Perfect packing is an art form that can be learned – take it from one who knows, writes Clare Press.
It was my grandmother’s habit to drag her suitcases from storage at least three weeks before any trip, plotting and planning which beaded jacket to take with which cocktail dress, how many sheets of tissue paper she’d need to layer her knits, which swimsuit went with which sunhat. You can’t go anywhere without a cocktail dress – not even the beach – because you never know, you see, who might be there and where they might invite you. Call it ready for anything. Call it super-organised. Call it neurotic. Whatever. I inherited this gene.
This Christmas my husband and I made a four-week trip to London, Paris and Thailand. My spouse happily plonked four shirts into a hold-all with two pairs of jeans, board shorts and the jacket that makes him look like a young Keith Richards. He wore his trainers on the plane.
“But what about your black shoes?” I shrieked, tempting hysteria. “And the linen pants? And it’s going to be freezing in Europe; you need a jumper, a scarf and those sheepskin gloves I bought you in Russia. Are you clinically insane? Do you want to say home? You cannot be serious!”
My tone was now fishwife (fish have wives?) meets hyped-up harridan.
“I’ll buy a jumper in Paris,” came his insouciant response. That sentence encapsulates the difference between the sexes, but also the gulf between driven and chilled-out packers and the point of this story. How much is too much when it comes to one’s travelling wardrobe? And if you’re travelling light, how can you be sure not to take things too far (or take way too little)?
I love those stories in Vogue about how chic women distill their style essence when packing for short trips. The most fabulous wax lyrically to a familiar theme: that less is more, but that you need to be meticulous in your planning if you are not going to be caught short. And while shopping is fun (remember to pack a roomy, squashy, zip-up canvas tote – Longchamps makes some good ones – to pack your holiday purchases in on the return leg of your journey) it’s not something you want to be compelled to do because you haven’t brought enough underwear.
If working at a fashion magazine has taught me one thing, it’s how to pack well. I once flew in to Auckland two hours before a film premiere with nothing in my hand luggage but a lipstick and a copy of The New Yorker. It had been a sunny Saturday in Sydney and I was wearing a thin cotton sundress with open-toed flat sandals. I’d slung my cashmere travel blanket around my shoulders for the flight and stuffed my cardigan into my suitcase. Said case was too large to carry on, so I’d checked it in, with its precious cargo of glittering lurex Gucci evening dress and brand new Pierre Hardy platforms.
Also inside were my jeans and silk camisoles, my pyjamas and my make-up bag, my evening clutch, my trench coat and – worst of all – my dictaphone. I was to interview the lead actress from the movie the following day, then hire a car and drive down south to write up a travel piece on the Wellington area. Even if they hadn’t lost my luggage, my trench would have been irredeemably creased.
It was autumn and Auckland was cold. At the carousel, my case was nowhere to be seen, and I had to wear my blanket like a sari in the cab to the hotel. Once I’d checked in, it was after 6pm and the shops were shut. I had two options: wear a bathrobe to the premier or stay in bed and order room service. I did the latter, and sulked.
The following day the airline called to say my luggage was in Mumbai but should turn up in the next three days – by which point I’d be long gone. I dashed out into the rain in my crumpled sundress, bought a dreadful fleece in the first place I saw then spent the morning searching for a shop that sold micro-cassettes. At the interview with the very famous blonde that lunchtime, my legs all goosebumps in their thin cotton sheath, I gushed about how much I’d enjoyed the movie.
“What did you think of the ending?” she asked.
My response: “All I can say is, ‘wow!'”
She bought it, so my own ending was a happy enough one – and I’d learned a valuable lesson too.
These days I make a list a few days before I fly for work, pieces that can be mixed and matched, worn in different ways to allow for any occasion: a little black Chloé dress, metallic ballet flats, heels to jazz the dress up for dinner, leggings, a great Camilla & Marc jacket, some skinny jeans, some wide-leg pants, a Hotel Bondi bikini just in case, a couple of tee-shirts by Bassike, my Panama, and some jewellery – bangles by Marni, a statement necklace by Michelle Jank. I never take anything I haven’t worn before so as not to arrive, put in on and feel wrong. I leave tricky or obvious pieces at home, as they can’t be worn over and over. I pack things that can be layered, so I can beat the heat or cold.
Next up, I check that everything has been washed or dry-cleaned. I look over my shoes to ensure they don’t need mending. I make sure I have the right underwear: silk French knickers for comfort on the plane (there’s nothing worse than sitting around in tight briefs or a thong), a camisole that can double as a top if it’s hot, cosy pyjamas in case the hotel air con is in overdrive.
Then I pull down my case, which I always check in because I hate dragging it about in transit. But thanks to the Auckland experience, I always pack a change of clothes, my make-up bag and dictaphone into my hand luggage. When it comes to packing the main bag, I’m no fan of my grandmother’s tissue – too fiddly. I’m all about rolling; it helps prevent creases. What to do about the jacket? Wear it onto the plane, then ask the steward to hang it up.
Once you’ve zipped up your case, pick it up. If it threatens to dislocate something, open it again and take some stuff out. Be ruthless – do you really need those leather jeans? – but keep an eye on that list. Never, ever leave home without the LBD (think premiers, parties, interviews, dates, mooching around the accessories department at Liberty, where you will feel shabby in jeans). And yes, you can buy a jumper when you get to Paris, but if you already have one in your case you can go to Ladurée for macaroons instead.
