And while I see the attraction of these devices — I’ve been tempted myself many times — I also know that they are some of the best marketing devices ever.

Yes, they are useful. Thousands of books on one tiny reading device? Amazing, in all sincerity. I’m all for something that encourages reading and lightness at once. They can also be used for work, email, social networking, showing off family photos, watching films, listening to uplifting music, teaching kids math and reading, exploring new worlds … these are very very useful devices, I’ll admit.

But once you get one, what’s the first thing you do? You go to buy some content. Because at their heart, these are content devices, and they come loaded with a little content but not nearly enough to last a day. So you buy books, and this is Amazon’s main goal with the Kindle, and it is wildly successful. The Kindle might cost you $79 (or a bit more), but you’ll spend hundreds if not thousands of dollars on books.

And books are just the start of the buying. If you have an iPad, you’ll buy movies and TV shows and music along with the books. The Kindle Fire will get you to buy these media too. If you have an iPhone or iPod, the music is a must, but other media are also bought in bushels. Android and Nook devices are no different.

Then there are apps. Apple has sold millions of apps from the app store, which means if you have one of their devices, you are likely to buy a bunch as soon as you get your new toy.

So if someone has given you a beautiful new device, they’ve given you a gift that will cost you probably thousands of dollars, not including the cost of connecting the device (which could be just as much money if you need a data plan).

I am not disparaging anyone who has bought or received these devices. They are useful and attractive. But let’s acknowledge their true purpose. With this awareness, we can use our technology with consciousness.

It’s incredible how much people rely on these things, actually, and have come to think they’re necessary.

But they’re not. Consider your grandparents — did they have these luxuries? Did they survive without them? Were they fairly happy without them?

Only after we’ve grown used to these things do we think they’re necessary, but that’s because we’ve bought into the marketing. These things are no longer luxuries — they’re required.

If our grandparents could live without them, and be happy, so can we.

Some things our grandparents lived without, that are really not necessary:

• microwave
• dishwasher
• SUV
• Luxury car
• food processor
• smart phone
• iPad or other tablet
• flat-screen TV
• refrigerators with ice makers (or perhaps refrigeration at all)
• air conditioning
• central heating
• dryers
• Roombas
• hair dryers
• workout machines
• Kindle
• toaster oven

That’s just a start.

I would argue that the computer is the one exception. It is incredibly empowering. The rest are less necessary.

I’m not arguing that you should never get any of these devices. I’m only offering a reminder that it’s not absolutely necessary, and most can be eliminated.

Many of you have seen the video and reviews of the new iPhone 4S, and yes, it looks great.

Don’t rush out to order it. Here’s why: you don’t need it.

True, it is sleek and sexy and full of great features like a great camera and personal assistant and a better screen, etc. But you don’t need it today any more than you needed it yesterday, or 5 years ago.

Yesterday, without the new iPhone, your life was good. Some of you were happy and content and were actually able to do your work and get on with your life without the new iPhone.

Today, Apple announces its newest device, and the press and tech bloggers swoon. We all have to get the latest device, or we’ll no longer be hip, we’ll no longer be part of the “in” crowd.

And yet, is it really that essential? I’ve wanted an iPhone for almost 5 years now, but haven’t bought one because I know I don’t need it. Will it make my life a bit more fun? Sure, possibly — but so will a walk in the park with my kids, or a hike with a friend, or a free book at the library. I don’t need to spend $199 plus thousands of dollars on a 2-year contract to make my life a bit more fun.

Five years ago, the iPhone didn’t exist. It wasn’t a need in your life. You were able to live perfectly without it. And now that it does exist, all of that is true.

It’s Apple’s marketing that has worked on us, and we’re fools for it.

The same, of course, is true of all other technology and sleek consumerist products. It’s just that Apple is better at it than most.

Don’t give in. Fight the marketing, by noticing and letting go of the urges that marketing creates in us. Find contentment without products. You’re better than that.

Also: Why I gave up my iPhone

If you want to start cycling, kayaking, yoga, climbing, adventure racing … one of the first things you do is look to buy the gear that’s required.

I’m not immune to this. I’ve done it a thousand times.

I’ve learned to be wary of this urge to buy new gear.

Thoreau once wrote, “Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes.”

He suggested that if we want to try a new enterprise (or hobby), we do it in our old clothes first. This is good advice.

Want to run? Try it in the clothes you already have. Same thing with yoga, with cycling, with climbing. Try it in your old clothes.

You might need some gear: ropes, a helmet. Borrow or rent them at first. After awhile, if you’re sure you want to do the activity, see if someone is giving it away on Craigslist or Freecycle.

Wait until you’ve changed yourself before you change your clothes and gear.

When you inevitably try something else, don’t get new clothes or gear right away. And when you do find free gear for the new activity, give away your old stuff.

Also consider whether you really need to add a new activity to your life. Can you meet the same needs more simply? When I think about new hobbies, I realize that I can get everything I want by walking, running, playing in the park, going on hikes, reading library books, writing with the tools I already have, spending time simply with family and friends. These require no equipment, no new clothes.

