If there’s a light packing gene, I must have it.

For as long as I can remember, I was the one who traveled with a bare minimum of baggage, even on school-days sleepover dates. What more did I need than a toothbrush and a change of underwear?

That keep-it-light philosophy was fine-tuned when traveling over the years. I loved the idea of being able to whip off a flight and hop straight to my destination, none of this loitering around the baggage claim, hoping and praying that one’s roll-aboard would turn up sometime this century.

When I passed baggage claim after a flight, toting my little carry-on, I can’t help it: The word “Suckers!” flashed through my mind.

When I passed baggage claim after a flight, toting my little carry-on, I can’t help it: The word “Suckers!” flashed through my mind. After all, I’d be in Paris that much sooner than them, spraying croissant shards down my blouse or sitting in Luxembourg Gardens. Or, if I was heading to the West Coast, I’d be polishing off my In ‘n Out burger before they even got the keys to their rental car.

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The Carry-On Queen

I got my packing down to the nitty-gritty. I could stow my essentials in a weekender bag and last two weeks on the contents.

I’d wear as much as possible on the flight—jeans, tee, sweater, jacket, scarf, clunky walking shoes—and strip down as needed, shoving things in the overhead bin. In my bag, I’d put minimal layers: underwear, a couple of shirts, including one cute enough to wear out to dinner, a pair of stretchy black pants, a black cardigan, a pair of black slides, and….there you have it. Toiletries, etc. but that is it!

Sure, I might run out of tops at some point, but that’s what hotel sinks and those teeny-weeny bars of soap are for.

Sure, I might run out of tops at some point, but that’s what hotel sinks and those teeny-weeny bars of soap are for.

Yes, I would miss having more of my favorite clothes at my disposal and being able to accessorize at will, but so what? Who was I trying to impress? No one knew me at my destination…no matter if I wore basically the same thing every day.

I think it was all part of my younger self’s code of conduct: Juggle responsibilities like a Cirque Du Soleil star. Put expediency first. Keep vanity in check, and keep moving. I wasn’t going to be one of those people with a suite of suitcases who spent half her vacation deciding what to wear.

This pack-light policy saw me through plenty of travels, and I trained my kids (now grown) to be expert carry-on-only folk as well.

Rethinking My Packing-Lite Policy

Everything was running smoothly in my life, until one day when I stopped by a friend’s house as she prepared for a long-anticipated trip to the French Riviera.

While we were blabbing, I noticed a glossy set of cherry-red suitcases in the corner, like gleaming hard candies. Three of them, identical but different sizes, like those Russian nesting dolls.

She caught me eyeing them, and asked, “Do you like my new luggage? I’m about to start packing for France.”

Her photos inspired all kinds of envy in me.

“How long are going for—the whole summer?” I blurted out.

“Barely two weeks, but I’m always so excited to dress up while someplace new,” she said.

So I followed along on Instagram as she lounged by the Mediterranean. There she was, in a cute cover-up by the pool. Sightseeing in cropped camo pants and a cool jacket with a bunch of layered necklaces around her neck. Oh, and look, where did she get those espadrilles with the ribbons that wrap around her ankle?

In the following days, more amazing outfits and moments unfolded…a fluttery little floral dress while at a café, and then a chic black dress at dinner. And different shoes and handbags for every occasion. Excuse me, is she vying to be a midlife fashion influencer, I wondered? She looked amazing: relaxed, perfectly put-together, and enjoying every moment. Did I see any repeat outfits? Nope, I certainly did not.

Those photos inspired all kinds of envy in me. Rather than being a schlub in the same-old, same-old (that would be yours truly), she was there, beautifully turned-out and Living Her Best Life, as Oprah might say.

I kinda wanted to be her when I grew up. But—hang on—I am grown up, and then some. In that instant, it occurred to me that maybe packing light was passé.

Have Bags, Will Travel

As luck would have it, I was getting ready for my next big trip to northern Italy with my husband. And in an interesting twist of fate, the cheapest airline wound up being the luxe Emirates, which had a disorienting policy of only allowing one carry-on bag per passenger. At first, I was indignant to learn this. How dare an airline foil my plans to breeze through Malpensa airport in record time. I had places to go, sites to see!

But policy is policy, and so I was “forced” to pack a larger suitcase, which, somewhat begrudgingly, I filled with an extra infrequently-worn dress or two. Another pair of shoes. I may have even packed some perfume.

While at the airport awaiting my flight, it was a whole new world.

While at the airport awaiting my flight, it was a whole new world. Having checked my suitcase at the curb, I was unencumbered. No more lugging my bag while I queued up for a latte, nor pulling it into the bathroom stall with me en route to the gate.

This time, I was light as a feather, wafting through duty-free, inspecting the magazine racks, and otherwise whiling away the hours without slamming my bag into unsuspecting strangers or my own shins. And when it was time to board, there was none of my usual anxiety about would-there-or-wouldn’t-there be room in the overhead compartment for my bag. It was just li’l ole me and a backpack that slid easily under the seat in front of me for our overnight flight.

I could get used to this, I thought.

Playing With My Clothes

When I got to my destination, yes, there was the inevitable wait around the baggage carousel. I was tired, cranky, and dehydrated—impatient to get where I was going already. The line to see the Duomo would be interminable, I worried.

I tried to think of this waiting time as bonus airport time to make good use of, and so we went to find some coffee. It was good, strong, and got me feeling ready for the day. Like a late-riser, my bag finally decided to emerge from the plane’s innards, and off we went.

On my trip, I was no longer in my utilitarian mode of wearing Garanaminals-style permutations of the same basic pieces. I’m not saying my travel clothes were usually dowdy, but they were very limited, and if any of you ever had a school uniform, you know that feeling of being constrained, fashion-wise.

I was no longer in my utilitarian mode of wearing Garanaminals-style permutations of the same basic pieces.

Now, I had the wiggle room to play a little with my clothes. I could wear one outfit as we poked around an antiques market in Vicenza’s Piazza dei Signori. Then, when we set out for an afternoon wine tasting in the surrounding countryside, roasting under the early summer sun, I had something to put on other than my usual heat-absorbing black pants and a long-sleeved top. In this case I chose impractical white jeans and my favorite stretchy, Missoni-ish sleeveless top (thank you, Anthropologie), plus the bonus pair of cork wedges I’d had room to pack.

When we went out to dinner, I would usually have worn those overworked black pants and my one nice top. But this time, I got to choose among the dresses I had brought in my oversized suitcase. I picked one I had never worn before—a black dress with pink and orange embroidery that had been hiding in the back of my closet at home in NYC. It was a very good feeling to be out in the world in something chic—the ego boost that clothing can deliver.

As I dug into my risotto made with the local Amarone wine, I looked around at the other diners, who had clearly dressed with care. Some of the men had ties and pocket squares; the women were bejeweled and wearing their best LBDs. I felt as if I belonged, as much as one can, thousands of miles from home. I was having a moment…and loving it.

Am I ready to be one of those people who packs travel candles and gobs of scarves and belts? No. But I am convinced of the value of giving oneself the freedom to dress creatively on the road, even if it means losing an hour to baggage claim. Who knows? I might just need a set of cherry-red, non-carry-on suitcases for my next big trip.

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