I recently saw a beautiful description that distinguished between decluttering and minimalism: Decluttering is about removing the things we don’t want; minimalism is about discovering how little we actually need. 

As I continue my shopping ban for the month of January, I’ve been keeping a list of anything that has tempted me to buy. Not much made the list– despite the creep of social media advertisements and even my husband “helpfully” sending me product links to see if I’ll cave– but I realized something crucial in my language choices around these items. 

I had been telling myself: “In February, I’ll need to buy…” 

Wait. The idea that I “need” something is almost laughable. (In fact, when I shared with my dad what I had been saying, he literally laughed our loud). Our actual needs in life are very limited: food, shelter, some form of clothing, perhaps transportation of some kind. 

Typically, when we say we “need” something, we are actually saying that we want something.   

Sometimes, we anticipate that an item will add value to our lives. The list of things that will add value to our lives, of course, is longer than our list of strict “needs.” A comfortable sofa to snuggle with my family, an internet connection, and cozy wool socks aren’t “needs,” but they sure do enhance my life. And there are times when making a purchase will indeed add value to our lives, such as when we are replacing a broken appliance. 

But so often, we are buying “things” that drain our pocketbooks only to clutter landfills a few months later. So here are a few things I’ve been reminded of in my last few weeks of re-discovering my “enough”:

Love and “belonging” are needs, but we can’t buy them in a store.

Wouldn’t it be lovely if I could shop for my ideal friends on aisle 6 of Walmart, sandwiched right between the peanut butter and pickles? Or swipe my debit card to “earn” my dream job? 

It sounds ridiculous when we put it like that– but isn’t it modern human nature to do exactly that, at least subconsciously? Society tells us we should purchase home goods, clothes, and cars to impress people we don’t even like. It convinces us that enough professional shoes and work bags will help us move up the corporate ladder. It tells us that we can swipe our credit cards for just the right clothing item to seduce our spouse, or just the right toy to show our affection to our children. 

These kinds of messages are insidious, and seep into even pragmatic purchases. For example, you might very well “need” a jacket (or, at least, some means of staying warm in the cold). But of the literally millions of jacket options on the market, chances are you aren’t just looking for one that will keep you warm. You are also looking for a jacket that will signal something about you– whether it’s your perceived financial success (by wearing a luxury brand), your outdoorsy nature (Patagonia or Columbia, anyone?), or your trendy commitment to 52+ fashion cycles in a year (I’m looking at you, SHEIN). 

That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t consider various aspects of our purchases, including whether something reflects our “personal style.” But it’s helpful to remember that there’s nothing I can buy in a store to make my husband love me more (even if it’s a gift for him!), just like I can’t buy my way into closer friendships or professional success.

Being honest with ourselves about when something on our wish list is serving more than a purely pragmatic purpose can help us hit “pause” instead of “add to cart.” 

We can’t shop our way out of a perceived inconvenience. 

Convenience is only a short drive or even just a click away.  You can get coffee without brewing it yourself, stream virtually any TV show you want, and order items to be delivered right to your doorstep in only a matter of hours or days.  And increasingly, there are products designed to meet virtually any “need,” from battery organizers and zucchini slicers to envelope moisteners (yes, that’s apparently a thing) and scrunchie holders. But how many of these “needs” can be fulfilled by something we already own?  

There’s a persuasive case to be made, too, that some inconvenience is actually good for us. As Tim Wu argues in the New York Times, “With its promise of smooth, effortless efficiency, [convenience] threatens to erase the sort of struggles and challenges that help give meaning to life.” In fact, the fixation on convenience first arose as a by-product of the Industrial Revolution– and its original purpose was to free up time for leisure. Now, though, how much time are we sacrificing working to pay for the extra ounce of convenience? And, every bit as important, how much of our “free time” are we spending scrolling for products that will supposedly give us more convenience in our day? 

We don’t need to upgrade to a newer, shinier model. 

When I think about “newer, shinier models,” my first thought is cars and trophy wives. And we certainly talk about upgrading to newer, shinier models when we think about conspicuous consumption, or the buying that we do to signal our social status to those around us. 

But in practice, we also feel pressured to upgrade even mundane things all the time. For example, one thing that crossed my mind in the past few weeks was a new breastfeeding pillow. I’m not a social media influencer, nor do I have dozens of people traipsing through my house. So, to be frank, no one will know– much less care– what pillow I use to feed my baby. And even if I breastfeed for a solid year (as I did with my first), chances are I’ll only use our hand-me-down Boppy for the first few months. “Upgrading” our pillow would only come with a higher financial and environmental price tag when our existing one meets our needs. 

The Power of Shifting Our Language 

Shifting the language away from “need” does something valuable for our mindset. When we acknowledge that something is a “want” rather than a “need,” it forces us to confront our why. Why do I want this item? Do I want this because it will add value to my life? Or am I trying to signal my success to others, fix a trivial inconvenience, or even meet an emotional need through this purchase? 

A shopping ban– whether you decide to wait 72 hours before making purchases or avoid purchases for a week, month, or even year– is a temporary, self-imposed inconvenience. But that’s exactly the point. By creating just enough friction between you and the things you think you want, you’re actually freeing yourself to investigate your why before you end up accumulating junk. 

I have enough. My family has enough. And while my family’s “enough” will undoubtedly look different than yours, chances are that you have “enough” too.