I’m sitting on the floor of my bedroom surrounded by shirts, dresses, and pants. Behind me the doors of my wardrobe are flung wide, revealing a rail full of empty hangers. No, I haven’t been overcome by indecision while getting ready for a big night out. I’m not feeling excited or filled with anticipation. In fact, all that I have ahead of me this evening is a cup of tea and an episode of Suits. Like so many Westerners in the past two years, I’ve succumbed to a new craze: minimalism. What am I doing sitting knee deep in clothing? I’m konmari-ing my closet, of course.

Does this pair of blue pants with white dots bring me joy? That’s what I’ve been asking myself as I hold them in my lap. Seriously. That’s what Marie Kondo teaches us; the only items we should own are those that bring us happiness. And I kind of love that concept, only I can’t work out if I love my pants or not. I bought them second hand online, my favourite way to shop. I like designer clothing, but I don’t have the budget to pay retail. And, I like the thrill of the hunt. I picture myself wearing the pants and realise that I can only think of a couple of times I’ve put them on. One of the times, I answered the door to someone collecting something I had sold online (it goes both ways, see) and she’d looked embarrassed for a second before saying, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get you out of bed.” In other words, the designer blue pants with the white dots look like pyjamas. They go in the bag with the other joyless things, destined for the op shop.

What is this need I have to reduce the amount of stuff in my home? It feels almost feverish, like an itch I have to scratch. Is it a response to the overwhelming amount of marketing I’m exposed to daily, even when I try to switch off? Is it consumerism, and my participation in it?

Or am I just having a midlife crisis in preparation for my fortieth birthday in a couple of year’s time?

I don’t know.

But I want to figure it out. I want to reconcile my love of fashion with my concern about the labour conditions of the workers who make my clothing, and my worry over the environmental impact of so much buying. In a world where I can buy a shirt for just $5 there has to be a consequence down the line for the people making it, the people who are least able speak up.

This year I want to challenge myself. I’ve done the organising and the giving away. Everything that is left in my closest is something I love. Now I want to see if I can live with those items for twelve months without purchasing anything new.

It doesn’t sound that radical, does it? After all, our parents and grandparents probably went a year without buying new clothing without batting an eye. Intellectually, I know I can do it. Emotionally, I think it’ll be hard.

We live in an age of fast fashion. In terms of clothing, we no longer have a winter and a summer season, or even a four season year. We have a 52 season year – new looks coming at us weekly, new styles that we must have or we’re out of date. It’s a trap, of course. And I think most of us know it’s a trap. But we still buy.

So, follow me on my journey towards fashion abstinence, if you will. See how this fashion addict survives without her biannual clear out + shopfest. I can’t promise it’ll be pretty, or even upbeat all of the time. I do promise to stick to my rules, and should I slip up, I will fess up.

Here are my rules:

No new clothing, shoes, accessories at all. 

If clothing absolutely has to be bought – and there are strict criteria here, it has to be for function (work attire, warmth, etc.) – then it will be second hand.

In addition, we’re committed to abstaining from any new consumerable purchases. We’ll make it, upcycle it, or go without.

What about you… could you go a year without buying anything new? I’d love to hear from you in the comments below.