style.

I can see the look in their eyes when I tell them about my minimized closet. Even before the words are spoken, I know what they're about to say...

But you love fashion! How can you just give it up like that?

Or, better yet, the unspoken sentiment...

TRAITOR!

My fashion friends have taken the news hard. At first, they were delighted to scoop up my castoff Prada, Manolo, and Gucci. But now, when they want to talk about this season's Stella, or duck out at lunch for a quick run to Barneys, they find me much less fun.

Ay, there's the rub: Shopping is no longer a recreational activity for me. I still buy things, of course, but each purchase is carefully weighed and planned. As I minimized my wardrobe, I started a (very) short list of workhorse items that needed to be replaced, and uploaded it to my phone. Now, when I shop, I know what I have space for, and what I do not. If it's not on the list, it's not allowed to come home with me. It sounds restrictive, I know, but it's actually quite freeing. In a world of near-limitless options, I now have a set of functional parameters to help keep me focused. (In case you're curious, the list currently includes a black cashmere sweater, a pair of flat black boots, and a winter white blazer.)

I read somewhere that we wear 20% of our wardrobe 80% of the time, and I've found that to be true. (It's also the reason we stand in front of our over-stuffed closets and wail that we have nothing to wear.) Since down-sizing my wardrobe, I find that I'm never at a loss for options. Getting dressed in the morning is incredibly easy, and -- surprise! -- I've received more compliments these past few weeks than I've received over the past year.

So, why is that?  My hunch is that the basic tenet of minimalism -- quality over quantity -- forces us to sharpen and refine our personal style. Instead of a fashion stew, I now have a bouillon cube. But every item in that cube is highly functional and beautiful (at least, to me).  Better still, I can actually see my entire wardrobe when I enter my closet. For the first time in my life, there is space between my hangers, and a friend recently told me that my minimized shoe wall (70 pairs downsized to 15) looks like an art installation. I found the comparison apropos; after all, a minimized closet is a curated closet. And just like a carefully curated art collection, a carefully curated closet says a lot about one's personal style.

Take the classic French woman, for example. I've long looked to her for fashion inspiration; not for the size of her wardrobe, but for how she wears it.  Her effortless chic comes from a few well-chosen, perfectly tailored pieces that mix and match in sometimes unexpected ways. She exists in that magical space between form and function, and is never under or over dressed.  Most importantly, she claims her style in such a way that she never looks like anyone but herself.  She has that certain je ne sais quoi.

I'm not saying you are what you wear. Clearly, it's not that simplistic. But the choices we make about our clothes, or shoes, or jewelry, or hair, or tattoos, or accessories, or whatever, serve to project a piece of ourselves to the outside world. There's a reason that we don't all wear the same uniform. There's a reason that some people reach for tie-dyed silk and others reach for beige wool. There's a reason we smile a little brighter when wearing something we find beautiful. Our stylistic choices, no matter how small, help to define us. And minimalism supports that process, it doesn't negate it. By paring away our non-essentials, we are free to become even more of who we are.