumerism wheel.
But then I realized these bargains were more than I bargained for when I packed my life into eight suitcases and moved 9,000 miles away to Jakarta, Indonesia, for a teaching job. I finally had to ask myself why I felt the need for so much stuff in the first place.
Consumerism is nothing new to the United States; spending is part of my American DNA. The Ramsey Solutions Personal Finance study from 2024 found that 48% of Americans struggle with impulse buying. I've always been well-versed in making impulse purchases, but didn't realize the depth of the issue until the catalyst of a move abroad. How else does a person acquire more shoes than a shoe store?
In the past, I had tried to organize my way out of it. I bought plastic bins, sold items on Poshmark, sent bags to Thredup, donated to Goodwill, read Marie Kondo, and still convinced myself that most of my things "sparked joy." And they did; at least, I thought they did.
I felt my belongings were a source of my identity, like a scrapbook of memories of the "one time I wore those shoes" and the night out with friends in that fast-fashion, sequined dress. And I always got a high from that next bargain.
Then, in 2018, after deciding to teach abroad and receiving a job offer, I came to a true crossroads. I was moving 9,000 miles away and needed to determine what would go with me.
That's when it hit me. It was a sobering experience to comb through every single item I owned. It felt like mourning a version of myself who didn't even exist, just one I had created: a woman who needed all this stuff to feel like the best version of herself, to feel seen. When push came to shove, I simply did not like most of my things.
I decided not to take a shipment to Indonesia because I could not afford it and didn't even like most of what I owned. Why would I spend thousands of dollars on shipping shoes I rarely wore or temporary, modular furniture I didn't love? So I sold almost everything, packed the rest into eight suitcases, at least one, maybe two of which were all shoes, and moved to Indonesia with my husband and dog.
Courtesy of Allison Kimsey
Like many compulsions, my journey from maximalist to aspiring minimalist is ever-evolving. I have leaned into owning less, buying less, and focusing more on which companies deserve my hard-earned money and align with my values.
Now, after spending almost seven years in Indonesia, I'm preparing to move to another country in June. I still buy too many shoes as I am always experimenting with another "perfect pair," but this time around, it feels less daunting because not only is my shoe collection smaller, but I also have less stuff overall.
It has taken deep introspection to get to this point, including unsubscribing from emails alerting me about sales, trying out capsule wardrobes, and doing no-buys, where I don't buy unnecessary items for at least 90 days. I'm not so entranced by the bargain bin anymore. However, it's still an ongoing battle, and — I think for me — it will be a battle for the rest of my life. But owning less means I get so much more out of my life.
