I really enjoy action figures. One of my earliest childhood memories is of playing with my Kenner Star Wars figures on the bare, dusty floor of the house my family had just moved into in the early eighties.
When I got my first full-time job, I’d spend my lunch breaks hunting for pop culture collectibles. I didn’t need wallpaper in my bedroom, instead I’d plaster the walls with unopened action figures. This lasted until I started university and the penny-pinching began. My collection became a permanent resident of my mom’s attic, a neglected mausoleum of plastic people collecting dust alongside everything else I’d ever owned.
I became a minimalist around 2017. I’d been feeling the weight of all that stuff in the attic, all the clothes crammed into my wardrobe, all the knick-knacks cluttering up my home. But for some reason it had never occurred to me—until now—that I could just let it all go.
The next year was spent zealously simplifying my life. With every item decluttered, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders and a more spacious future reveal itself.
With the exception of my original Star Wars figures, I sold all my collectibles and childhood toys – now considered retro and highly desirable. When I realized what experiences I could buy—including a holiday to Vietnam – with the money made from things I’d forgotten I even owned, any attachment I had to them evaporated.
I maintained this minimalist mindset for five years and was even able to move to another country with just one suitcase and a carry-on. I loved how light and simple life had become. Intentionality had infiltrated all aspects of my existence: I was meditating, writing, and exercising every day, my confidence at work grew, and I felt liberated from the influence of consumerism. I no longer needed my stuff to tell me, or the world, who I was.
But then it happened. After years of abstinence, I decided to indulge in two Star Wars figures. I should have known that action figures are referred to as “plastic crack” for a reason. The one shelf I’d assigned for my hobby soon became three. As someone who still considered himself a minimalist, I couldn’t wholeheartedly enjoy my hobby without feeling conflicted. Had I fallen to the dark side of consumerism or was it possible to find a balance between collecting and minimalism?
I’m still searching for that answer but, as it turns out, the principles of minimalism have helped me collect in a much more intentional way than I ever did in the past.
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My preference for an uncluttered minimalist aesthetic has given me a clear vision of how I want my collection to look—clean, simple and spacious.
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Previously, I bought a plethora of pop culture collectibles but now I focus on a specific line of 3.75-inch Star Wars figures. I know what is enough and the collection is curated so that it only contains definitive versions of my favorite characters.
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I only buy what I can afford and have the space to display right now. By owning so little else, I’ve made room for my collection. You’d probably consider my home very sparse—until a wardrobe door slides open to reveal my shrine to a galaxy far, far away.
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Instead of plonking a new figure on the shelf and instantly moving on to the next like a consumer on the hedonic treadmill, I started practicing toy photography. Now, I’m always grabbing different figures to pose in imagined scenes. My skills have developed, and I’ve become part of a supportive creative community.
Collecting has been described as “more organized hoarding” but, unlike hoarding, collecting can be intentional, creative and communal. Still, there are undeniable dangers: just as a Jedi must be wary of attachment, craving and desire, so must a minimalist collector. It is essential to be mindful and disciplined—skills minimalism has helped me strengthen.
Currently, my collection serves a purpose and brings me joy. It’s an expression of my Star Wars fandom, it nurtures my creativity, and I’m constantly awestruck by the beauty of these tiny life-like replicas. However, if one day I feel the collection starts getting in the way of a more meaningful life, I’ll be willing to let it go. Until then, I’ll be doing my best to find balance between the seemingly opposing forces of collecting and minimalism