We have logos or slogans or cute catchphrases on our clothing, and it shows people who we are. We have tattoos or piercings, baseball caps, accessories, smartphones, designer bags, Manolo Blahnik shoes … and these express to others who we are.

In our homes, what we have on our walls shows others who we are. What TV shows we watch, what books we read, what celebrities and blogs we follow. What brands we like on Facebook. This is our identity.

But what happens when you strip all this away? When you are left with plain clothing, a home that is empty and spare … how will you express yourself? What will you use to forge an identity? You could argue that your identity would now be called “Minimalist”, but let’s go beyond that label.

In spareness, we are confronted by a lack. It is a frightening thing if you aren’t accustomed to it. You must take a close look at that lack, and wonder, “What am I left with?”

When there is just you, and nothing else, you must look inside yourself. You have to ask who you are, and again, that can be scary. You start to question whether you are adequate as a person, and then you wonder where this sense of inadequacy comes from. You start to realize that there is nothing more possible than who you already are, that there isn’t anyone who is “more adequate” than you, but only people who are different. If you perceive them to be “better”, that’s only because you are measuring them up to a standard created by someone else. When you remove that arbitrary and meaningless standard, there is no “better”. There is only who you are.

There is an empty room, and you. And you are enough. You are all that’s needed in this room, you fill it with your light and the miracle of your being, and you now realize: the things you used to express yourself, those were just a crutch. You need none of it. You are enough.

In spareness, you find enough.

In order to better prepare you, my lovely and good-hearted reader, for minimalism, it’s my duty to point out some of the downsides. Consider this post my due diligence.

Some downsides to minimalism:

• You get to know Craigslist, Goodwill and other charities all too well as you clean out your clutter.
• You have to figure out other things to do with yourself besides shopping and browsing shopping sites.
• If you travel lightly for a few weeks with only a small carry-on, customs officers might get suspicious — who travels with almost nothing, besides maybe a terrorist? My friends Corbett Barr and his wife Jessie recently had this experience going into Europe with a small bag each — officials didn’t believe they were really traveling for three weeks without luggage.
• People will tease you about which of your two shirts you’re wearing today. I don’t mind this — there are worse things to be teased about.
• If you are a well known minimalist and happen to shop at the Gap or the Apple store, you worry that people will see you and judge you for hypocrisy.
• If you give up your cable TV, you have to find other things to do. I like to read or exercise. Also, you aren’t aware of non-Internet pop culture — I had to Google Jwow recently (didn’t know who she was) and was shocked at how much I’ve apparently been missing.
• Family will harass you about not buying gifts. They will live. So will you.
• You don’t get as good a workout walking around with a light bag instead of one laden with lots of stuff. I put weight plates in my backpack if I want to compensate for this.
• People online will accuse you of being “trendy” because you’re a minimalist. People who aren’t online as much will wonder what the hell a minimalist is.
• Your one pair of jeans will go from being dark and dressy to faded, frayed, and more welcome in an Occupy camp than in nice restaurants.
• When family comes to visit, you’ll be confused as to why they have so much stuff with them, even if they’re just there to visit for a few hours.
• When you go to other people’s houses, you might start mentally fantasizing about getting rid of their stuff for them.
• People will ask you, almost non-stop, how you can be a minimalist with so many kids. If you don’t have any kids, they’ll roll your eyes and say, “Of course you’re a minimalist — you’re a bachelor!”
• People will always, always try to point out the hypocrisy of being a minimalist and something else about you — your articles are too long to be a minimalist! You have 25 books — that’s not minimalist! Etc.
• Others might feel threatened by you, because your minimalism will be seen as a criticism of their lifestyle. They will live.
• You will get weird looks when you turn down free “schwag” at sporting events, conferences, parties. Who doesn’t want a bunch of free promotional junk?
• People will give you pitying looks when they see you have a simple dumb phone, and can’t play Angry Birds or use Instagram on the train like they can.
• If you don’t have a car, people will think you’re poor, even if you are wealthier for not having the car. And healthier, and time rich.

