There has been a blowout in blogger descriptions and Instagram bios that now carry the Millennial on-trend tag of “Minimalist”.

Lover. Liker. Foodie. Minimalist. 

Minimalism used to mean a style of sculpture and paintings in the 1950s and avant-garde music, but it now referred to a movement where people kept things they valued and tossed things that got in the way of a “meaningful” life.

Though it seemed commonsense enough, Minimalism had generated a new wave of Minimalist bloggers, writers, speakers and experts in the field the world over. While checking out some authorities on the topic, it occurred to me that buying another book was really at odds with the whole concept something in the order of Sweet Paleo Biscuits. (A copy of Clutterfree With Kids would only make, well, more mess!)

I discovered a Newcastle family who removed 1000 items from their home in early 2015 as part of a 30-Day Minimalism Game before they spent a year house and pet sitting across the US.

While I have done a major clean-out at home every summer for years – my one-in, one-out policy on stuff always comes unstuck around Christmas-time – I was intrigued by the Minimalism Game. I wondered if decluttering might be more fun if there were some rules.

The Minimalism Game is the brainchild of American authors, podcasters, filmmakers and public speakers Joshua Fields Millburn and Ryan Nicodemus, known as The Minimalists, who dropped out of the corporate world six years ago to pursue a minimalist lifestyle.

Nicodemus owns just 51 material things in the world. (He clearly doesn’t fall for books like me or do Christmas!)

According to the 30-Day Minimalism Game you must find a friend or family member: someone who’s willing to get rid of their excess stuff. During the month, each of you must get rid of one thing on the first day. On the second, two things. Three items on the third, and so on. Anything can go: clothes, furniture, electronics, tools or decorations. People donate, sell or throw out these goods. Each material possession must be out of your house – and out of your life – by midnight each day.

Wanting to keep the experiment in-house, I recruited our two daughters for the Minimalism Game.

Our youngest donated five Shopkins figures and a bear that, in fact, belonged to her sister. Our eldest was happy to part with 85 per cent of her wardrobe and all of her shoes on the proviso we could head directly to Witchery and replace everything immediately. When I told her that wasn’t the aim of the game, she quickly reconsidered her donations.

On day two I found two CDs to return to Musikids, on day three I parted with three cookery books and by the end of the month I had bagged scores of clothes and toys our girls had outgrown.

While technically the items were out of the house by midnight, they rolled around in my car boot for weeks until I finally got to the charity shop. School bags, groceries and even the dog had to travel up front as the hatchback was packed to the hilt.

So while Minimalism can lighten the load on the homefront, it may just weigh you down on the open road for weeks.

I am now officially qualified to update my Instagram bio: Lover. Liker. Foodie. Procrastinator.