I noticed something about my pants-wearing habits.
I own more than five pairs of pants, but I only consistently wear five. Black, brown, gray, green, and blue. I like these five all a lot, and I take good care of them.
In my closet, there are five other pairs of pants. At one point in time, I used to wear the other five often, because at one time, they were the only five I owned. Denim blue jeans, dark khakis, light khakis, black jeans, and maroon chinos.
When my pants rotation was only comprised of the latter five, I also liked them all a lot. Critically, I liked them as much as I like the five I wear now. However, I don’t wear these five pairs anymore. They sit on a shelf in the closet, always underneath my five favorites.
It makes no difference if I possess the unworn five pairs of pants or not. I will always default to my favorite five. My favorite five get me through the laundry cycle, so I never have to dip into my reserve of the other five pairs of pants. They just sit there.
Nothing’s wrong with the other five pairs. They match enough of my outfits. They fit well. They are in acceptable condition, except for a couple of scratches on the maroon pair. But, I don’t wear any of them, ever.
I should note that I didn’t buy my five favorite pants at the same time. They accumulated one at a time roughly every six months over the last few years. Every six months, my complete pants portfolio increased by one pair. So at one point, I owned six pairs. Then I owned 7, 8, 9, and now 10 pairs.
Curiously, in between these pant purchases, I only wore five pairs of pants at any given time. When I bought my sixth pair of pants, I stopped wearing the maroon pair. At that point, my favorite pants were: denim blue jeans, dark khakis, light khakis, black jeans, and now my new pair of blue pants. That’s only five pairs.
I did the same thing every six months. Another new pair of pants was added to the top of the shelf, and another old pair of pants was relegated to pant purgatory. Never worn, and never discarded or donated. Just fabric in my closet.
This means that I have a carrying capacity of five pairs of pants. No matter how many pairs of pants I have, I only wear five.
The only common attribute of my five favorite pairs of pants is newness. The most recent pants I have purchased comprise my five favorite. If I went out and bought a new pair of pants after writing this, my current fifth oldest pair of pants will, in effect, never be worn again. My subconscious decides that the newest pair of pants is best, not because they are the best fitting or most comfortable, but only because they are new.
So for now, I have stopped buying new pants. Buying pants to add to my rotation is not as simple as n+1. If I buy a new pair of pants, I stop wearing another pair. I didn’t gain anything by buying that newest pair. In fact, I could buy 5 new pairs of pants and those would then be the only five I wear. All the other pants I have beyond my five favorites aren’t worse. They just aren’t new.
If my carrying capacity of pants I’ll wear is five, and I have five or more pairs of pants, there is no reason to buy new pants. That’s because new doesn’t mean better. It just means new.
New can mean different. I have no reason to own two pairs of pants that are the same. So, each pair I buy or own is at least a little bit different. But they aren’t better or worse. My favorite pairs of pants are my newest pairs of pants, but not because they are better than the others. Different doesn’t mean better. I need to stop confusing different with better. Different doesn’t mean better, it just means different.
Like I said, I have stopped buying different pants. While new means new and different means different, neither mean better. In my world of pants, five good pairs are all I need.
Based on this observation, there may be other parts of my life where I am already at my carrying capacity.
Just as my carrying capacity of pants is five, my carrying capacity of close friendships is around eight to ten. I am in that range right now. If I add a new friend, chances are I lose one too. Based on what I know about pants, the new friend is probably not better than the old friend. The additional friend is new and different, and that tricks my brain into thinking they are better than the old friend. But, it doesn’t mean they offer a better friendship. Knowing this, I may not want to be putting time and effort into forging a new friendship. Instead, I could put the same time and effort into enhancing my current friendships.
The same principle should be applied to careers. The reasonable carrying capacity of careers for most people is one. Someone may want a new job, but they could be attracted to the newness of the new job, not because the new job is actually better. It is a trap that might cause the individual to lose momentum in their overall career.
What about hobbies? Most people have one to three hobbies. As time is limited, our hobby carrying capacity is limited. When we add a new hobby, we force out another. The added hobby may not be better for us than the forced-out hobby, but it sure is newer. However, we might risk losing the progress we made in the former hobby. Plus, starting a new hobby is often expensive and time-consuming. Maybe there is value in leaning into what is familiar.
I don’t know why we are tricked into seeing new things or different things as better. It is probably a mix of psychological factors, cultural influences, and a little bit of boredom. If our subconscious tends to overvalue newness, we should be aware of how we are undervaluing familiarity.
Of course, there are times when we need better pants, better friendships, better jobs, and better hobbies. It is critical in those times that we remember that we must look for better, and not for new. Better is not new or different. Better is better.
It’s a good rule for life. When acquiring new things, make sure they are better, rather than only new or different.
6/15/2024 – South Salt Lake, Utah