Those people are lying.

Unless you’re a certified Zen Master, you never move beyond wanting stuff (and even the Zen Masters have their temptations, I’m sure). We’re humans, and we have desires. When the new iPhone comes out, I lust over it just as most technophiles like me do.

I don’t, however, buy the iPhone. I’ve lusted after the iPhone since it first came out in 2007, and for more than four years, I’ve resisted getting one. Not because I like torturing myself, nor because I think I’m too cool for an iPhone, but because I don’t want to give in to the lust. I know I don’t need the iPhone, and I know my brain has been tricked into wanting it.

When we want things that are beautiful, cool, sexy (yes, we have semi-sexual desires for objects, and yes that’s weird) … we have been tricked. Not tricked because we’re ignorant, stupid, foolish, but because we’re human. Corporations have become good at tricking us, at tapping into our desires, and as a result we lust for and then buy their products.

Apple is one of the best at this, and it has done such a good job that when I tweeted a small observation about Steve Jobs, I got Hate Tweets for my stupidity, blindness, retardedness, pretentiousness. All those words and more. Because I suggested that Apple’s marketing has worked very, very well on us (myself included).

Apple is not the only one, but it’s one of the best examples. We lust over other brands, including shoes, laptop bags, jeans, coffeemakers, hamburgers and more. The advertising has worked on us.

But don’t be disappointed with yourself. There is no way to stop wanting, but there are ways to reduce the desires.

Stop going to malls and other places designed to get you to buy things.

Stop watching so much TV (or at least block all the ads) because it’s designed to get you to buy stuff.

Stop reading magazines full of ads designed to get you to buy stuff.

Stop reading catalogs, which are just ads.

Stop going to online sites that are full of stuff you might want to buy. Stop going to online shopping sites so much.

Stop looking at the things other people have, online and off, and learn to be happy with what you already have.

And when you do notice yourself wanting something (awareness is everything), pause. Pause some more. Put it on a 30-day list. Wait. The desires go away with time.

Some take more than four years though.

(Thanks to Jeremy Barth for the post idea.)

I thought of that yesterday as I walked around downtown San Francisco, full of advertising and places to shop, full of people buying things.

We are being played. The advertising industry — and the corporations that sell us stuff through ads — has found countless ways to play us, and is winning.

Every movie trailer shown before a movie is an ad that people want to see, and eagerly add the product (the movie) to their mental queues of things to watch later. No matter how empty the movie is, no matter how many times we’ve seen it before in various forms.

Every time Apple comes out with a new product (the new Air! OSX Lion! the new iPad or iPhone!), we eagerly snatch it up, willingly waiting in line for the chance to pay a chunk of our lives — the time spent earning the money it costs to buy the product.

I could go on all day, and in fact, we all go on all day with this game.

Or instead, we could simply say, “I’m not playing that game.” Because honestly, there’s no way we can win.

We don’t have to believe that Apple will make our lives better, cooler, more beautiful. We don’t have to watch the Harry Potter movie (the last one was kinda lame) or every blockbuster that comes out. We don’t have to believe that Victoria’s Secret and H&M will make us sexier, or that we need Lululemon or Gap Body to get fitter, or that we need designer water or Starbucks coffee or Powerbar for health or nourishment, or that we need Bud Light or Heineken to have fun (or get girls).

We don’t need to play. Let’s live instead: everything essential is nearly free anyway.

Is there any use in paring down thinking? I’ve found myself doing this over time, in many areas.

My ideas about exercise have been simplified over the years. I used to worry about the ideal mileage, percentage of increase in mileage, intervals, reps and sets, weights and progression, lifts, workouts, programs … it was very complicated. But as I’ve learned more about fitness, I’ve dropped most of those ideas. I now know that none of that matters much, as I’ve let go of specific fitness goals. Now I just try to move on most days, and have fun doing it. I’ve dropped ideas about schedules, about programs, about loads and goals. I’m left with the simplest of ideas.

