A Lesson in Packing
Because I’m taking a carry-on–that’s not a metaphor. (Fine, yes it is.)
When I was single, I wholly believed that traveling with a carry-on signaled my lack of, you know, baggage. And after a brief dalliance shared sage advice care of his mother with me: “all girls have baggage, you’ve just got to pick the one who travel with carry-ons,” I knew I’d been right. So for years, I had this teetering-on-compulsive tendency to fit whatever I needed to take with me anywhere inside a carry-on bag. (This proved wildly difficult when I went abroad, but I digress.) The jig is up now, though, but old habits die hard and with a trip to L.A. on the immediate horizon, I found myself falling back into that familiar hollow hole.
While I was packing at the ass-crack of dawn this morning, I didn’t so much think that I ought to fit my clothes into a carry-on so much as I wanted to challenge myself to this really fun game I’d made up called, take two outfits on a 5-day trip and combat the inevitability that everything will smell. (It’s great in that the name explains the entire game but not many people play it because pronouncing it takes effort, includes more syllables than most people are comfortable with, and perhaps most jarringly–a lot of people are funny about hygiene.)
For the purposes of the series of collage-o-lages formatted above, some of the items in question are fabricated and/or enhanced by the immeasurably, erm, better offerings of the world wide web. The game and total number of garments and accessories coming with me remain the same. And, no, I didn’t pack shampoo.
The details: slide #1 includes the total amount of clothing packed.
Slide #2 includes a T by Alexander Wang blazer and matching suit shorts which I anticipate wearing during the day time with those red converse high tops and the matching grey Acne tee positioned by the suit’s center right.
I am also not above tying that mens blouse from Mr. Porter by Saturday’s Surf around my waist, nor am I disinterested in wearing it as a shirt with the shorts and those plastic Givenchy sandals photographed at bottom right. (Slide #3)
There are a number of fun-ass features re that Etoile Isabel Marant white romper. 1. If and when you unsnap it, it turns into a dress. 2. If and when you don’t, it offers the illusion of a violent drop crotch slash diarrhea ass. 3. It’s more or less see-through so I hope you haven’t waxed! and 4. it fits like a glove if gloves were loose and sucked at keeping your fingers warm.
I plan to wear that freak as a dress with the plaid blouse and blazer layered over it, (slide #4). I’ll also wear those three gold Jennifer Fisher charm necklaces and maybe even hold that Lulu Guinness clutch made of–fun fact–human lips. Kidding, they’re not human, but can any one of you chalk up your connection to this clutch by remembering your deceased land line and the lips phone that drove it?
Slide #5 should suggest that I also anticipate wearing it as a romper with the plaid shirt over my shoulders and the red high tops on my feet. I’ll likely add a red lip for good measure but I also might not, (don’t want to mislead you.)
I may–here’s the finale–tuck the romper into the shorts and wear it as a blouse with one sneaker and one heel and prove to humanity that balance is overrated. And after I can successfully do that, who really cares what I’m wearing, right?
Oh! Another thought: blazer as blouse–no bra–anyone? Also, the ASOS sunglasses are interchangeable and effectively work with any outfit lest they see the dark of night. In that instance, you’re on your own. Okay now, your turn. Gauge your baggage.