The evening is hot but the sky is already dark.

We’re having some beers in the outside terrace of a bar, where a reggae trio set up a few minutes ago and have now started their upbeat set. The bar owner sets down a huge steamed fish flavoured with lemon and chilli in front of us.

The atmosphere is distinctly more relaxed than in the adjoining street, where a night market has brought in the crowds. Vendors are selling tacky souvenirs, fried insects and sweet treats and fire performers are lighting up the night with blazing batons.

Later, we’ll meander back over the long beach, past night-fishermen, to our chalet which is no doubt already filling with mosquitoes.

This was the scene on our honeymoon in Thailand, exactly five years ago, just before my life was about to change. Of course, it was the start of a happy marriage (I don’t want to get in trouble for omitting to mention that) but it was also the beginning of something a little more unexpected.

My wife, Ruth, had brought along some holiday reading: a book called Minimalism: Live a Meaningful Life by two guys calling themselves – a little cheesily, I thought – The Minimalists.

I found myself picking it up and reading about how life could be simpler with fewer possessions.

Having lived out of a suitcase for over a week already, I was already enjoying how easy it was to choose what to wear or, indeed, what book to read. I began to wonder how I could replicate this feeling once I got home.

And on the idea of buying less, I was sold.

At home, I’d already been making some pretty big changes in an effort to make my life less stressful.

A couple of years before, I had somehow found myself in tens of thousands of pounds of debt, having sleepless nights worrying about work. So I had changed jobs and was slowly paying back all that money I’d spent living a life I couldn’t afford.

Simplifying my possessions seemed like the natural next step in my journey to a less anxious life.

Two months later, we met The Minimalists, Ryan Nicodemus and Joshua Fields Millburn, when they visited our hometown on a book tour. They were charming and through their blog and books, I discovered a whole world of people choosing to live simpler lives.

All these years on, I’m really happy with where this all led me.

Sure, when you step into my home now, you won’t gasp and wonder who burgled me.

My wife also doesn’t quite share my enthusiasm for lifelong clear-outs, so what stays and goes is a subject of constant debate (and yes, the odd argument; we’re not perfect).

But here are the main benefits I’ve found from five years of decluttering:

1. Our home got its zen on
The house feels more airy, open and calm. All that distracting visual clutter is gone. We get compliments from guests and it’s a space I’m always happy to return to.

2. Life’s easier when it’s less messy
Tidying and cleaning takes less time, as does finding anything I’ve lost. (Apart from my bloody tweezers – like, seriously, where are they?)

3. Our unwanted possessions have helped others
I’m not naïve, a lot of the stuff I discarded was absolute crap and the best thing I could do was dispose of it responsibly. But we’ve given a lot to charity shops and have received regular updates telling us how much they have made from selling it – hundreds and hundreds of pounds. We’ve also donated to collections for refugees and sold or given away items to people in our area through online groups.

4. Shopping is no longer a hobby
Once you forget about the idea of owning the perfect set of crockery, and accept that your cheap Ikea plates are absolutely fine, you can get on with more exciting things each weekend.

5. I don’t worry about protecting my stuff
If I lost all my possessions tomorrow, I’d certainly be upset but I’d know that most of it can be replaced pretty easily and cheaply. A month or two ago, my car got written-off in an accident (American friends, read ‘totaled’). Yes, it was annoying, but in the end, who cares? It’s just a car, it was insured and now I have another one.

None of this is to say that a life with less stuff is a life free from worries. I worry about things ALL THE TIME.

But gradually they are becoming things that are actually worth worrying about.

I’ve never understood those who pooh-pooh practical advice on decluttering your home.

It’s sometimes dismissed as unnecessary guidance through a monotonous and straightforward process.

I disagree. Sure, some of us may find reducing our possessions easy and may just be able to get on with it. But others – like me – find we’ve formed bonds with the most innocuous of belongings and need to summon up the strongest willpower to say goodbye to each and every item.

The decision fatigue that results from decluttering even the smallest of spaces can be exhausting. And if you are not ruthless enough you can find that you’ve worn yourself out for nothing, realising at the end that you have simply rearranged your possessions rather than reducing them.

For those who fall into the latter category, having a friendly but – let’s face it – pushy, guide can be a huge help.

Enter Joshua Becker’s latest book, The Minimalist Home.

It takes readers through a transformation of their home using the ‘Becker Method’, a five-step approach to decluttering room by room.