Same applies to diet. I used to worry about not eating grains, or soy, or processed foods, or fruits, or chemicals. Should I eat quinoa or steel-cut oats or amaranth or chia seeds or bulgur wheat or buckwheat? I used to count calories. Now I just try to eat real plant foods most of the time, and am mindful of my eating. It’s simpler this way.

About writing: I worried about structure and voice and style and terseness and grammar and schedules and tools and reading the best authors and the snowflake method and editing and much more. Now I just write when I’m inspired, and I let it flow.

About work: I worried about productivity and goals and action items and meetings and paperwork and the Pareto principle and the perfect desk and the perfect computer setup. Now I use simple tools, and do what I’m excited about.

The same is true of anything I’ve done. About finances, I just spend less than I earn, and have my bills paid automatically. About my site, I just write and publish and forget about comments and ads and stats and social networking. About my social life, I just meet with a friend and try to be present. I could go on all day, but you get the point.

When we start out with something, we usually will try everything. But as we learn, we can pare down ideas that we find out don’t matter. We’re left with the essentials.

We’ve lost sight of the simple truth that we need none of these products being pushed on us by marketers and advertisers.

We’ve forgotten that we need very little, and so we buy so much.

And we are oblivious to the fact that corporations use us as advertisements and marketing tools.

I find that disturbing. It’s disturbing in the first place that we’re being used like this, but even more disturbing that we don’t realize it and willingly participate in it.

When we wear things with the logos and slogans of the companies whose products we use (Apple, Nike, Prada, Gucci), we are doing their advertising for them. We are walking billboards. When we tweet about their new products, we aren’t just sharing cool things with our friends, we are playing into their hands. When we post reviews of new gadgets — or read them daily — we are not just sharing and researching good information, we are a part of the marketing machine.

I’m as guilty as anyone, but I think it’s time for us all to reflect on this.

Let’s not be marketers for companies, no matter how cool we think they are. Let’s not identify ourselves by what we buy and use, but what we create and how we help others.

Let’s reject advertising as the dominant form of conversation these days, and rediscover true human interaction.

I think we not only deserve this, we need it.

Nearly everyone who doesn’t consider himself a minimalist has some criticism. Much of that is simply because it’s a trend, and people tend to attack anything trendy. But I think a bigger reason is that people feel threatened when they feel their lifestyle is criticized — and at its core, that’s what minimalism is. A criticism of the (modern) American way of life.

Minimalism isn’t about being cool or hip (though some might think so). It’s about re-examining our lives. It’s bucking against the trend of overconsumption, of consumption as the fundamental act of our lives. It’s a critique of the status quo of owning too much, of mindless buying of gadgets and big cars and clothes and other luxury items.

That critique is threatening to many people, and minimalism’s critics are often justifying their way of life. Take just one of many criticisms (there are too many to name): “I’m not a minimalist, I’m an appropriatist”. Or something like that (I haven’t seen the original quote). Sounds good, but if minimalism is asking “is this really necessary?”, then what does an appropriatist ask? “Is this appropriate?” Well, anyone can say anything is appropriate — my BMW is appropriate for my life, right? Basically, an appropriatist can also be called a “status quoist”.

And that’s just one of many examples. It often feels like when I tell people I’m a vegan — they immediately get defensive about why they eat meat. I think that’s a good thing — at least they’re thinking about it, often for the first time.

Honestly, I have nothing against criticisms of minimalist — in fact I welcome them. Every time I see a criticism, I smile. Minimalism for me isn’t showing off, but simply starting a (long overdue) discussion. And it’s worked: people are talking about these issues, arguing both sides, and that is great. I’m simply asking the critics to consider whether they’re just being defensive, or if they’re arguing from an honest place with rational objections.

My favorite is the Margherita. A simple crust is hand-made, hand-stretched, spread thinly with fresh tomato sauce, with chunks of mozzarella (or vegan cheese) and sprigs of basil strewn about its surface, finished off with a drizzle of perfect olive oil. It goes into an incredibly hot wood oven, where the crust blisters in 60 seconds and, in that briefest moment of purity by fire, a miracle occurs.

