Why “Less is More” Is More Complicated Than It Seems

We all love the idea of simplicity. It’s why we admire clean, minimalist designs and why slogans like “less is more” resonate so deeply. But here’s the twist: simplicity isn’t simple. In fact, the simpler something seems, the more complexity it often hides behind the scenes.

Think about the sleek iPhone in your pocket. Its minimalist design makes it feel effortless to use, but it’s anything but effortless to create. From sourcing rare minerals to assembling its intricate components, the iPhone relies on a global supply chain that’s mind-bogglingly complex. Simplicity, it turns out, is often just a well-organized form of complexity.

This paradox isn’t new. Even 5,000 years ago, humans like Ötzi the Iceman—whose preserved remains were found in an Alpine glacier—relied on a surprisingly intricate network of tools, trade, and knowledge to survive. Simplicity has always leaned on the hidden scaffolding of complexity.

Minimalism’s Hidden Helpers

Minimalism has become a modern buzzword. We declutter our homes, pare down our wardrobes, and try to focus on what truly matters. But here’s a question worth asking: is minimalism truly simple? Or is it just a different way of working with complexity?

Take modern minimalists, who often pride themselves on owning fewer, high-quality items. Their favorite possessions—like a MacBook or a smartphone—are usually chosen for their sleek, minimalist appeal. But let’s not forget what it takes to make these items. The materials for a single smartphone might come from half a dozen countries, each relying on specialized industries and technologies.

Even beyond gadgets, minimalism depends on the conveniences of modern life. Minimalists in urban areas often rely on public transportation, shared services, and readily available utilities like water, electricity, and Wi-Fi. These systems are far from simple. They’re the result of centuries of innovation, coordination, and effort. Minimalism might feel like stepping away from complexity, but in reality, it’s just a curated way of interacting with it.

What Ötzi the Iceman Can Teach Us

Let’s go back to Ötzi, the 5,000-year-old mummy found frozen in the Alps. You might picture him as a rugged, self-reliant figure living a simple life close to nature. But his story tells us something surprising: even in the distant past, humans relied on each other—and on surprisingly sophisticated systems.

Take Ötzi’s copper axe. Copper doesn’t just fall out of the sky; it has to be mined, smelted, and crafted. The flint in his tools came from quarries far from where he lived, meaning he probably traded for it or acquired it through a network of exchanges. Even his clothes, made from different animal hides, suggest a level of skill and knowledge that wasn’t his alone.

In other words, Ötzi’s survival wasn’t about going solo—it was about being part of a community. His “simple” life depended on a hidden web of cooperation, trade, and shared expertise. The same is true for us today.

The Myth of Self-Sufficiency

There’s something romantic about the idea of living completely self-sufficiently, off the grid, free from the noise of modern life. Stories like Robinson Crusoe tap into this fantasy, showing a lone individual surviving against the odds. But if you look closer, even Crusoe’s story reveals how hard true isolation really is.

To survive, Crusoe had to recreate the tools and systems of the world he left behind. He built shelters, grew food, and made weapons, all by himself. But think about what that required: knowledge, skills, and techniques developed by countless people over generations. Crusoe wasn’t starting from scratch—he was relying on the civilization he once knew.

The same is true for us. No matter how independent we think we are, we’re all standing on the shoulders of countless others. The food we eat, the homes we live in, and the tools we use all come from a vast, interconnected network of people. Even the most self-sufficient among us depend on this shared foundation.

Minimalism Isn’t Isolation

Modern minimalism isn’t about rejecting complexity—it’s about choosing how to engage with it. When minimalists keep only a few possessions, they’re not stepping away from modern life entirely. They’re just being selective about which parts of it they prioritize.

For example, a minimalist might own a smartphone because it allows them to work, communicate, and stay organized. It feels simple and streamlined, but only because they’re relying on the enormous complexity of the global supply chain that makes the device possible. Similarly, a minimalist might live in a tiny, uncluttered apartment, but they still depend on the city’s infrastructure for water, power, and transportation.

Minimalism isn’t about going back to basics—it’s about finding balance. It’s a way of managing complexity so that life feels lighter and more intentional.

Humans Are Made for Connection

At the heart of all this is a simple truth: humans are social creatures. We’re not meant to live in isolation. From Ötzi’s time to today, our survival and success have always depended on working together.

This is especially true in the modern world. Almost everything we use, from our clothes to our cars to our coffee, is the result of collaboration. Farmers grow the beans, truck drivers transport them, baristas prepare them—and that’s just for a cup of coffee! Far from being self-contained, our lives are built on a web of interdependence.

Recognizing this doesn’t make minimalism any less appealing. In fact, it makes it more meaningful. When we understand how deeply connected we are to others, we can appreciate the systems and people that make our lives possible. Simplicity becomes not just a personal choice, but a way to honor the complexity that supports it.

The Hidden Complexity of Simplicity

The next time you hear someone say “less is more,” remember this: simplicity is a beautiful ideal, but it’s never as simple as it seems. Whether it’s the sleek design of your phone or the minimalist lifestyle you aspire to, simplicity is always built on a foundation of complexity.

Instead of trying to escape this complexity, we can learn to engage with it thoughtfully. We can embrace minimalism not as an escape from modern life, but as a way to live more intentionally within it. And most importantly, we can remember that none of us lives in isolation. Like Ötzi, like Crusoe, like all the people who make our lives possible, we’re all part of something much bigger—and much more connected—than we might realize.

By appreciating the hidden complexity behind simplicity, we can approach life with greater humility, gratitude, and wonder. Because in the end, simplicity isn’t about rejecting complexity—it’s about recognizing its beauty and making it work for us.

Image by sgrunden