The honest answer is: not accidentally. Not by default. Every system you're embedded in — economic, social, digital — is quietly optimized to make more feel necessary. Simplicity has to be chosen against that current, repeatedly, because the current never stops pushing the other way.
I want to distinguish simplicity, as I mean it, from minimalism as it's usually sold — the all-white apartment, the capsule wardrobe, the aesthetic of having less that often costs more to achieve than having more did in the first place. That's not simplicity. That's just a different, more expensive kind of accumulation, dressed in linen.
Real simplicity, the kind worth wanting, is a reduction in what a life actually needs — not what it displays. It's boring in a way the aesthetic version isn't, because it doesn't photograph well and it doesn't come with a manifesto. It looks like fewer commitments held more fully. Fewer possessions, chosen more deliberately. Fewer inputs competing for the same attention.
Ten principles for slowing down sounds almost too tidy a phrase for something this difficult, but I don't think the difficulty is in understanding the principles. It's in living inside a culture that's actively, constantly arguing against them, and choosing them anyway, on an ordinary Tuesday, when nobody's watching and no one will know if you quietly gave up and bought the thing.
So — can you live simply in a world built to make you want more? Yes. Not easily, and not by accident. But yes.