Honing My Packing Personality
What’s your holiday packing personality?
Good question, I thought, as the title of a Stylist Loves email popped up in my inbox and got me thinking about the holiday-packer I aspire to be and the terrible packer I actually am.
Despite substantial experience gained from years of holidaying, travelling and weekend-awaying, I have concluded that my holiday packing personality is ‘Excessive’. Not only am I a last-minute scrambler despite writing 87 lists in the weeks that lead up to departure, where I really go wrong is in my attempts to transfer my entire wardrobe into my suitcase.
In the Stylist Loves feature, Kat Poole and Moya Crockett reveal their packing identities and cleverly show us how to work with the personality and habits we have, to make holiday prep as straight forward as possible. Kat is an excellent packer; she tessellates, rolls things and folds her underwear into tiny triangles. She has nailed the art of a single colour palette, taking only the one handbag and travelling in bulky shoes.
I see myself as a bit more Moya; she, rather harshly I think, considers herself lazy, panicked and slapdash. I can relate to the cramming of six outfits into a bag for a two-night trip to Bath and then wearing the same thing for the duration (BEEN THERE).
Kat and Moya share some excellent tips for either elevating your holidaying game to super-organised levels or mitigating the disorderliness, and I pinched some great tips.
It also got me thinking about my approach to going away in general, and what normally happens in the weeks, days and hours before take off.
Normally, I…
End up packing the night before and until at least 1.30am wailing 'I AM JUST SO TIRED, I CANNOT DO THIS' while hand washing three bikinis, meticulously selecting accessories to match every single item of clothing and shouting in-my-head lists out loud while counting on my fingers, such as 'morning top, top for the pool, top for post-beach drinks, pre-dinner drinks top, emergency top' etc rather than actually filling my suitcase. All this while my long-suffering and dear husband looks on despairingly. Or lies on the cool floor, hoping sleep will come soon.
Add Holiday by Madonna to my Spotify ‘Vacation’ playlist and listen to this on an endless loop - at 5.30am while at home and still packing (or distracted and watching the live version from In Bed with Madonna instead of packing), or en route to the airport and delirious through lack of sleep (see above point).
Spend a small fortune on toiletries prior to the holiday, enough to warrant a possible remortgage of our house, most of which goes towards poxy rip-off miniatures. This also includes the purchase of a complete range of new sun care products in SPF50 before finding a replica set on the bottom shelf of the bathroom cabinet the night before. All of this despite the fact I have not had a tan since 1984.
Panic purchase at least six new vest tops on a late night shopping trip to Oxford Street with a stylish 'capsule wardrobe' in mind - even though the only remaining colour options in the 3 For 2 offer in M&S are Pale Mauve which does nothing for my pallor. Subsequently find the Vest Top Drawer the night before departure.
Run out of room in my suitcase leaving me with no choice but to take unwanted overspill in my hand luggage. I dream of being one of those women who sail through departures with a minimally packed Stow London Carolina Travel Tote and their passport always conveniently ready to display. I am not. I am the lady with a beach towel stuffed into an already full Mum bag, blocking access to essential travel documents, that requires re- packing every time I need to get my boarding pass out.
Pack enough cosmetics to glow-up the entire outward bound flight if it was required, forcing airport security staff to enquire, quite reasonably, if I am a makeup artist by trade. Even though I will wear my 'work makeup' for the duration of the holiday.
Obsessively check for my passport and tickets at least nine times en route to the airport, convinced I have neither or have scooped up my expired passport instead, where the photo of me resembles a pale '90s goth.
Seriously consider purchasing a new padlock at the airport, even though there are at least seven hidden somewhere in the house, possibly in the abyss that is the spare drawer. Or the Vest Top Drawer.
Remind myself that drinking before or on the plane is unnecessary, especially with added sleep-deprivation, but cave in after the slightest hint of turbulence (take off) and down a complimentary beverage or two. Get absolutely legless and reveal to Billy and Francis from Jersey my entire life story, deepest secrets and recently developed fear of flying, sobbing into my rum and coke while they smile politely or pretend to be asleep.
Next time, I will be aspire to be more Kat. I will plan, nail a capsule wardrobe and beautifully roll my single colour palette items in a luxe suitcase with excellent tessellation skills, sliding my neatly rolled chargers into a Muji travel pouch.
I just need to locate the Vest Top Drawer, and everything will be OK.