When I began minimizing my wardrobe, I didn’t expect the laundry to follow suit. I just wanted a simpler closet. What I didn’t realize was that by cutting back on clothing, I’d be cutting back on time, stress, and that ever-present sense that laundry was somehow running my life.
Simplifying my wardrobe became one of the most unexpectedly freeing choices I’ve ever made. With fewer clothes, I do smaller loads more often—and somehow, I spend less time doing laundry than when I had three weeks’ worth of clothing stuffed into every drawer.
The Myth of “More Clothes, Less Laundry”
People always ask me the same thing: “But if you have fewer clothes, doesn’t that mean you have to do laundry more often?”
Yes—and that’s exactly why it works.
When I had mountains of laundry, I’d put it off until I had no choice but to tackle an entire day of washing, drying, and folding. My washer had a permanent pile of dirty clothes in front of it, and the couch—oh, the laundry couch—was my unofficial second dresser. Clean clothes lived there indefinitely, waiting to be folded “later,” which almost always meant never.
The problem wasn’t the laundry itself—it was the buildup. It felt endless, like an invisible task always whispering from another room, you still haven’t done me.
Now, I do one small load every day or every other day. I wash, dry, fold, and put it away immediately. No mountain. No couch. No dread.
Timing the Task
If you don’t believe it saves time, grab a timer.
What I count as “laundry time” is only the time I’m physically handling the clothes: loading the washer, switching to the dryer, folding, and putting them away. When I used to do laundry in bulk, that handling time stretched into hours. Now, even though I’m technically “doing laundry” more days per week, I’m only spending a few minutes each time.
The key is consistency. Laundry doesn’t become overwhelming when it never has a chance to pile up.
Why Minimalism Works in the Laundry Room
Having fewer clothes means fewer decisions, fewer piles, and fewer excuses.
Before, my laundry problems weren’t just about the number of clothes—they were about storage. My drawers and closets were packed so tight that even if I did manage to fold and sort everything, there was nowhere to put it. Clean laundry floated between rooms like lost luggage.
Now, with fewer items, everything has a home. The drawers close easily. The closets breathe. And that constant background noise of “I need to catch up on laundry” has finally gone silent.
How to Do Laundry Faster (and Smarter)
Here’s what’s worked for me—and maybe a few of these tricks will work for you too.
1. Wash, dry, fold, and put away—every time.
Do one load completely, from start to finish. Think of it like putting away groceries: you wouldn’t leave milk on the counter for two days, so don’t leave your clothes in the dryer or a laundry basket. Wrinkles are the laundry version of spoilage.
It only takes me about five minutes of hands-on time per load, and it keeps everything in rotation.
2. Don’t over-sort.
For years, my kids used the washing machine as their hamper. They’d drop clothes straight in, and when it filled up, I’d wash the whole load together—no sorting, no drama.
To this day, I still wash all colors together (modern detergents can handle it), though towels and dress shirts get their own cycles. Sorting might feel responsible, but it often just slows you down.
3. Limit how many clothing items each person owns.
This one’s big. Everyone in my house has about a week’s worth of clothes. That’s it. Drawers aren’t bursting, and laundry never spirals out of control.
When you can see what you own, you take better care of it.
4. Build a mix-and-match wardrobe.
I ditched the “one outfit per look” mentality. Everything goes with everything. Jeans, tees, and neutrals that mix easily mean fewer decisions and less laundry sorting later. It’s like living inside your own version of Garanimals—grown-up edition.
5. Rewear when possible.
Jeans don’t need to be washed after every wear. Pajamas, shirts, and sweaters can go a couple of rounds, too. I often wear the same shirt two days in a row—intentionally. It keeps the “not dirty but not clean” pile from forming (you know the one).
6. Fold only what matters.
Not everything deserves origami-level folding. If you love neat stacks of towels, go for it—but if you don’t care, skip it.
My kids toss socks and underwear straight into drawers, unfolded. Simple, fast, done.
7. Sheets and towels: one and done.
We each have a designated towel for the week—color-coded so nobody “accidentally” grabs someone else’s. We keep four spares for guests, that’s it.
Each bed has one set of sheets. When it’s time to wash them, they go right back on the bed. No folding, no guessing which fitted sheet matches which pillowcase.
Do I wash sheets every single week? I try—but I’ll admit, it doesn’t always happen. And that’s okay. Progress, not perfection.
8. Buy identical socks.
Matching socks is one of life’s dumbest time-wasters. Everyone in my house has one kind of sock. Same color, same style, same brand. No pairing, no sorting—just grab and go.
9. Avoid high-maintenance clothes.
If it needs special detergent, air drying, or ironing, it’s not coming home with me. Minimalism isn’t just about owning less—it’s about removing the friction from daily life.
I don’t have “hand wash only” or “dry clean” tags hanging in my closet anymore. If it can’t handle a normal wash cycle, it doesn’t belong here.
My Minimalist Laundry Arsenal
My supplies are as simple as my wardrobe:
- Detergent: I use Dropps—unscented, eco-friendly, and delivered in cardboard boxes. (I’ve also used Earth Breeze and liked it.)
- Fabric Softener Alternative: I pour white vinegar into the softener compartment with a couple drops of lemon essential oil. It keeps clothes and the washer fresh without that heavy perfume smell.
That’s it. No boosters, no brighteners, no clutter.
Final Spin
Minimalism taught me that less really is more—even when it comes to laundry.
When I had mountains of clothes, I was always behind, always tired, always surrounded by piles that seemed to mock me. I thought I was bad at laundry, but really, I just had too much of it.
Now, with fewer clothes and smaller loads, laundry takes minutes—not days. My home feels lighter, my closets breathe, and that endless cycle of wash-dry-fold-repeat has finally slowed to a rhythm I can live with.
Laundry doesn’t have to be an all-day event. It can be just another small, steady act of living simply.
Because when you strip away the excess, what’s left is time—and a lot more peace.
The Laundry Club Blog 
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