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Extreme Minimalism: 7 People Who Pared All the Way Down Talk Living (Nearly) Furniture-Free

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Minimalism is not for everyone. Some of us are moved by a magpie-like spirit to collect and weave every possible flea market find into the ever-expanding tapestry of our home furnishings and decor. But long before Marie Kondo, people have been similarly bewitched by a far more ascetic aesthetic. For a certain subset of the population, even items the majority of us would deem total necessities—like a sofa, chairs, or a bed—just don’t spark joy. Those who max out on minimalism to the extent that they find themselves (happily) on the floor can safely be categorized as “extreme minimalists.”

We typically associate minimalism with ultra-restrained design, but for many furniture-free extreme minimalists, it’s a philosophy and a lifestyle. The sources tapped for this story have chosen to rid themselves of furniture for reasons that have nothing to do with looks. In the Cornwall, UK, abode of endurance athlete, natural lifestyle coach, and author Tony Riddle, home decor aesthetics follow kinesthetics.

When Riddle operated a pilates studio in London about three decades ago, his clients would come in with the exact same injuries and pain complaints, only achieving temporary symptom relief through the practice. The usual suspects? Neck, lower back, and knees, which Riddle understood as areas that should be strong and stable—if not for one major lifestyle choice. “What would compromise all of that? You suddenly realize, ‘Oh, well, the chair,’” he explains. “And the chair only really [came into common use] during the Renaissance period, right? What were we doing prior to that?”

Furniture-free living “reconnects us with our natural biological norm,” Riddle says. “We are more mobile, we end up stronger for it. Our posture just improves within a very short window of time, and it allows for the younger generation to observe how our elderly population can move.”

Photo: Courtesy of Tony Riddle

Understanding the regions of localized pain through that lens, Riddle started to tackle the issue from dual angles: one, prescribing different footwear, and two, encouraging folks to spend more time on the floor. At home, Riddle practices exactly what he preaches. His family abode is largely furniture-free, with just a low dining table, some bolsters, and no beds. His four children have only known the Spartan life. He’s dubbed their version of the extreme minimalism style “primal chic.”

“When my dad was my age, I would hear him groaning as he got in and out of the chair. He didn’t have the capacity to get on the ground because he’d become divorced from it for so long,” he says. “My kids observe me doing all kinds of crazy crawling patterns around the house and squatting, hanging off things.” Health reasons aside, the way Riddle sees it, minimalism actually maximalizes the bang they get for their buck. “If we pay so much money per square foot or meter, yet we just fill it with loads of furniture, you’re literally shuffling to get around the furniture. For us, it was about creating lots of space so our kids could express themselves fully.”



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