What I Learned From Wearing the Same Outfit for 2 Weeks Part 2

According to internet sources, which are rarely wrong, American adults make 35,000 decisions a day: scrambled or over-easy, let the kids watch one more Octonauts or go to the pool, stop for gas here or nearer to day care? They tire us out. Psychologists like Baumeister are starting to understand the wear and tear they leave on our minds. Businesses know it, too. Levav found that by manipulating the order of choices to put the more expensive default options last when people had grown weary of making decisions, custom-suit stores and car companies could encourage customers to spend more. (“High-end rims? Sure, fine, whatever.”) Eliminating choice works, too: online mattress companies such as Casper and Tuft & Needle are disrupting the awful in-store mattress-buying process by offering one mattress. Buy it or don’t. Casper is on pace to earn $200 million in the next year.

In most cases, we stick with what we like. For instance, I decided to automate my coffee orders and discovered that apparently I did that four years ago. This is common: Chris Garrett, manager at my local coffee shop, says nearly all of his regulars have a single order, breaking only when they earn a reward, and even then they tend to order the same drink in a larger size or with an extra shot. Audrey Brinkley, a barista for just under a year, says customers aren’t inclined to venture out of their comfort zones unless pushed by a friend or seasonal menu updates. “They don’t think of changing their drinks until you put a new one in front of them.” This was interesting to learn, and terrible for my science. What good was intentional automation if I was already mostly automating?

I started looking for anything I could drop from my daily decisions. I determined that my kids and I would have the same breakfasts: scrambled eggs, Cinnamon Toast Crunch and a frosted brown sugar Pop-Tart. (Full disclosure: I’ve been eating the latter pretty much every morning for 30 years so that was no big deal.) To limit screwing around with music in my car, I packed a dozen CDs to cut down on my ability to fire up my phone and pick from every song ever recorded. I sought out low-hanging decision fruit: I parked in the same place at home and the store. I ran the same loop around my neighborhood. I settled in. I waited for the avalanche of crystal mental clarity.

Mixed Emotions

First: The good news. During the initial couple of days, a load came off of my shoulders—a light one, sure, but a load nonetheless. My wife works early shifts, so on mornings with coffee to be made, smoothies to blend, day cares to reach, Cubs scores to check and a clock supplying constant, low-level deadline pressure, every little bit of automation helped. I can’t say it revealed brilliant new horizons, but it trimmed the to-do list, which I always welcome.

What’s more, I grew accustomed to my uniform. It’s curious to have one, and I can’t deny the dullish 1984 vibe that surfaced from time to time. But there was also a vague calm to it. I could feel things becoming more efficient, less stressed—not a dramatic lifestyle upgrade, but extra bandwidth. The experiment was working! Life operated a little more smoothly. That lasted for a good four or five days before everything suddenly got super boring.

Turns out when you’re already automating much of your life, making it official can feel suffocating. Right around the beginning of the second week, I began to feel severe burnout regarding gray. I started to miss my other shirts (especially you, Guns N’ Roses). I felt less like the experiment was streamlining my decision process and more like it was eliminating choice. Eventually it felt like work. “Maybe dressing the same is restful for Zuckerberg, but you reacted against it,” says Levav (who, for the record, dresses each morning in whatever T-shirt is closest).

But I missed the point, he says: “The critical issue here isn’t wearing a gray shirt every day, but routinizing your behavior. It’s not about a specific routine, it’s about having a routine.” For me, too little choice was limiting; too much created a paradox wherein I required two days to buy a Brad Keselowski hat.

That said, drawing from a smaller, pre-established pool positively cut down on time and energy. My closet is a lot of blue and gray, sure, but I got to pick which blue and gray. Too little choice scrambles the system; too much oversaturates it. When my experiment ended, I went to the coffee shop in sandals and my GNR T-shirt and ordered an iced green tea, something I rarely drink. After all, some choice is good.

Jeff Vrabel

October 9, 2016