We stopped packing for imaginary weather and started packing for laundry access. The carry-on rule is simple: everything must justify its weight twice a week or leave.
The list that survived
- Two trousers, three shirts, one layer that works over both
- One pair of walking shoes already broken in
- A compact shell, not a fashion coat
- Medicines and adapters in a clear pouch — no scavenger hunts at security
What we cut
Backup shoes, just-in-case formalwear, and duplicate chargers. Hotels have irons; pharmacies have almost everything else.
Why it matters
Laundry beats packing. A sink, a travel line, and fabric that dries overnight unlock week-long trips in a personal item plus carry-on. Cotton jeans are the enemy of this system.
We keep a photo of the packed bag so re-packing becomes checklist, not archaeology. The rule only works if you can repeat it while half-asleep before a dawn flight.
Exceptions exist: formal events, infant gear, camera work. Name the exception before you zip. Silent exceptions are how carry-ons become checked bags.
The point is not minimalism as identity. It is arriving with attention left for the place. Twelve countries later, the rule still fits in an overhead bin.
Liquids remain the comedy villain of packing. Decant into travel bottles you have tested for leaks at home, not in a hotel sink an hour before checkout.
