This book only reinforces my skepticism of self-help as a genre
Self-help is not my genre.
There were a few things working against Love People Use Things. One is that I’ve never heard of the Minimalists before reading this, and so I was immediately skeptical of the advice they had to offer (call me a cynic, but I’m just going to question any self-promoting franchise that asks me to live with less while also purchasing their books). Since I don’t immediately buy into the authority of the author(s), I need data to back up any recommendation made (that’s the scientist within me), but self-help as a genre doesn’t have to cite the literature – which irked me as there were times even when I agreed with what Millburn was saying and *knew* of evidence that could be referenced, but wasn’t (ex. winning the lottery doesn’t actually make you happy – this has been well-studied).
That’s just a bias against the genre, so I admit, Millburn and Nicodemus had an uphill battle when it came to winning a positive review from me. And I would have overlooked it if their philosophy really wowed me.
Their brand of minimalism does have its insights. I agree, overall, with its broad points – it’s not so much living minimally, but living intentionally. But to me, that’s not mind-blowing. It’s as old as Buddhism, and doesn’t have the catchy practicality of Marie Kondo-ing your entire home. Yes, I agree that as Americans we consume too much. I agree that debt is bad. I agree in transparency and healthy eating and yadda yadda yadda. But I also feel like I was the wrong audience for their impact to land. I may not be as explicitly conscious of my spending habits as Minimalism asks, but I’m also not someone who maxes out credit cards on cars, TV’s, and vacations I can’t afford. That’s not to belittle people who do, or suggest that those behaviors aren’t problematic or widespread – more to say that with all his emphasis on the former, it felt like Millburn was pitching ideas that weren’t aimed at me.
There were also small things that bugged me. One was the totally weird preface, with an opening sentence that had the word “erumpent” in it (I had to look it up, and still not quite sure if it was used correctly), and sentences like “...devastating silence blanketing empty movie theaters galvanized by dust and darkness." How do dust and darkness galvanize, exactly? I also, probably unfairly, judged Millburn early in the book, which further undermined his authority as a lifestyle guru - specifically for cheating on his wife with his dying mom’s nurse. I really do appreciate his honesty and people make mistakes! But as a medical professional, I just find that icky and a huge violation of patient-provider relations.
At the end of the day, this book only reinforced my skepticism of self-help as a genre. I do feel vaguely motivated to declutter and donate some of my excess stuff though. Perhaps will start with Love People, Use Things.
There were a few things working against Love People Use Things. One is that I’ve never heard of the Minimalists before reading this, and so I was immediately skeptical of the advice they had to offer (call me a cynic, but I’m just going to question any self-promoting franchise that asks me to live with less while also purchasing their books). Since I don’t immediately buy into the authority of the author(s), I need data to back up any recommendation made (that’s the scientist within me), but self-help as a genre doesn’t have to cite the literature – which irked me as there were times even when I agreed with what Millburn was saying and *knew* of evidence that could be referenced, but wasn’t (ex. winning the lottery doesn’t actually make you happy – this has been well-studied).
That’s just a bias against the genre, so I admit, Millburn and Nicodemus had an uphill battle when it came to winning a positive review from me. And I would have overlooked it if their philosophy really wowed me.
Their brand of minimalism does have its insights. I agree, overall, with its broad points – it’s not so much living minimally, but living intentionally. But to me, that’s not mind-blowing. It’s as old as Buddhism, and doesn’t have the catchy practicality of Marie Kondo-ing your entire home. Yes, I agree that as Americans we consume too much. I agree that debt is bad. I agree in transparency and healthy eating and yadda yadda yadda. But I also feel like I was the wrong audience for their impact to land. I may not be as explicitly conscious of my spending habits as Minimalism asks, but I’m also not someone who maxes out credit cards on cars, TV’s, and vacations I can’t afford. That’s not to belittle people who do, or suggest that those behaviors aren’t problematic or widespread – more to say that with all his emphasis on the former, it felt like Millburn was pitching ideas that weren’t aimed at me.
There were also small things that bugged me. One was the totally weird preface, with an opening sentence that had the word “erumpent” in it (I had to look it up, and still not quite sure if it was used correctly), and sentences like “...devastating silence blanketing empty movie theaters galvanized by dust and darkness." How do dust and darkness galvanize, exactly? I also, probably unfairly, judged Millburn early in the book, which further undermined his authority as a lifestyle guru - specifically for cheating on his wife with his dying mom’s nurse. I really do appreciate his honesty and people make mistakes! But as a medical professional, I just find that icky and a huge violation of patient-provider relations.
At the end of the day, this book only reinforced my skepticism of self-help as a genre. I do feel vaguely motivated to declutter and donate some of my excess stuff though. Perhaps will start with Love People, Use Things.