The Maximalist Problem (That We Secretly Love)
Let me be the first to say it: I am not a minimalist. Never have been*, never will be. I love my clothes loud, proud, and full of personality. My wardrobe is a kaleidoscope of prints, textures, sequins, and fabrics that rustle when I walk. There’s absolutely no universe in which I could whittle that all down to ten beige pieces and call it a capsule. Respectfully, no thank you. Maximalist fashion is how I express my joy, my chaos, and my very specific love for vintage denim jackets covered in pins.
That being said, owning a maximalist wardrobe is not for the faint-hearted. It’s a little bit like hosting a never-ending party in your closet, and everyone showed up wearing their loudest outfit and refuses to leave. My wardrobe is essentially a curated art gallery, but instead of paintings, it’s dresses from 2009 I still wear once a year and jackets I’ve collected across eras, each one worn with both reverence and revery. And when it’s all stuffed into a tiny wardrobe that still thinks we live in 1974? Chaos.
I’ve spent the last few years trying to make sense of my collection without turning into Marie Kondo (love her, but she’d probably faint in my dressing room). I want everything to still spark joy, but also be findable without me having to scream “WHERE IS MY FLORAL MAXI WITH THE BELL SLEEVES” every other morning. If you’re a fellow maximalist drowning in sequins and sass, let me walk you through how I organise it all without losing the plot.
*I toyed with it once. It was not for me.
Categorise Like a Goblin Queen
The first thing I had to accept was that the standard organisation rules just don’t apply to maximalists. We are not here for simplicity. We are here for layers, moods, and outfit transformations. So instead of trying to fit my wardrobe into someone else’s structure, I created categories that made sense for me. Not just “tops” and “bottoms” but things like: “Clothes I wear when I want to feel hot and powerful”, “Clothes I forgot I owned but still love deeply”, and “Clothes for when I want to look like a romantic ghost”. You get the vibe.
Once those categories were sorted, I grouped them loosely by type but tightly by vibe. For example, all my statement blazers live together like a power squad. My floaty dresses get their own rail because they’re delicate and dramatic, and need space to breathe. I keep my glittery things near the front because if I can’t see them, I forget I own them and end up buying more glittery things. (I still buy more glittery things, but with slightly more guilt now.)
The key is to think about how you dress, not how you think you should dress. If you regularly wear a tutu with Doc Martens to the supermarket (respect), then don’t bury that tutu in the back of your cupboard under your “formal wear”. Maximalism is about joy. Organising it should feel like creating an altar to your joy, not a punishment for having too many clothes. Which is not even a thing, by the way.
Storage Hacks for People Who Own Five Almost-Identical Leopard Print Jackets
Let’s talk storage. If you’re anything like me, you’ve got more clothes than your actual wardrobe can handle. I have personally declared war on my Glam Room more than once, but we always make up. Because the trick isn’t just in what you hang up, it’s how you store everything else. Foldable storage boxes are my secret weapon. I label them by season or occasion: “Summer Heatwave Delulu”, “Autumn Cottagecore”, “Beach But Make It Fashion”. This way I can rotate my pieces out based on the time of year, instead of everything fighting for space like it’s a sample sale.
I don’t have under-bed storage anymore, but when I did, it was sacred space for all things soft and cosy: pyjamas, socks, jumpers, and anything that felt like a hug. These weren’t just storage boxes, they were like little dens of comfort waiting for their seasonal moment to shine.
These days, my accessories and jewellery have upgraded to their own dedicated console table in the glam room. It’s my treasure chest. I’ve got storage boxes with tidy little drawers, so everything has its place and I’m not left clawing through a sea of tangled chains like a raccoon at a rave.
It makes getting dressed feel like shopping my own collection. Necklaces, earrings, sunglasses, and even my belts all live harmoniously together. It’s practical, but it also feels posh. And when everything has a home, I spend less time screaming and more time serving looks.
Oh, and one more thing: stop keeping broken hangers. You deserve better. Treat yourself to the velvet ones. They’re non-slip, they make everything look chic, and they stop your favourite dramatic sleeve from sliding into the abyss of your floordrobe. Honestly, if my wardrobe was a person, velvet hangers would be the respect it was begging for.
My wardrobe is a museum of every version of me I’ve ever loved – and some I’m still becoming.
Maintenance for the Chronically Distracted
Now, maintaining a maximalist wardrobe takes a bit of upkeep, especially if your executive function likes to take surprise holidays like mine does. I don’t do a full clean every week. That’s a dream. But what I do try to do is a 15-minute tidy once a week with a good playlist, a snack, and zero expectations. I call it my “wardrobe worship”. It’s mostly fluffing sleeves, folding jumpers, and putting clothes back on hangers that I lovingly yeeted across the bed.
If I’m really in the mood (which happens exactly once every three months), I’ll do a deep sort. That means trying stuff on, seeing if it still fits my vibe, and parting ways with the bits I’m no longer excited about. I don’t force myself to be ruthless. Sometimes I just need to hang onto something for a bit longer. That’s okay. Just because I haven’t worn that galaxy-print dress since 2016 doesn’t mean it’s not still part of my story.
What helps the most, honestly, is making it a ritual. Cup of tea in hand, cat supervising from the bed (or climbing into the clothing rack, Lulu I’m looking at you), and a gentle reminder that this is not a chore. This is tending to the art gallery of my identity. It’s a living, breathing archive of my joy, my self-expression, and my chaotic taste. And that deserves a little love.
Remember…
Maximalism isn’t about chaos, even if it looks like it. It’s about intention, passion, and wearing your heart on your sequinned sleeve. And with a little bit of creative organising, you can keep the joy alive without accidentally burying your favourite pieces under a pile of tulle.
So go on, darling. Make a mess, then make it fabulous again.
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