(Thanks to Chris Stott for the post idea.)

Packing light isn’t hard, until you run against the “Just In Case” Syndrome. Actually, having minimal possessions in your life isn’t hard, until you face this syndrome.

You already know what the “Just In Case” Syndrome is, without me having to describe it. You keep things (in your bag, or in your home or office) not because you actually need it, but just in case.

But when we look at this with actual evidence, we see that “just in case” means we keep a lot of stuff we don’t actually use. Try an experiment: monitor the “just in case” stuff you pack on a trip, or keep in your home. Make a list of the stuff you keep for “just in case” — stuff you haven’t used in the last few months but are worried you might need it.

Then see how many times in next 6-9 months you actually use that stuff.

I went on a trip to London & Paris recently and packed fairly light … but even then it turned out I packed stuff I didn’t need. I took running shoes and workout clothes that I barely used, because I was so tired from walking all day (and I could do bodyweight exercises in my apartment). I had an extra pair of pants and an extra shirt I didn’t need. I really didn’t need any guide books.

I made a list of the things I really used, and the things I didn’t. For my next trip (a weekend in Portland), I only took the things I really used in London & Paris. It was a small backpack, and it turned out to be perfect. I’m doing the same for Guam, though the trip is much longer and I’m much more likely to be swimming.

I have two pairs of shorts, a pair of jeans, three T-shirts, deodorant, two pairs of socks, two pairs of quick-drying boxers. That’s all I think I’ll need. If it turns out I need more, I can buy it, but I don’t think I’ll need it.

We’ll see. And that’s the key: don’t just worry you might need it … find out.

A minimalist is simply one who questions the necessity of things, and who tries to live with what’s necessary, rather than with consumerism.

The 100 thing challenge is just a tool: by trying to reduce your possession to 100 things, it forces you to look at them and ask, ‘Is this really necessary? Can I live without it?’

So forget about the 100 things challenge, and instead just as yourself the questions. Is it really necessary? Can you live without it?

For example, could you live without these things:

• Cable TV
• A smart phone
• Any kind of cell phone
• Any kind of TV
• An Internet connection
• A couch
• More than one pair of shoes
• More than a few shirts, or pants
• A microwave
• A car
• Sweets
• More than a handful of books (at a time)
• Makeup
• Hair
• Mementos

Some of you will find a few of those items so necessary that it’s ridiculous to ask the question. And I’m not saying you should give any of these things up … I’m only suggesting you ask the questions.

There’s no one way to practice minimalism — you can do it living out of an RV, backpacking around the world, living in a tiny house, living on a large farm, living anywhere. For me, it means enjoying a simple life with my wife and kids, learning to be content and not needing to buy things all the time, living with fewer possessions but more time to do the things I love, living with space in my life.

I can do that anywhere.

Sure, many people in cities (including S.F.) are busy. That doesn’t mean I have to be. Many people drive around crazily in cars all day — but I walk or take transit. Many people are caught up in a life where they have to impress others, but that’s less important to me.

Housing in San Francisco is expensive, but other than that I need to spend very little — I mostly cook for myself with simple ingredients, shop at thrift stores when I need something, and walk. What San Francisco does offer that I love is a health-conscious environment, a gathering of amazing independent-minded people who are doing their own thing and loving it, a spirit of open-mindedness and a love for nature and art, a great place for my kids to explore. Also, the Giants.

At the same time, others wonder whether they can live a minimalist life in the suburbs or a small town, where they don’t have access to good public transit and must rely on a car. Of course you can: learn to find contentedness, get rid of unnecessary stuff, spend your time doing free or cheap things you love instead of shopping. You can also go car-lite if you like, walking and riding a bike when possible, and doing things at home or in your neighborhood much of the time. In fact, some people have ditched their cars completely while living in the country or suburbs — even people with kids.

Minimalism doesn’t need any one type of environment. There are no prerequisites for minimalism. Do it however you want, however you can, wherever you want.

I’m the last guy that GQ would interview for this series (I have no sense of style, to start with), but it got me to thinking: what are my “10 essentials”?

And so I made a list:

1. What I wear: jeans. I love the thick texture of jeans. I wear them every day. Some people like synthetic fabrics because they’re lightweight and dry fast, but jeans are just comfortable. I only buy my jeans at Goodwill.

2. What I also wear: T-shirt. I only have a few — black, blue, and grey — but I wear them everyday until they get thin.

3. How I hydrate: water. I do drink coffee and tea, but neither compares to plain water. I drink from the tap, throughout the day.

4. What I love to eat: fruit. Fresh from the farmer’s market, or berries picked straight from the bush. Mmmm.

5. What entertains me: books. Any type. I get them used, from friends or the library.

6. My essential writing tool: a text editor. I’ll also take a pen and small notebook, especially if I’m out and about and feel like writing.

7. What I do for fun: walk. I like to go outside and just take in the city, or nature. I don’t even need shoes — barefoot walking is even more enjoyable. Even better: walk with someone I like.