The process includes the instruction to handle each object and ask yourself: ‘Do I need this?’ The phrase is the practical cousin to Marie Kondo’s whimsical ‘Does this spark joy?’ and sets the tone for what is a no-nonsense book filled with good advice, hard truths and the occasional bit of snarky humour:

“If your yard displays a lot of decorations, especially kitschy stuff of the garden-gnome or plastic-flamingo sort, rethink the wisdom of that. Please.”

However, to suggest ‘Do I need this’ is the essence of this book would be to do it a disservice.

At the heart of this book is a metaphor: of home as a harbour, offering shelter from the high seas of life while also acting as a port to head back out from.

So, if anything, Becker wants us to stop focusing on the minutiae of our possessions and instead wants us to take a step back and reflect on our home as a whole to see if it serves us, our goals and our relationships.

The first goal is to picture your ideal version of each room and create an environment that serves that vision, whether it be a home office that is an inspiring, organised space or a kitchen that brings people together over food.

Is your bedroom restful and intimate?

Does your guest room have space for people to unpack their belongings?

Does your garage offer an inviting gateway when you drive home?

The second goal is to free up money and time to allow you to live a life with more fulfilling pursuits than the accumulation of stuff.

His advice on how to make changes, then, is both straightforward and surprisingly refreshing. Got too many knick-knacks? Ditch half of them. Can’t move in your bedroom? Cut the amount of furniture. Agonising over sentimental items? Pick the most precious to keep.

Finally, Becker encourages his readers to assess the home as a whole and even consider giving it up for a smaller property.

Sure, his approach may go too far for some and he has a fondness for empty surfaces that not everyone will share.

He recommends, for instance, that you remove all small kitchen appliances from counters and store them in cupboards. The clear worktops, he argues, will be worth the minor inconvenience of getting your toaster out each morning.

Well, ever keen to try new things, I gave it a go. My other half was so unimpressed by the idea that it lasted less than 24 hours.

But the fact I tried it is testament to Becker’s infectious enthusiasm and encouragement. While I had already minimised much of my home, I often found myself putting the book down and getting up to tackle one of the remaining clutter corners with a new vigour.

Do you need to read a book before you can declutter? Of course not. But if you think some step-by-step guidance might make you a little bolder in revolutionising your home, this might just be the help you need.

There is very little that is new about minimalism.

Owning few possessions has been a tenet in many faiths for millennia.

And two thousand years ago, the Stoics were teaching that you only truly own one thing in life: yourself. Practising a healthy detachment from your belongings was a key part of the philosophy.

As someone trying to get better at owning fewer things, I take an interest when I find the idea of living with less cropping up in books, films or music from years gone by.

So reading Thomas More’s Utopia, a book now more than 500 years old, proved pretty interesting recently.

More was a public figure in 16^th-century England, rising from humble roots to serve as a personal advisor for Henry VIII and Speaker of the House of Commons.

But he was charged with high treason and beheaded in 1535 after refusing to take an oath recognising the King as sole head of the church, instead of the Pope, and sanctioning his divorce from his first wife.

A grim story, no doubt, but a little book More wrote 20 years earlier while working on the continent shows his humorous side.

The comic tract imagines a fantasy island – albeit a ridiculous one at times – where human society is ordered in a near-perfect way.

Some of the workings of Utopian society haven’t dated well.

The use of slavery would sound pretty horrific to a modern reader, as would the subjugated role of women, who must kneel before their husbands once a month to confess their sins and beg forgiveness.

But other parts, which discuss the Utopians’ attitude towards wealth and possessions, are some of the same topics being discussed by minimalists today.

Here are a few passages from the book, translated from the original Latin by Paul Turner:

“In Utopia they have a six-hour working day – three hours in the morning then lunch – then a two hour break – then three more hours in the afternoon, followed by supper. They go to bed at 8pm and sleep for eight hours.

“All the rest of the twenty-four they’re free to do what they like – not to waste their time in idleness or self-indulgence, but to make good use of it in some congenial activity.

“Most people spend these free periods on further education, for there are public lectures first thing every morning. Attendance is quite voluntary, except for those picked out for academic training, but men and women of all classes go crowding in to hear them.”

“They have no tailors or dressmakers, since everyone on the island wears the same sort of clothes – except that they vary slightly according to sex and marital status – and the fashion never changes.

“These clothes are quite pleasant to look at, they allow free movement of the limbs, they’re equally suitable for hot and cold weather – and the great thing is, they’re all home-made.”

