Imlisanen Jamir
Minimalism is sweeping through our homes, our public spaces, and our very sense of style. There’s a strange irony in the way this aesthetic—a design trend born from a philosophy of “less is more”—has become a new status symbol. Beige walls, clean lines, and rooms stripped of adornments have crept into our daily lives, replacing the warm colors and complex patterns we once called our own. And in our enthusiasm for this minimalist allure, there is a subtle erasure happening, a “beige-ification” of our world that we should think twice about. It is as if in the rush to embrace simplicity, we are unwittingly sanding down the vibrant texture of our heritage.
Walk through the new buildings, and you’ll see this transformation in real-time. Gone are the intricate designs, the textured wood, and the well-loved, if a bit cluttered, décor that filled the homes of our grandparents. Instead, we see flats stripped to their basics, where expression has been drained down to neutral tones and sharp edges. The walls are bare, save for a single black-and-white photo, and perhaps a single potted plant, positioned just so. There’s a uniformity to it all, an IKEA-catalog quality that, while stylish, feels a bit too hollow, a bit too perfect.
Minimalism, with its promise of simplicity and clarity, resonates as a form of self-discipline. It tells us to rid ourselves of unnecessary possessions, to declutter our homes and our minds. This idea has value; there’s no question about that. Who doesn’t want a bit more space, a bit more clarity? And in the often chaotic world of everyday life, minimalism gives us permission to strip down, to breathe. But here’s the thing: what is it that we’re clearing out? It seems that in embracing the aesthetic, we’re also clearing out nuance, tradition, and, perhaps, a bit of our identity.
If you look closely, minimalism is not just a design choice; it’s a worldview. By championing the idea that “less is more,” we start to see complexities as clutter, something to be erased or hidden. But communities like ours aren’t simple, and neither are its people. Our history, our art, our way of life is filled with vibrant details, with contradictions and curiosities that cannot be boiled down to a few minimalist principles. In minimizing, we may end up simplifying a reality that, by nature, is beautifully complex.
Look at the architecture—once filled with local touches, it is now drawing inspiration from what we see on Instagram feeds and in glossy magazines. This isn’t accidental. In a globalized world, many so-called “developing” communities have begun to adopt aesthetics and styles that represent affluence in the Western world. Minimalism has become aspirational, a signal that we, too, can join the ranks of the affluent. But in this aspiration, there’s a danger that we might lose sight of what makes us unique. The IKEA-fication of Nagaland means we are becoming curators of a borrowed culture, presenting a sanitized version of ourselves that aligns with Western ideals of taste and simplicity.
The concept of the “whitewashing” of ancient Greek statues offers an interesting parallel to discussions on minimalism and aesthetics. Contrary to the common perception that ancient Greek and Roman sculptures were originally pristine white, these artworks were actually painted in vibrant colors. Over centuries, however, their pigments faded or were intentionally removed, especially during the Renaissance, when scholars mistakenly believed that the Greeks and Romans preferred pure white marble. This perception of whiteness as a form of “purity” in classical art led to a broader cultural association between white aesthetics and “civilized” ideals.
Minimalism may seem like a path to sophistication, but it is also a path to homogeneity. The beige walls, the decluttered surfaces—they look the same everywhere. And maybe that’s the point. Maybe minimalism, in its quest for beauty and simplicity, is really just a way to erase the wrinkles, the textures, and the details that make our world interesting.
Comments can be sent to imlisanenjamir@gmail.com
