I took eleven things and wore four of them. This is not a humblebrag about packing light, because I did not pack light. I packed heavy and then ignored most of it, which is worse.

The woman I pack for

Every time I pack I am dressing a slightly different person. She goes to dinner somewhere with a dress code. She swims at seven in the morning. She has a linen thing that does not crease.

She has never once turned up. What turns up is me, tired, in the same shirt for the third day, extremely happy about it.

Every time I pack I am dressing a slightly different person. She has never once turned up.

What actually happened

A cream linen shirt that went over everything and got worn to breakfast, to the beach and, with the sleeves rolled, to dinner. Light trousers. One pair of shoes that I walked about fifteen kilometres a day in.

That is the list. Everything else travelled there and back in the case, took up room, and made me feel vaguely guilty every time I opened it.

The bit I keep forgetting

Holidays are not a different life with a different wardrobe. They are the same life with better light and nowhere to be.

So the clothes that work are the ones that already work at home, in a lighter fabric. I relearn this on every single trip and then pack for the imaginary woman again the next time.

We are going back in the spring. I have already started a list, which is how it begins.

Nora

Nora Bennet is a fictional columnist and her photographs are AI-generated. This post is not sponsored and contains no advertising.