
Product test
Who on earth uses a Tangle Teezer anyway? I do!
by Darina Schweizer

Professionally, I test products, privately I get rid of old burdens. After two moves and five mistakes, I realised that less is only more if I make room for the right things.
I'm actually a born minimalist. I'm my parents' only child and stopped growing at 164 centimetres. «Reduced to the max», that's what my 156 centimetre tall (yes, tall!) girlfriend calls me. There's just one problem: I work at Galaxus. As I test (and yes, also buy) lots of products, they pile up at home.
I stand corrected: they are piling up. Because since two moves in six months, nothing is as it used to be.
«How many boxes do you need?», the removal service asks me on my first visit. «At most 30», I estimate. 60 is the maximum. And I've already sorted out once. So I'm about to do it again.
40 boxes left for the second move. I overlook a swivel chair as I'm heaving the boxes around and slam into it. I snort. Things are constantly in the way, I have to decide what goes where. Ain't nobody got time for that?! As I stumble over a decorative birdcage, cursing under my breath, I draw the conclusion, true to the former restaurant tester Daniel Bumann:
«Get rid of all the shit!»
The legacy must go, once and for all. And radically.
My husband and I are revitalising our dusty Ricardo account. We're surprised at how quickly we're selling our scratched gumball machine and hot dog machine. Every five francs we sell feels like winning the lottery! We immediately treat ourselves to new plants, bathrobes and kitchen utensils.
You've already guessed it: we make a few mistakes.
Although I buy a new bathrobe, I keep the old one. You never know when you might end up taking part in a Towel Day. Ha, Dreamer! Two coats have been hanging on my coat hook for months and I only wear one: the old one. One of the same product is enough. Unless it's pants. Although you can also turn them once ... Let's leave that alone.
Tip: When something new comes, something old has to go.
A bathrobe is all well and good. The only problem is that it's always hanging somewhere else and I'm constantly looking for it. This neither minimises my time nor calms my nerves
Tip: designate sensible fixed places.
In addition to the bathrobes, the new plants are also hanging out. Two fold up completely. That's what I get for buying them in a hurry. «I'm not rich enough for cheap products», as the saying goes. Even if the price isn't always the deciding factor. For example, with kettles.
Tip: Pay attention to quality.
As I'm looking in the cutlery drawer for a large spoon that I also need as a scoop for my houseplants, I come across an apple slicer. «Seriously?», I ask myself. «What else do I need it for?» I give myself the answer straight away: The cutter is on Ricardo.
Tip: Keep what I need regularly and for different tasks.
By the way: using the elliptical trainer as a clothes rack might not be the best idea. But the pretty yoga block as a doorstop? Or a drinking bottle as a lamp?

When clearing out my decor, something crystallised: everything that remains has a maritime flair. It fits together stylistically. What goes is a wild jumble of romantic, vintage and ... kitsch?
Tip: Determine the style and create order with uniformity.

Okay. So now I'm taking a reduced, qualitative, multifunctional and standardised approach. So far, so ... impossible? I'm facing an insurmountable hurdle:

I have to realise: I can't be as radical everywhere as I am with the apple cutter. Exceptions include my plants and lighthouses, which I almost worship as a non-believer (which priest would tear down churches?!). In some places, it pays to be moderately minimalist.
And with people, at least selectively.
Because you need to know one thing: Minimalism is a virus. Once your home is affected, the symptoms suddenly start to show in your friendships. And you ask yourself whether they really fit into your life. Of course, they don't have to be uniform. That would be pretty boring. Multifunctional? Not a must, but an advantage. Qualitative? Definitely. Reduced to the most important people? Definitely. Does that apply to me? Moderately.
This realisation makes things uncomfortable. I toss and turn in bed, make lists of pros and cons, listen to my guilty conscience, then to my gut feeling. I realise that no one deserves a girlfriend with minimal conviction. I have a few unpleasant conversations. But then I feel relieved. Everything falls into place.
And the time with the friends who stay? That doubles.
That's one of the greatest gifts of downsizing: You gain time for what matters. You don't have to dig five tangled combs out of a drawer. You reach straight for the Tangle Teezer on the right-hand side of the bathroom shelf.
Minimalism is not a radical renunciation for me. It's a sharpened focus. Incidentally, I've never overlooked the swivel chair that I crashed into. It is now in the home of an elderly gentleman. It fulfils him and relieves me. A maximum gain, I would say.
What do you think of minimalism? How do you sort things out? Tell us in a comment.
I love everything with four legs or roots – especially my rescue cats Jasper and Joy and my collection of succulents. I’m happiest following the scent of stories about police dogs and cat groomers – or cultivating thoughtful tales in garden flea markets and Japanese gardens.
This is a subjective opinion of the editorial team. It doesn't necessarily reflect the position of the company.
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