Sustainable Maximalism

Sustainable fashion has moved beyond minimalism. In fact, I most often see everyday people embracing loud, bold, and eclectic looks at events like clothing swaps and vintage markets. They rattle with stacks of jewelry, sporting collisions of decades and styles. Their aesthetic is wild, indefinable, delightfully experimental.

But how did we get to this point? There was a time when conflating environmental ideals with maximalism seemed contradictory. The word “maximalism” brought to mind surplus and waste—whether through the lavish indulgence of the wealthy or the trend-chasing carelessness of mass consumers. So I’ve put together a few thoughts on the history of maximalism and how its meaning is shifting: how something once tied to excess is now being used to question it.

@lolfashiondump perfectly exemplifies sustainable maximalist style.

Let’s start by defining maximalism in the context of fashion. At its simplest, maximalism is the embrace of “more”—more colors, more details, more layers. Historically, when every article of clothing had to be hand-made, only the wealthy could afford to indulge in “more.” Lavish details and racks of clothing testified to an abundance of time and money, underscoring the elite’s ability to waste both. Therefore, maximalism was a clear signifier of class and status.

But the Industrial Revolution changed all of that. Mass production made large quantities of clothing accessible to the broader population, and even the careful, intricate details that once relied on an excess of time and attention could now be factory-produced. Gone was the exclusivity that made maximalism a symbol of the wealthy—but they were not about to let the lines of class blur so easily. A new mode of differentiation replaced the exhibition of pure excess: discernment. Making the right choices, knowing the right “secret codes”—think “quiet luxury,” “old money,” all those articles and video essays analyzing Succession. And there’s an equally striking counter-reaction: now that maximalist displays of wealth were accessible to everyone, the elite began to see it as garish, signaling a lack of refinement. Maximalism was now the realm of the nouveau riche, flaunting their wealth without the know-how to do so “correctly.” In later decades, it came to evoke the perceived tastelessness of logomania, as well as the flamboyant, unabashed spirit linked to drag, camp, and sex work.

But this newly invigorated emphasis on discernment didn’t just affect the wealthy. In a world saturated with options, discernment is essential for clothing to mean anything at all, to anyone. Distinct subcultures, aesthetic movements, and other identity-based communities use specific clothing choices to set themselves apart. And, of course, environmentalists also champion the art of discernment, emphasizing thoughtful consumption, intentional selection, and a deep awareness of impact as essential to sustainable fashion.

Sharing the elite’s veneration of discernment isn’t the problem, though. It’s that many of these groups also share their view of maximalism as the antithesis of such discernment. They equate it with excess, impulsivity, and superficiality. To them, maximalism represents wastefulness: a haphazard chase of trends lacking cohesion or care, with aesthetic overload read as a marker of unclear identity—or even disregard for the planet.

Current nail trends contain maximalist elements.  @culturamanicura, @littlekissko 

But is that really what maximalism is? If we return to its most basic definition—simply an embrace of more—we might begin to see it in a new light. A sustainable approach maximalism favors layering and expansion over discarding and replacing, viewing fresh trends and evolving aesthetics not as fleeting swaps, but as enriching additions that allow style to evolve without a complete restart. It’s a deliberate move away from boxed-in trends and preset aesthetics, positioning maximalism as the epitome of personal style—which is arguably the most sustainable approach to fashion there is.

This isn’t to say maximalism is the answer for everyone. If a streamlined, curated wardrobe is what you like, great! The point isn’t to promote a one-size-fits-all approach, but to expand how we think about sustainable fashion. Abundance isn’t automatically wasteful; it can serve as a living archive of someone’s evolving, layered, and hard-to-define style. A mix of seemingly mismatched pieces doesn’t have to read as chaos. It can be a conscious rejection of trends or rigid aesthetics, a way of resisting being boxed in. Sometimes, embracing “more” is simply about making more space for meaning.

Credits for Cover Photo: @baileymcwhinnie, @lolfashiondump, @saracamposarcone, @culturamanicura