Posted on January 12, 2024

Every year, design journalists heatedly discuss whether we’re in a maximalist or minimalist moment.

As one of those writers myself, I understand the impulse and admit that I’ve occasionally jumped into the fray. Articulating design trends is a compulsion for design media. It’s a way to put a finger on the cultural pulse. It’s also a way of delving into how optimistic we feel, where we’re choosing to spend our time, and how our current aesthetics fit into the broader arc of design history.

But it’s increasingly clear that any supposed shift between maximalism and minimalism today is an artificial construct. In the age of social media, a plethora of aesthetics abound. There’s no need to wed ourselves to one or another—and certainly not based on what some “expert” asserts.

“It’s really all about your personal point of view,” interior designer Kelly Wearstler tells me. “There was a time when people wanted to go one way or another because it was the trend. But for years now, it’s really come down to how an individual wants to feel in their home.”

So I propose that we kill off the predictions about which of these styles is currently on trend. Instead, it is more helpful to think of maximalism and minimalism as functional design languages that influence how we want to feel in any given space.

The Swinging Pendulum

If you’re scanning through interior design magazines, you might get the idea that maximalism is coming in with a bang in 2023. Everyone from Architectural Digest to Better Homes & Gardens declares that maximalism is trendy, with interiors dominated by bold colors and patterns. And this aesthetic will extend into fashion with layered prints and jewel tones, according to trend forecasters at Stitch Fix.

This narrative makes sense. Swings between maximalism and minimalism are often prompted by broader historical events. In its earliest form, maximalism popped up in the baroque period, starting in the 17th century, when the wealthy decorated their homes with ornate, gilded furniture and art. It was a way for Europeans to demonstrate the riches they had acquired from their colonial conquests and for the Catholic church to push back against Protestant asceticism.

Minimalism emerged in the late 19th century in response to the excesses of previous centuries’ maximalism. A cadre of European modernists believed in eliminating ornamentation and focusing instead on the functionality of interior design. The style also coincided with the last great pandemic.

In 1918, influenza killed 50 million people around the world and germ theory was just emerging, so it made sense that architects and designers would strip homes down to their basic elements. They created clinical-looking spaces, with no fabrics or decorations for germs to adhere to—and plenty of sunlight to kill them off.

During our own pandemic, design writers debated whether minimalism would once again dominate. I, for one, argued that COVID-19 had killed off maximalism. Stuck at home for long stretches, we wanted to get rid of fussy decor and clutter, à la Marie Kondo, to create the illusion of space in our homes. But in Vox, Rebecca Jennings argued the opposite, suggesting that the pandemic would encourage us to have overstuffed, garish interiors. At a time of crisis, she contended, we want to be surrounded by objects that make us happy.

The Age of Choice

The truth is, we were both right. If you looked in the right corners of TikTok—such as the account of New York interior designer Hugh Long, who reviews celebrity homes—you’d see a celebration of “more is more.” But in other corners, such as the Instagram feed of California designer Jenni Kayne—whose revenue doubled during the pandemic—you’d find lots of white space and neutral, earthy textures.

When travel picked up again, you could stay at a the richly layered Graduate Hotel chain, whose busy decor tries to capture the spirit of a nearby college. Or you could opt for a cleaner, sparser look at, say, the Edition or CitizenM hotels that have barely any color or design elements in the rooms.

We now live in an era of overwhelming choice, which renders the idea of any true, culturally pervasive trend increasingly moot. If you favor a particular aesthetic, you can find a multitude of influencers to inspire you and brands to fill your life with products suited to that style. Whatever style you choose, Wearstler suggests taking the time to deliberately craft a home that makes you feel good, whether it is sparse or busy.

“I design homes that people will live in for decades to come,” Wearstler says. “We spend a lot of time at home, both on a daily basis and in terms of the years we will live in them. It makes sense to design them with care.”

More Function Than Form

There’s been a lot of conversation about the politics of the two aesthetics. Over the centuries, maximalism was often used to signal power and conquest; it was associated with upper classes who had the means to travel and collect art. Meanwhile, minimalism reflected the opposite, historically speaking. The working class had no choice but to live in sparse homes surrounded by purely practical objects.

Some cultural critics argue that society embraces minimalism during leaner periods, such as in the years after the 2008 recession and Occupy Wall Street protests, when few of us wanted to be associated with the rich.

But designers have also pushed minimalism as a marker of taste and class. It’s part of the reason so many post-recession direct-to-consumer brands adopted the same minimalist aesthetic, which some have described as bland because of their boring sameness. Our contemporary fascination with minimalist carries on the ideals of European modernism, which has come to signify a level of “good” taste at the erasure of more visually complex cultures.

As Diana Budds writes in Curbed, maximalism, in all its complexity, allows us to better respond to social movements like Black Lives Matter and second-wave feminism. Artists like Kehinde Wiley, who captures the Black experience in America, is known for the complex, patterned backdrops in his portraits. (His most famous one, of President Barack Obama, features a lush background of plants from Hawaii, Indonesia, and Chicago.)

At this point, the values around maximalism and minimalism are all jumbled up, freeing us from needing to use them to express our ideals. In the home sphere, many wealthy people embrace minimalism as a sign of taste and a way to achieve a peaceful mind amid a busy life. Consider the airy Montecito home featured in Harry & Meghan, the Netflix documentary about the Duke and Duchess of Sussex, or Kayne’s newly renovated ranch in Santa Ynez. At the same time, maximalism is used to signal wealth, as it has in the past.

Wearstler tells me that some of her clients veer toward a more maximalist aesthetic because they want to highlight their large art collections, for instance. But in a world where decor is increasingly inexpensive (and widely available at Ikea and Wayfair), it can also be a way to create a warm, cozy atmosphere.

Consider interior designer Justina Blakeney’s Jungalow aesthetic, which is crowded with plants, vintage furniture, and happy, saturated colors. Or Jonathan Adler’s penchant for creating quirky decor. (For Hannukah this year, we received an elephant menorah Adler designed that my kids adore.)

Maximalist design often has a distinct purpose, as I argued in a previous story. It is about filling a space with meaningful objects that conjure memories and lift your spirit. The goal is to see a print or a sculpture that reminds you of a time you were happy or serves as an inside joke that makes you giggle. Embracing maximalism makes space for more of yourself. It reinforces your identity and experiences.

Minimalism does the opposite. It creates a clean slate, so you don’t have to think or remember anything at all, which can be calming amid an already overcrowded life. According to Kondo’s Shinto ideology, it creates the ideal backdrop for meditation, when you want your brain to go blank. It creates the illusion of wide-open space, which inspires you to think of all the things you have yet to see and become in the world.

So perhaps it is time we finally liberate ourselves from feeling like we have to follow one approach or another based on some oppressive notion from interior design magazines about what is “in.” Maximalism inspires us to fondly remember the past, minimalism inspires us to look ahead. Both are equally valuable; it all comes down to how you want to feel in your home.

Source: Fast Company

Refund Policy