Minimalismvs.Simplicity:WhyLessIsn'tAlwaysMore

"Keep it simple."

It's the most common design advice, repeated so often it's become meaningless. But what does "simple" actually mean? And is it the same as "minimal"?

At Bloosh, our minimalistic approach is often misunderstood. People see clean lines and assume we're removing features. They see unadorned surfaces and think we're prioritizing aesthetics over function.

They're wrong.

The Minimalism Trap

Minimalism has become a aesthetic movement divorced from its original purpose. What started as a philosophy about intentionality has devolved into a style characterized by white walls, empty spaces, and the absence of ornamentation.

This aesthetic minimalism often makes things harder to use, not easier.

Consider the modern smartphone. Sleek, minimal, beautiful—and completely dependent on a screen to tell you anything. Compare this to a traditional camera with physical dials and buttons. More complex visually, but often simpler to use.

The camera is simple. The phone is minimal. There's a difference.

Defining Terms

Let's be precise about what we mean:

Minimalism is about reduction. It asks: what can we remove?

Simplicity is about clarity. It asks: what do users need to understand?

Minimalistic design (our approach) is about intentionality. It asks: what deserves to be here?

These are fundamentally different questions that lead to different outcomes.

The LILI Chair: A Case Study

When we designed the LILI chair, we could have made it minimal—a simple seat and backrest, nothing more. But that would have been minimalism for its own sake.

Instead, we asked: what does this chair need to do well?

The answer led to what appears simple but is actually quite complex:

• Two curved pieces that merge to form the seat and backrest
• Precise angles calculated for lumbar support
• A continuous steel frame that provides both structure and visual flow
• Fabric upholstery positioned exactly where the body needs cushioning

The result looks minimal. But it's not about removing elements—it's about ensuring every element earns its place.

The Intentionality Test

Here's how we distinguish between minimalism and simplicity in our work:

Minimalism asks: Can we remove this?

Simplicity asks: Does this make the product easier to understand or use?

Intentionality asks: Does this serve the user's needs better than any alternative?

Sometimes these questions lead to the same answer. Often they don't.

When More Is Actually Simpler

The MULTI table is a perfect example of when adding features creates simplicity.

On the surface, it's complex: TV mount, paper roll holder, storage drawers, integrated lighting, cable management, mobility system. That's a lot of features.

But the alternative—having separate products for each function—is actually more complex from the user's perspective. More things to buy, more things to position, more things to maintain.

By integrating these functions, we made the user's experience simpler even though the product itself is more complex.

This is the paradox: sometimes complexity in the product creates simplicity in use.

The Hidden Complexity of Simple Things

People often don't realize how much work goes into making something appear simple.

Take the ZERO pouf. It looks like a simple cushioned cube. But achieving that simplicity required:

• Extensive testing of foam densities to find the perfect balance between comfort and support
• Development of a magnetic connection system that's invisible but secure
• Careful selection of fabrics that are durable, cleanable, and comfortable
• Precise proportions that work both individually and in combination

The simplicity is the result of complexity, not the absence of it.

The Danger of Aesthetic Minimalism

When minimalism becomes purely aesthetic, it often sacrifices usability:

Removing visual cues that help people understand how to use something.

Hiding controls in the name of clean surfaces, making products harder to operate.

Eliminating redundancy that provides backup when primary systems fail.

Reducing material to the point where durability suffers.

We see this constantly in consumer products. Beautiful objects that are frustrating to use. Minimal interfaces that require memorizing hidden gestures. Furniture that looks great but fails after a year.

This isn't good design. It's styling masquerading as design.

Our Minimalistic Approach

When we say Bloosh has a minimalistic approach, we mean something specific:

1. Material Honesty

We don't hide what things are made of or how they're constructed. The materials and construction methods are part of the design, not something to conceal.

The powder-coated steel frame of the LILI chair isn't hidden—it's celebrated. It's structural, visual, and tactile all at once.

2. Functional Clarity

Every element should make the product's function more obvious, not less. If you can't tell how to use something by looking at it, we've failed.

The HOOP stool's circular base immediately suggests its swivel function. You don't need instructions.

3. Appropriate Complexity

We add complexity where it serves the user and remove it where it doesn't. The question isn't "how minimal can we make this?" but "what does this need to do its job well?"

4. Longevity Through Quality

Our "consume less and build more" philosophy means creating products that last. This requires robust construction, quality materials, and timeless design—none of which are about minimalism per se.

The Sustainability Connection

There's a sustainability argument here that's often overlooked.

Minimal products that break quickly or become obsolete aren't sustainable, no matter how little material they use. Simple products that do their job well for decades are sustainable, even if they use more material initially.

We'd rather create a chair that lasts 20 years than one that looks more minimal but needs replacing every 5 years.

When Minimalism Works

To be clear: minimalism isn't always wrong. It works beautifully when:

The function is genuinely simple. A coat hook doesn't need complexity.

The context supports it. In a carefully controlled environment, minimal products can thrive.

The user is expert. Professional tools can be minimal because users understand the domain.

Aesthetics are the primary function. Sometimes beauty is the point.

But these are specific cases, not universal truths.

The Middle Path

The best design often lives in the tension between minimalism and complexity:

• Enough features to be useful, but not so many that they overwhelm
• Enough visual information to be clear, but not so much that it's cluttered
• Enough durability to last, but not so much that it's overbuilt
• Enough flexibility to adapt, but not so much that it's unfocused

This middle path is harder than either extreme. It requires judgment, testing, and iteration. It requires understanding users deeply enough to know what they need versus what they think they want.

Practical Implications

If you're designing products or spaces:

Don't start with "how minimal can this be?" Start with "what does this need to do?"

Test with real users. What seems simple to you might be confusing to others.

Consider the full lifecycle. Simple to manufacture isn't the same as simple to use or maintain.

Be honest about trade-offs. Every design decision has costs and benefits. Acknowledge them.

Remember that context matters. What works in one situation might fail in another.

The Real Goal

The goal isn't minimalism. It isn't even simplicity.

The goal is appropriateness—creating products that fit their context, serve their users, and do their job well without pretense or excess.

Sometimes that looks minimal. Sometimes it doesn't.

What it always requires is intentionality—every element considered, every decision justified, every feature earning its place.

That's our minimalistic approach. Not less for the sake of less, but exactly what's needed, nothing more, nothing less.

How do you think about minimalism in your own work or space? We'd love to hear your perspective at bloosh.studio@gmail.com.