8. Where I go for inspiration: nature. A nice park, a garden, a forest, the ocean, hills.

I ran out of things at this point — and the last couple aren’t exactly things. I really tried for 10 items but I can’t think of more. If I have the 8 items above, I’m very happy: jeans & t-shirt, water & fruit, a book and a notebook, a walk in nature.

I could live on just those items — of course I’d need other food for nourishment, but not much more. I don’t even need a computer — I could write in a notebook and use a computer at a library to post to my blog.

You don’t need consumerism to be very happy — in fact, I’d argue that life is better without it.

We want to lose weight, we buy weight loss books, workout equipment, diet pills, nutritional supplements, a fitness program. We sign up for the gym or a class or a trainer.

We want to travel, we buy a suitcase, a travel pillow, the perfect carry-on luggage, maybe even special clothes or equipment for traveling.

We want to start meditating, we might get a meditation pillow, or sign up for a class, or buy a book, or get a timer, or get the perfect meditation clothes.

You get the picture — any new endeavor might not only require the new clothes that Thoreau warned us about, but new equipment, books, DVDs, gadgets, software.

But adding these things to our lives brings problems, not just solutions: they’re often added expenses, sometimes adding to our debt or financial problems; they’re more clutter in an already cluttered life; they must be dealt with and tracked and maintained and stored; they each extract a high environmental cost; it takes transportation to acquire the new things; and so on.

And often, these new things bring problems without being the solutions we desired.

Another thing to consider, rather than adding, is subtracting.

If you think you need a new notebook in order to write, maybe the problem isn’t your lack of a notebook, but your desire for a nice new one. Subtract the desire, and you can write without acquiring.

If you want a new iPhone (as I often find myself doing), consider whether this is a true need, or just a desire that can be eliminated. If you want new workout equipment, consider whether you can work out without any equipment.

An empty room (or the outdoors) contains all you need, other than food and water and basic clothing. In an empty room, you can meditate, sleep, pray, think, compose, do a workout, talk with a friend.

What you already have beyond an empty room — books or access to a library, a computer or access to one at a library, pens, maybe some paper, and all the other possessions in your life — are way, way more than you need.

When you subtract the desire, you can subtract possessions, and leave your mind, heart, and life free. Then the possibilities are endless.

The plan: sell, donate, or give away almost everything we owned. We hoped to keep a backpack of clothes each (to be carried on the plane), and a box of personal stuff each that would be shipped to us once we had a home. Everything else would be sold in a yardsale, given to family & friends who needed them, or donated to charity. Then we’d start from scratch — buying used as much as possible, and getting as little as possible.

That mostly happened according to plan. We did sell, give away and donate practically everything we owned. There is an amazing amount of stuff in drawers and closets that turns up when you’re actually emptying out your house — canned goods, ziploc bags, tools, brooms, bathroom cleaners, things like that — even when you’re a minimalist at heart. It turned out to be a lot of work emptying out our home completely. So not as minimalist as I’d hoped, but again, no one’s perfect.

Moving with a backpack each was nice. We didn’t have any luggage to check in on our flight. In practice, just about all the bags were carried by me and my oldest son, Justin, so we were loaded with three backpacks/duffel bags each. That was OK, but definitely tiring when your trip includes a flight to Japan with a 9-hour layover, a long flight to L.A., and another flight to San Francisco, with ridiculous amounts of security checks at each stop.

We found a home within a week, which was faster than we’d dared to hope. That wasn’t all that minimalist either — we were going all over the city (commuting from Alameda each morning, where we were staying with my cousin) looking at houses. Realtors don’t like to make appointments in advance it seems, so each morning I’d have a list of places from Craigslist and I’d make calls, trying to set up appointments. We walked around a bunch of different neighborhoods in the first week, getting a feel for them. Our favorite was Cole Valley, by far, and that’s where we finally settled.

The first night in our new place was minimalist as hell. We had a futon and an air mattress, some pillows and blankets. We also bought bathroom and kitchen supplies, and not much else. Our home was empty, and cold (I didn’t find the heater until morning).

The first week in our new house, we ran all over town trying to get furniture and other home necessities (dishes, rugs, etc.). A lot of it we got off Craigslist, which is very cool, but it turns out to be hard to do when you don’t have a car or truck. I ended up grouping the pick-ups of used furniture into two-hour windows, and hiring a small mover to pick them up with me. One day I rented a U-haul truck. Another day I picked up a rug, rolled it up, carried it 10 blocks by foot, and then took the rug on the train. It wasn’t too bad.

The disappointing thing is we ended up buying a fair amount of new stuff — a couple beds (we got one used), mattresses, curtains, rugs, kitchen and bathroom stuff. I dislike doing this, as it’s a huge waste of natural resources, but we didn’t find used versions of these things that we liked. Perhaps our standards were too high.

Today, we’re mostly settled in. We don’t have a TV, which I love, but considering I don’t make all the decisions I’m not sure how long that will last. We have computers and wireless Internet, food from farmer’s markets. We don’t have a car and won’t get one, period. We don’t have bikes yet but will. Our home is pretty minimalist, which is a great thing about starting from scratch. We’ll see how long it lasts.