So here's something nobody tells you about minimalism – it doesn't just change how much stuff you own, it completely rewires how you think about money. And I mean completely. Like, I used to be the guy checking my bank account obsessively, having spreadsheets with seventeen different budget categories, stressing about every purchase. Now? My financial life is so simple I could probably explain my entire system in about five minutes.
When I first started living minimally back in college, I thought it was just about getting rid of clothes I never wore and those random dorm room decorations my mom kept buying me. But then something weird happened – I started <a href="https://clearhomeclearmind.com/minimalist-mindset-shifts-how-to-break-free-from-consumerism/"><a href="https://clearhomeclearmind.com/minimalist-mindset-shifts-how-to-break-free-from-consumerism/">questioning every single thing</a></a> I was about to buy. Not in an anxious way, but in this really clear, purposeful way. Like, do I actually need this? Will this make my life better or just more cluttered?
That questioning didn't stay limited to physical stuff. Started applying it to everything – subscription services, eating out, those random Amazon purchases that seem so important at 11 PM but make zero sense in daylight. You know what I'm talking about.
The thing is, when you're living on a nonprofit salary in Seattle (where a studio apartment costs approximately your entire soul), you can't afford to be careless with money anyway. But minimalism made being intentional with money feel like a choice rather than a restriction. There's a huge difference between "I can't afford this" and "I'm choosing not to buy this because it doesn't align with what I value."
I remember this moment sophomore year when my environmental science professor was talking about resource consumption, and I realized I was sitting there wearing a $200 jacket I'd bought because everyone else had one, not because I particularly liked it or needed it. That jacket became this symbol for me – how much money I was spending just to fit in or because I was bored or because buying something felt like doing something productive when really it was the opposite.
My parents still don't get this, by the way. They visit my apartment and immediately start suggesting furniture I should buy, decorations that would "make it feel more like home." But it does feel like home – their version of home just requires a lot more stuff and a lot more money than mine does.
Here's what actually changed when I started approaching money like a minimalist: instead of having a budget with categories for everything under the sun, I simplified it down to needs, wants that align with my values, and savings. That's basically it. Rent, groceries, transportation – those are needs. Books, camping gear, the occasional dinner out with friends – those are value-aligned wants. Everything else gets questioned pretty hard.
Quality over quantity became huge for me, especially after I got tired of replacing cheap stuff constantly. I'd rather save up for a really good rain jacket that'll last years than buy three mediocre ones. Living in Seattle, you learn this lesson fast – cheap rain gear is basically useless, and being wet and miserable isn't worth the money you saved.
The environmental aspect makes this even more important. Every time I don't buy something, that's resources not extracted, energy not used, waste not created. When you think about purchases that way, impulse buying becomes a lot less appealing. It's not just about my bank account – it's about not contributing unnecessarily to systems I think are broken.
Automating everything was probably the single best financial decision I made. I set up automatic transfers to savings the day after I get paid, before I can even think about spending that money on something else. It's like paying myself first, except I never have to remember to do it or talk myself into it. The money just disappears into savings, and I budget based on what's left.
This works especially well with minimalism because I'm not constantly wanting new things anyway. When your default mode is questioning purchases rather than making them, having less money available to spend doesn't feel restrictive – it feels intentional.
Investment-wise, I keep things super simple. Index funds, basically. I don't have the time or interest to research individual stocks, and everything I've read suggests most people don't beat the market anyway. My investment strategy is about as exciting as my furniture choices – functional, low-maintenance, effective over the long term.
My friends think I'm either really disciplined or really boring, depending on their mood. They're out buying new clothes every month, upgrading their phones annually, decorating and redecorating their apartments. Meanwhile, I'm over here wearing the same five t-shirts and genuinely not understanding what problem all that consumption is supposed to solve.
The weird thing is, I'm probably happier with my financial situation than most people I know, despite making less money. There's something really freeing about knowing exactly what you need to live well and being confident that you can afford it. No financial anxiety, no buyer's remorse, no credit card debt from impulse purchases.
Dating gets interesting when someone finds out how I live. Had one girl ask why I didn't have a TV, and when I said I just watch stuff on my laptop, she looked at me like I was from another planet. But honestly, if someone's going to judge me for not owning a bunch of stuff I don't need, we're probably not compatible anyway.
The experience thing is real, though. I'd rather spend money on a weekend camping trip than on decorating my apartment. Rather save up for a good bicycle than buy a bunch of gadgets. Experiences don't require storage space, don't need to be maintained, don't become clutter later.
What I've learned is that minimalism makes a lower income totally workable in a way it wouldn't be otherwise. My expenses are low because I don't buy much, my space requirements are minimal because I don't own much, my financial stress is basically nonexistent because I'm <a href="https://clearhomeclearmind.com/the-joys-of-living-with-less-reflections-on-a-minimalist-lifestyle/"><a href="https://clearhomeclearmind.com/the-joys-of-living-with-less-reflections-on-a-minimalist-lifestyle/">living well below my means</a></a> by choice.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm missing out on something – if having more stuff would actually make me happier or more successful-looking or whatever. But then I visit my parents' house, see all the maintenance and organization and replacement their lifestyle requires, think about how much money and time and mental energy goes into maintaining all that stuff… and I'm good.
The climate anxiety aspect of this is probably worth mentioning. I can't fix everything that's wrong with how we consume resources, but I can at least make sure I'm not making it worse unnecessarily. When every purchase becomes a question of whether this thing is worth its environmental cost, you end up buying a lot less stuff.
My financial life now is honestly pretty boring, which is exactly how I want it. Money comes in, some goes to fixed expenses, some goes to savings, some goes to things I actually value. No drama, no stress, no complicated tracking systems. Just simple, intentional choices that support the life I actually want rather than the life I'm supposed to want.
It's funny – people assume minimalism is about deprivation, but financially it's been the opposite. It's given me the freedom to work for a nonprofit instead of chasing a higher salary to pay for stuff I don't need. That feels like abundance, not sacrifice.
Nicholas’s a sustainability worker in Seattle who sees minimalism as climate activism. He writes about consuming less, living simply, and building a life that aligns with environmental values rather than material ones
