Are we all having a maximalist hangover? Why the world is suddenly craving minimalism

Lately, something interesting is happening.

Everywhere you look, people are softening their wardrobes, clearing their spaces and reaching for pieces that feel calm rather than chaotic.

It is more than a style shift; it feels like a collective exhale.

You are feeling it. I am feeling it.

And whether we realise it or not, the world is beginning to crave clarity.

Something about the moment we are living in is pushing us toward less noise, fewer distractions and more intentional choices.

To understand why this feels so natural, it helps to look back at the eras that shaped us.

In the 90s, fashion was confident, colourful and carefree.

We wore clashing colours, wild patterns and neon tones with total innocence.

If you grew up in Kenya, you probably remember those iconic childhood photos where the outfits were louder than the music playing in the background.

Fashion was not curated; it was lived. It was joy expressed through fabric.

The early 2000s continued the loudness, but in a different way.

Logomania, glitter, metallic tops, beaded denim, dramatic belts and glossy lip gloss created a kind of theatrical glamour.

Even Nairobi’s matatus reflected this mood; bright murals, bold lettering and sound systems that could rival a concert.

Life still had space for that kind of maximalism.

There was no algorithm judging your outfit.

No comparison culture humming in the background.

You could be loud because the world around you was, in many ways, quiet.

But everything shifted once the digital era truly took hold.

The noise no longer lived on our clothes; it lived in our minds.

Notifications, opinions, information overload, endless scrolls, rapid trend cycles and a constant pressure to be 'on' created a new kind of overstimulation.

The mind became a browser with too many tabs open, and for many of us, our wardrobes turned into physical reminders of that mental clutter.

This is why people everywhere are choosing minimalism today; not because it is fashionable, but because it feels like relief.

Minimalism offers mental clarity at a time when we need it most.

A curated wardrobe reduces the quiet pressure of too many choices.

Psychologists call it decision fatigue; that feeling of staring at a full wardrobe and still thinking, “I have nothing to wear.”

When everything coordinates, supports your lifestyle and represents your present identity rather than your past, your wardrobe stops being stressful and starts being supportive.

There is also a very practical layer shaping this shift.

Homes are smaller. Storage is limited. Life is faster.

Younger generations are choosing travel and experiences instead of accumulating things.

When you do not have endless space, your belongings must earn their place.

Minimalism fits that reality perfectly.

And then came Covid, a moment that accelerated this shift in a way none of us expected.

Thrift stores around the world paused donations because people everywhere were decluttering at the same time.

Entire households were edited. Closets emptied. Cupboards cleared.

It was a global moment of inventory — a realisation that the things we kept buying were no longer adding value.

The quiet purge revealed an emotional truth; many of us had been using consumption to fill spaces that needed something deeper.

At the same time, the environmental cost of endless buying became harder to ignore.

Fast fashion created a culture of disposability that now shows up as climate anxiety, textile waste and a general discomfort with mindless consumption.

People want to buy fewer pieces; but better pieces.

They want garments that last, fabrics that breathe, items that serve them across seasons.

Minimalism has become a gentle but powerful rebellion against overconsumption.

And perhaps the most compelling reason minimalism is rising is that it aligns with how we want to feel.

Today, style is intertwined with identity.

The way you dress communicates more than taste; it communicates the way you think.

A wardrobe built with intention says, “I value my time; I value my energy; I value my peace.”

Minimalism is not about erasing personality; it is about refining it.

The red knit you love, the polished gold hoops, the structured bag — these pieces stand out more because the noise has been reduced.

Transitioning into this kind of wardrobe does not require a dramatic overhaul.

It starts with honesty.

Understanding what no longer fits your life or your identity.

Making space for the pieces you genuinely wear.

It grows through clarity; recognising the silhouettes and combinations that make you feel grounded and confident.

And it stabilises through habit; pausing before you buy, choosing with intention, building slowly rather than impulsively.

In the end, this movement toward minimalism is not truly about fashion.

It is about how you want to live.

A simpler wardrobe is a calmer morning.

A curated closet is more mental space.

A thoughtful approach to style is a thoughtful approach to your life.

When your wardrobe stops overwhelming you, it begins to empower you.

In a world full of noise, the quietest thing you can choose is intention. And intention, now more than ever, is the real luxury.