“Since they only work a six-hour day, you may think there must be a shortage of essential goods. On the contrary, those six hours are enough, and more than enough to produce plenty of everything that’s needed for a comfortable life.

“And you’ll understand why it is, if you reckon up how large a proportion of the population in other countries is totally unemployed. First you have practically all the women – that gives you nearly fifty percent for a start. Then there are all the priests, and members of so-called religious orders – how much work do they do? Add all the rich, especially the landowners, popularly known as nobles and gentlemen. Include their domestic staffs – I mean those gangs of armed ruffians that I mentioned before. Finally, throw in all the beggars who are perfectly hale and hearty, but pretend to be ill as an excuse for being lazy. When you’ve counted them up, you’ll be surprised to find how few people actually produce what the human race consumes.”

“Then think how much labour they save on clothes. Their working clothes are just loose-fitting leather overalls, which last for at least seven years.

“When they go about in public, they cover these rough garments with a sort of cloak, which is always the same colour – the natural colour of wool. Thus not only is their consumption of woollen fabric the lowest in the world, but so are their production costs for this material. Linen is even easier to produce, and therefore more often used – but, as long as the linen is white and the wool is clean, they don’t care how fine or coarse the thread is.

“So whereas in other countries you won’t find anyone satisfied with less than five or six suits and as many silk shirts, while dressy types want over ten of each, your Utopian is content with a single piece of clothing every two years. For why should he want more? They wouldn’t make him any warmer – or any better looking.”

“When the head of a household needs anything for himself or his family, he just goes to [the] shops and asks for it. And whatever he asks for, he’s allowed to take away without any sort of payment, either in money or in kind.

“After all, why shouldn’t he? There’s more than enough of everything to go round, so there’s no risk of his asking for anything more than he needs – for why should anyone want to start hoarding, when he knows he’ll never have to go short of anything.

“No living creature is naturally greedy, except from fear of want – or in the case of human beings, from vanity, the notion that you’re better than people if you can display more superfluous property than they can. But there’s no scope for that sort of thing in Utopia.”

“They’ve devised a system which, while perfectly consistent with their other conventions, is diametrically opposed to ours – especially to the way we treasure up gold. So you’ll probably think it incredible, until you’ve actually seen it for yourselves.

“According to this system, plates and drinking-vessels, though beautifully designed, are made of quite cheap stuff like glass or earthenware. But silver and gold are the normal materials, in private houses as well as communal dining halls, for the humblest items of domestic equipment, such as chamber-pots. […] In fact they do everything they can to bring these metals into contempt. This means that if they suddenly had to part with all the gold and silver they possess – a fate which in any other country would be thought equivalent to having one’s guts torn out – nobody in Utopia would care two hoots.

“It’s much the same with jewels […] If they happen to come across one, they pick it up and polish it for some toddler to wear […] This curious convention is liable to cause some equally curious reactions, as I realised most vividly in the case of the Flatulentine diplomats. […]

“Oh, but you should have seen the faces of the older children, who’d grown out of things like pearls and jewels, when they saw the ones on the envoys’ hats. They kept nudging their mothers and whispering: ‘I say, mother, just look at that great baby! Fancy wearing jewellery at his age!’”

“In Utopia, where everything’s under public ownership, no-one has any fear of going short, as long as the public storehouses are full. Everyone gets a fair share, so there are never any poor men or beggars. Nobody owns anything, but everyone is rich – for what greater wealth can there be than cheerfulness, peace of mind, and freedom from anxiety?”

It makes interesting reading, even though I remain very sceptical of the idea of an ideal society.

While I would probably be content wearing only clothes that are “the natural colour of wool”, I recognise that it would be other people’s idea of hell. I also dislike his puritanical streak and scorn for “idleness or self-indulgence”.

But just as it was designed to make 16th-century Europeans reflect on their own society and its shortcomings, I think it can still have the power to do the same for us now.

Could you get by wearing the same handful of outfits for the next few months?

Courtney Carver’s wildly popular capsule wardrobe challenge Project 333 asks people to do just that: wearing only 33 items, including clothes, coats, shoes and accessories, for a three-month period.

I’ve reached the end of my Project 333 challenge and if you’re thinking about giving it a try yourself, here’s a warts-and-all account of how I’ve found the past three months:

1. Project 333 is harder than it sounds

I thought I had a pretty small wardrobe as it was, but limiting myself to 33 items was tough. I went on holiday and couldn’t wear flip-flops because they weren’t among my 33 pieces of clothing. I have to admit to questioning my commitment to the cause when I found myself barefoot on a beach, standing repeatedly on broken glass. (Note: broken-glass barefoot torture is not a compulsory part of minimalism)

2. Your clothing choices have to be pretty strategic

Project 333 doesn’t stop you from wearing bright or patterned clothing. But it’s easier if you can mix-and-match your items to create a variety of outfits, and I found myself coming back time and time again to my staples of plain greys, blacks and blues.

