For the past year, my social media has been flooded with posts from acquaintances proudly showcasing their decluttering efforts: overflowing trash bags ready for donation or the curb.
“Look at all this junk I’m tossing! Just from two closets, haha! Off to the dump! Getting rid of things feels SO liberating! Yay!”
The allure of decluttering is undeniable—who wouldn’t appreciate a neat junk drawer or a perfectly organized closet where every item is visible and actually wearable? Personally, I still cling to about ten pairs of size-four pants from 2007 that haven’t fit since before my second pregnancy a decade ago. I really ought to part with those; they’re just a reminder of past aspirations.
However, amidst all this purging, there’s a glaring absence in the conversation about how we ended up with so much stuff in the first place—and how to prevent accumulating more in the future. We must confront this issue because, let’s be honest: Americans possess an overwhelming amount of belongings.
The average U.S. household contains approximately 300,000 items. Yes, you read that right—no extra zeros here. Even more staggering is that this doesn’t account for everything we own. The storage industry is booming; one in ten Americans rents storage space, with 50,000 facilities offering enough room for every person in the U.S. to have 7.3 square feet of personal space. We have all this storage even though homes have tripled in size over the last 50 years. Our garages are so cluttered that we often can’t park our cars inside. It’s no wonder the home organization sector is expanding at an astonishing rate of 10% annually.
And consider this disturbing fact: while only 3% of the world’s children live in the U.S., we own 40% of the toys. It’s absurd, especially since most kids only engage with a few favorites. Why are we filling our children’s rooms with plastic toys they don’t use, contributing to environmental harm?
Our relationship with clothing is just as troubling. Today, Americans own three times as many garments as those in 1930, discarding an average of 65 pounds of clothing each year. Feeling uneasy yet?
Overconsumption is a uniquely Western issue. Just 12% of the population in North America and Western Europe accounts for 60% of global private consumption spending, while a third of those in South Asia and sub-Saharan Africa only contribute 3.2%. Annually, Americans spend a staggering $1.2 trillion on nonessential items—yes, by “nonessential,” we mean things we don’t really need.
And then we toss it all away, whether it’s packaging, junk mail, or in the name of “decluttering.” But where does this waste go? Since 1950, humans have produced around 8.3 billion tons of plastic, with over half ending up in landfills and about 9% recycled. The rest? Scientists believe it’s in our oceans, with 4.8 to 12.7 million metric tons entering the seas every year. This is shameful.
How did we reach this point? How can we change our trajectory before we irreparably damage our planet?
In the U.S., we evaluate our national health based on consumption metrics. This isn’t metaphorical; our culture is built on the premise that continuous consumption is essential for success. If we’re not growing, we’re failing. Economic indicators like the S&P and Dow Jones reflect this; as long as they continue to rise, we’re in good shape. Why do these markets keep climbing? Partly due to speculation and inflation, but primarily because of production—people are consuming.
GDP (Gross Domestic Product) measures how much we’re producing, and consumer spending is a critical indicator. Are we buying at least 3% more than last year? If so, we’re in the clear. But what happens if we don’t spend enough? That would spell disaster, potentially leading to a recession or worse. To prevent this, manufacturers employ planned obsolescence, designing products to wear out quickly, fueling the endless cycle of consumption.
Our economy—and our wellbeing—thrives on a throwaway culture. It’s considered bad business to create durable goods. Marketing bombards us with messages that suggest status comes from owning the latest and greatest. Despite striving for minimalism, I still have two perfectly usable designer bags hanging in my closet, alongside a third that I use daily.
Why does Western culture equate success with consumption? This phenomenon is deep-rooted, tracing back to the emergence of financial markets and the subsequent belief that material wealth signifies social status. With the industrial and technological revolutions, we’ve embraced the notion that “possessions = status” more than ever.
To shift this narrative, we need a cultural transformation. We must become more intentional about what genuinely enhances our lives. Redefining success metrics on personal, national, and global scales is essential. However, achieving such a significant shift could jeopardize millions of jobs, as our relentless consumption supports a vast workforce—many of whom work in poor conditions for minimal wages.
Even if sweeping changes seem unattainable, we can start by being more conscientious about our personal consumption and the material values we instill in our children.
- Opt for reusable water bottles.
- Choose experiences over material goods.
- Buy second-hand whenever feasible—whether it’s clothes, furniture, or cars.
- Don’t wait until clutter overwhelms you to question whether your possessions “spark joy.” The right moment to assess is when you’re eyeing that new pair of seasonal throw pillows you know you don’t need and will only use for a couple of months.
Change is imperative. We can take action now, or our future generations will be left to confront the consequences of a planet suffocating beneath the weight of our misguided belief that possessions lead to happiness.
This article was originally published on April 9, 2019.