You know, the world is ripe with crap that can be misinterpreted including what is a minimalist wardrobe. Exhibit A: having a Napoleon complex doesn't mean you're short... because dude was actually above average height for the time period. It's called context people! Exhibit B: Monsanto can air as many bullshit commercials as they want, but their company is built on chemicals and mental slavery, so no, they do not really care about the health of your next meal. Exhibit C: Taylor Swift's latest album is not about your ex boyfriend, so don't take it so personally. I mean honestly.

But this minimalist wardrobe business, man, that's the most controversial of them all. Is it aesthetic, is it consumerism, is it mindfulness, is it social awareness? Could be a bird or a plane; who knows! Some fashion bloggers, who are otherwise completely rational, think a minimalist wardrobe is buying 30 new pieces every season. (UPDATE: Oh what do you know, said irrational fashion blogger has now closed down her blog, go figure...) In lamen terms, that's ten pieces in three categories, or three pieces for the freak who thinks they need ten categories of clothing every season. Real minimal ya'll.

Why so harsh Lola? Well just think about how much of a hedonist I am while shopping, as many of you are. Striving for perfection- the perfect white tee, jeans that fit like a glove, a cozy winter sweater. To buy that many pieces, 30 or above (because the free crap sent to bloggers needs to be included too!) is eluding to a certain air of mindlessness while shopping. It takes me days, if not weeks, to track down a covetable piece at a price point I am willing to suffer through at any given moment. So if I bought ten pairs of pants and jeans in one gosh darn season, something is wrong there. Don't you think? Isn't it beside the whole point to buy enough so you have a new item every single day for an entire month?

Then there is the flip side. The intellectual folk who are like, so mega. They dress in black death and goth purity. They sip blood for breakfast and salute an altar honoring Martin Margiela, Prada, Celine and Madewell. Don't take offense. I was there too. In a scurry to indulge in minimal style, I completely sterilized my entire sense of being by becoming a plain Jane in all neutrals. Shit happens, and it happened to me. Then I did this post, and remembered, holy crap, I'm actually Kim Kardashian deep down. Why the hell would Jessica Rabbit wear only black and white to appease the undefined trend of the masses? I am unabashedly feminine at heart, mixed with a bit of unshakable high glam-New Yorker all black/all day DNA, sprinkled with whatever is as easy to wear as a mumu.
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