Scarlet’s voice bubbled up with excitement as she talked about linens and cottons in bright colors, and how sitting in the sunlight on the balcony was going to be such a nice reprieve from grey Portland during rainy February.
We were having a prep meeting for her group shopping trip to Mexico City. Scarlet, my friend who’s a stylist, wanted to take some of her favorite clients on a trip to CDMX, and she asked me for help. While shopping is her domain, she wanted me to curate the other parts of the week: restaurants, galleries, dancing, and cocktails.
As she began to outline the style guide she was dreaming up to inspire our guests’ packing prep, a sense of dread snuck up on me. An embarrassing detail of my life is how very few clothes I travel with. It works for me because my professional demands while traveling are limited. I don’t typically meet 12 new people at once and then proceed to hang with them 24-7 for the following five days.
But the discomfort didn’t end there. The theme of Scarlet’s trip was going to be playing with style and getting inspired. Listening to Scarlet’s enthusiasm, I was reminded of my own playful past where a trip to Mexico was a major fashion event. I’d prepare by pulling all my caftans and brightly colored Saltwaters and Birkenstocks from the closet. Or I’d go to Anthropologie to buy backless or off-the-shoulder floor-length dresses which I’d later swirl around in while watching a locals’ salsa night on the beach.
These days it’s a very different kind of prep.
Many of you have asked for a window into my packing routine, and since I’m currently consumed by it, the time is now! Today I’m talking prep and in a future newsletter I’m going to take you along for the ride: what I pack and how I pack it.
On Monday I head to Florida, and I’ll have exactly 8 days to pack. Up ahead is an open-ended trip that will last a minimum of 10 months, maybe more. My goal is for my husband Michiel and I to take two carry-ons each and keep to our strict rule of not checking any luggage—but I’m not convinced that’s possible for this trip. This one is a beast to prepare for because I won’t be in one, general temperature zone, I’ll be in almost all of them.
After mild Mexico City February (60-70s), I’ll head to the Netherlands where they’ll be just wrapping up winter (30-50 degrees). Eventually, June in Greece will bring the high heat of summer as will Portland, OR in August (80-100 degrees). Fall will be spent in Pittsburgh where I’ll return to a slight chill (40-50 degrees). I haven’t packed for this varied of a temperature range or this long of a duration before.
As I sit here researching Greece in a freezing, rainy DC I’m trying to wrap my head around what I’ll want to wear beachside munching on Greek salads five months from now. Looking at pictures of the rocky island terrain, it occurs to me that we left our water shoes behind in Puerto Rico a year ago. The insoles kept sliding out making us slip. Do I buy another cheap-ish pair of water socks that pack flat or invest in the more space-hogging $100+ water shoes that can pull double duty and be worn out hiking the nearby mountains?
Water shoes are arguably the ugliest shoe category that exists. Nothing is cute or adaptable enough to later be worn with a dress to dinner. And if these shoes are going to take the coveted position of being one of my four pairs, they have to function beyond rock scrambling for 3 out of 10 months. I’m back to my 23 open tabs routine I mentioned a few newsletters back, and I’m getting nowhere.
Clearly, I’m still at odds with the clothing predicament nomadic living requires. 90% of the time I can ignore it, but there’s still a longing for my old world with vintage shopping, impractical clothes, and parties to wear them to. The fun and frivolity of clothes have been erased from my life and replaced with practicality. These days my concerns are durability and functionality, and those are anything but inspiring.
My clothes have so many jobs now, and they are the true workhorses of my travels. They must withstand lots of washing and wear. They need to be comfortable but easily elevated into a polished environment. They also need to all match, interact, and be paired seamlessly with one another: sporty with silk, tech fabric with wool and linen. But their main job is to speak for me and say, I’m not a tourist on vacation.
I’m here to be a part of the community, not skim the surface. I’m not here to relax and escape but to be present and learn. I’m starkly aware that I’m always in the position of outsider, but I want to carefully minimize that messaging if I can. The non-verbal message I hope to put out is one of neutrality and openness. I want to express respect.
While I’d love to be festively on-theme for our five nights of exciting dinners in Mexico, my nomadic reality takes precedence over my formerly touristic self. For me, these are a mere five nights out of ten months span where I need to fit into many new environments, which evolve in real-time.
So how am I going to turn my one “nice outfit” I bring along for fancy dinners magically into five separate ones for Mexico City?
After hearing the anxiety in my voice, a few days later Scarlet texted me this photo of her personal clothing pull for the trip and told me I was welcome to borrow a few things. Scarlet is also a tall drink of water and one of the few people in the world I can share clothes with. What a treat and testament to the superstar friend and stylist she is. She’s offering me a break from my practical world to play in her creative one, and that’s a luxury richer than any dress I could have managed to squeeze into my carry-on.
Today is: a mellow, quiet day in Washington DC
I’m naturally slowing down as we start to prepare for another trip. It feels like I must start conserving energy before all the action begins.
Yeah for clothes sharing friends who are as tall as us!!!
you are THE best!