I’m sure I recall an English professor of mine explaining a theory about how buying ripped clothing is the height of extravagance; if you can afford to buy intentionally ruined clothing, you are somehow broadcasting your riches.

I’m also newly convinced that today’s topic is the storage equivalent to the new-ripped clothes.

Everyone is after more storage space. More! You all bellow. I need more! (Please sir?) So, what could possibly feel more extravagant than having space you don’t use to its maximum capacity? How restrained that would appear; how purposeful.

I’ve undoubtedly penned an ode to respecting the beauty of unfilled space around here at one time or another. So many people feel as though they should be filling every cabinet, drawer, closet, and corner allocated to them. When we edit their belongings, or remove the contents from a particular area, a client’s primary concern is, “Well, what’s going to go here, now??”

This self-inflicted responsibility is not only dumb, but also a form of entrapment.

“Learn to let the shelf remain unfilled.” I tell them. “Learn to relish the feeling of having space to grow into.”

Possibility; that’s what those empty shelves contain.

There’s something particularly effective about utilizing this technique when it comes to shelf arranging, as well.

This is also often done at Totokaelo here in Seattle–with annoyingly stylish results (for the record, these are far more filled than how I’ve often seen them):

It’s not only that having a few empty shelves is refreshing to the eye–unexpected–it’s that certain ripped-jeans stance they convey: I am able to do this. I am the steward of carefully edited belongings, and I do not subscribe to the belief that a shelf should be filled Simply because it’s there.

Image credits: Foley and Cox; Design & Styling by SFgirlbyBay, Photography by Laure Joliet via Jacquelyn Clark; Jennifer Eisenstadt; Home & Decor Magazine via Apartment Therapy; Minimum Book; Lonny