The miracle is that these simple ingredients — flour, water, tomatoes, cheese, basil, oil, salt — become the most heavenly substance in the universe: love.

Each ingredient, because it’s not overwhelmed by a smorgasbord of toppings (sausages and four kinds of cheese and caramelized onions and Thai chicken and broccoli or what have you), can be tasted distinctly and appreciated for its simple beauty. Having fewer ingredients allows each to assert itself.

But they also come together in an act of perfect unity, and this shows what minimalism is about. A few things of beauty, when stripped of the extraneous, are allowed to breathe, to shine, to then create a whole that is better than a whole of too many less important things.

This is true of pizza, but also of work and life. Cut back to a few important tasks and your work will be transformed. Do only a few things in life and those things will breathe and take on an importance they never had before. They will create a life that is not only better but is a truer expression of yourself not possible without minimalism.

Minimalism allows your life to be an act of love.

Why do we keep things even if we don’t need or use them? Because we’re afraid we might. Afraid of what could happen if we get rid of those things.

For years I had a car because I worried about emergencies and not being able to do the things I wanted or needed to do. Then I discovered that I could do everything I need and more without a car. And that 911 is better in real emergencies.

This winter in San Francisco it was shockingly cold for an island native like me. I bought much more stuff than I’ve had in awhile (almost all from thrift shops) because I don’t know how to live in cold weather. The uncertainty of what I don’t know caused me to allay those fears with more possessions.

First: as we get to know something better we become more confident that we don’t need as much as we once thought we did. As I learn about living in cold I begin to realize that a few smart items are all I need. As I learn about traveling I learn I need almost nothing. As I learn about blogging I learn I don’t need ads or stats trackers or comments or widgets or Facebook buttons.

Second: fear can be conquered through small tests. Try going without something for just a little while (a day or a week) and see what happens. You’ll find that fears are not as justified as we thought.

Third: sometimes being naked with fear is a good experience. It teaches us a lot about ourselves and about life. It is scary but it awakens us. Live with the fear and without the safety net and see what it’s like to be alive and uninsulated.

Advertising is highly effective — we might not realize it, but it works on our subconscious so that we want to buy things. It plants desires in our minds, and creates a mindset that, whatever our problem, buying something is the solution. It creates the mindset that buying is the norm, and there’s no other choice.

And it’s everywhere. Watch TV, advertising screams at you all day long. Read a newspaper or magazine, go to a website, and it’s in every crevice. It’s on our Facebook and Twitter pages, in our email, on billboards, on buses, in sports events, in public outdoor spaces, on people’s clothing, in 5K races, on blimps in the sky, in podcasts, in iTunes, before a movie starts, subtly (or not so subtly) placed products inside of movies … everywhere. On websites, it’s seen as inevitable, and a site without ads is almost unheard of (very different from the web of 15 years ago, when ads were rare).

But it doesn’t have to be a fact of life, having advertising everywhere. More and more, the future seems to hold more invasive advertising, more personalized so that it will target our minds more effectively (probably streaming directly into our retinas or frontal cortex). But it hasn’t always been like this, and we can decide not to participate in this.

Just a century ago, advertising wasn’t nearly so intrusive. A century before that, it didn’t really exist (at least not the way we normally recognize it). Sure, there have always been people calling out their wares, but it’s become a whole different order of magnitude — many many orders.

We don’t have to submit. There are other ways of doing things. We don’t have to let corporations control our minds and our lives.

What’s the alternative? First, we must get out of the consumerist mindset — think about what’s really essential, rather than needing to buy all the time. Second, we must imagine other possibilities. It’s hard to do that when we’ve been trained to think in terms of buying and selling, in terms of commerce instead of people. Yes, we need to make a living, but making a living doesn’t mean selling — it means living. We’ve forgotten that, and it’s time to start remembering.