3. Limiting your choices can make life simpler

Most of the time, heading straight to a select few hangers each morning to pick out an outfit for the day was a pretty simple undertaking. Similarly, it didn’t take me long at all to choose what to wear on a night out with friends. And as for fancy occasions, my choice of dress, shoes, bag and necklace were pretty much made for me already.

4. You have to be on top of your laundry game

Do I wear the slightly-damp-from-the-washing-machine top, or the dirty top with yesterday’s cooking stain on it, into the office today? These were the glamorous choices I ended up making when I neglected to do the laundry for more than a few days at a time. (I went with damp, by the way)

5. The project will make you realise the value you get (or don’t get) from what you buy

This applies to people, like me, who rarely buy clothes as well as those who hit the shops all the time. In the three-month period, I bought one item of clothing – a good-quality new raincoat – which had left me with feelings of guilt and buyer’s remorse. I had still been battling debt at the time, and felt I’d succumbed to an unnecessary impulse purchase. The day after, I very nearly returned it. But it turned out to be one of my most frequently worn items. In hindsight, it was a good buy and I should have chilled the heck out about it.

Just as it will help shopaholics question excessive spending habits, it will help frugal types loosen up about buying higher-quality items, if they know they’re going to get a lot of value from them.

6. Build in some ‘wildcard’ choices to give yourself extra flexibility

When I first began Project 333, I chose 30 items and kept open three empty slots, which I called my ‘wildcards’. Boy, this came in handy. The slots were filled within a few weeks, because I’d been fairly bad at predicting everything I’d need for three months, hence the later barefoot-on-glass scenario. The three items I ended up selecting were:

A white scarf (which doubled up as a kind of shawl over sleeveless dresses)

A necklace (I’d forgotten to add any jewellery to my list)

My new raincoat

7. Take it all with a dash of humour if you don’t want it to add to your stress levels

Picture the scene a few weeks ago: A heavy shower had abated, leaving the late evening sunshine glistening over the newly cleansed streets. I’ve taken the opportunity to go on a quiet stroll around the neighbourhood with my wife and dog. I feel…content. Even my wellies feel comfortable, and I can splash through the puddles without a care in the… Hang on, wellies aren’t on my list!! Goddamn!!!!!!!!!

I spent the rest of the walk in a sulk, so mad at myself for having broken the rules. But if you read Courtney Carver’s great website, you’ll fairly soon realise that this is not the point of the experiment at all. She’s pretty clear that while there are rules, you’re then free to make them work for you. For me, the challenge was about trying to remove an element of stress from my life. So beating myself up over one mistake was hardly in the spirit of the endeavour.

8. People probably won’t notice

I had no comments from workmates about why I was wearing the same outfits to work day in, day out. I can only assume they hadn’t realised. People are usually taking less notice of you than you think they are.

9. When you reach the end, your original wardrobe will feel ridiculously extravangant

I have to admit, I really loved creaking open the drawer where I’d stashed all my other clothes. So much choice! I thoroughly enjoyed putting on long-lost favourites that I had taken for granted beforehand. I also – straight off the bat – got rid of nine or ten items I knew I didn’t need any more, either because I hadn’t missed them or they had been a staple during Project 333 and so I’d worn them to death.

10. One round of Project 333 is enough to give you a serious insight into simplifying your wardrobe for good

Many people go straight from one round of Project 333 into the next, choosing another 33 items which will see them through the next season, and repeating season after season. I guess living within those boundaries permanently helps them to simplify their lives, and that’s great.

But others – like me – work best by thinking of a strict challenge as an experiment of sorts, to see which elements to keep and which to leave behind.

Project 333 has helped me in many ways: I have a new appreciation for the things I own, I’ve found it easier to say goodbye to clothes I didn’t miss, it’s helped me pack light on a holiday and it’s also helped me get a greater sense of my personal style.

I’m now ready to take what I’ve learnt and apply it to my full wardrobe, building a smaller, permanent collection of the things I love but without feeling hemmed in by any self-imposed rules.

Do temporary challenges help you simplify? Have you tried Project 333? Share your experiences below.

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