Minimalism says 'Less is more.' Maximalism says: 'More is more.' The line first came from the American interior designer Iris Apfel — who lived to 102, packed six pieces of furniture into every square metre of her apartment, wore 14 necklaces and 8 rings, and never once thought it was too much.

It is not 'a lack of taste' — quite the opposite: Maximalism is an aesthetic that is very hard to get right. Finding rhythm among five patterns, eight colours and twenty textures is more exhausting than empty space. Failed maximalism = a junk room; successful maximalism = Versace baroque prints, the Gucci of the Alessandro Michele era (2015—22), House of Hackney wallpaper, Christian Lacroix haute couture.

In culture it has two triggers: (1) in boom years, people want to show off (Memphis, Y2K); (2) in bust years, people want to escape (the post-pandemic 2021—24 'dopamine dressing'). Today Wes Anderson, Gen Z Pinterest moodboards and TikTok's cluttercore and granny chic are all contemporary branches of maximalism.

Used well, it is a 'statement of identity.' Used badly, it is visual seasickness. The difference: whether you truly chose every single thing, rather than simply failing to edit.