I Started to Overpack for Travel and Came Out With a Stripped-Down Closet

Manifesting Paris Cafe Kellie, who lives smaller and more deliberately when she travels.

In a few weeks, I'm spending a month in Europe to try on a less encumbered life: what is it like to live the way Europeans do? Cafés. A small apartment. A small refrigerator. A washer and dryer that fits three items and takes as many hours. Dinner planned one day at a time. No big backyard, no second fridge holding forgotten leftovers, no Costco runs. The kids can't generate massive piles of laundry, because (a) only one of them is coming with us, and (b) the immutable law of traveling laundry states that no load can possibly be bigger than the suitcase it's carried in.

As soon as I started packing, I caught myself doing the thing I always do - idealizing life outside my real, everyday life. As if the right suitcase could turn me into a better version of myself the moment I land. It started practically enough, I was deliberately picking my favorite clothes, one outfit per event and per day, thinking about how to look less like a tourist. I leaned toward dressier looks and added layers, knowing Europeans tend to be more formal and don't live in yoga pants the way we do. And as I kept picking outfits, I got more and more excited about how cute the combos I was making looked. And the pile kept getting larger. I never pack light; I like my choices, but this was getting out of hand. And although forty days is a lot of outfit opportunities, I don't like to pay for extra luggage either. I do have limits.

It's just too much stuff.

The questions that needed to be asked were, "How few clothes can I get away with for a month?", "What are my non-negotiables?" and "What are my coolest, most Euro-friendly items?" I asked AI for advice and frameworks for keeping my packing to sane levels. It told me there's apparently a rule for packing light, the 5-4-3-2-1 carry-on method: five tops, four bottoms, three dresses or layers, two pairs of shoes, one statement accessory. I can't wrap my head around it, and even doubled, I am not sure I can make the math work. How are people doing this?? So I did the most straightforward thing I could to help me make decisions: I tried on everything. The mirror was brutally honest that day and forced me to come to terms with what I was working with. I went through a string of "not this, oof not that, definitely not this" moments. What started as an attempt to find the best pieces of my wardrobe turned into a full closet purge and a reckoning.

My canopy bed, minus the canopy, makes a fine hanging rack. Everything comes out where I can actually see it.

This is where I should confess that I'm post-menopausal. I am more... um... robust than my old clothes might suggest. I've spent roughly twenty-nine years doing laundry and fighting clothing-pile entropy with four kids, two dogs, and one husband. I'm done. This packing effort arrived fully loaded - with bags of bitterness I had no idea I needed to unpack first.

Our trip starts in Italy, where we are attending a friend's wedding. I went piece by piece through my closet hunting for the most Milan runway outfit I own (that would be exactly zero) and something that would work for the wedding we are going to in Lake Como (again, nada). I cursed the outfits packed in too tightly to see everything. Work clothes from the 2010's that I haven't worn since we sold the company were dusty, and was that mold?? I kept hoping the fashion fairies would flutter in and magically disappear all of the items that make me look like a potato. If I'm annoyed by it, why is it in my closet? What's even more telling is that if I can pull a handful of cute outfits and get giddy about wearing just those perfectly chosen pieces for over a month, across a whole range of occasions, why do I need the rest of it? What am I saving it for? The stress of an overpacked closet that wanted to mold was making me mad. The gifts, the impulse sale buys, the online outfits that looked great on the size-zero twenty-year-old in the photo, all untouched, ill-fitting, and out of date. Bah-bye.

To be clear, I didn't touch the classics. The good stuff that's held up in both style and function stayed right where it was. I slowly picked out my "can't live without's". What went was everything else: the withered, sagging elastic that droops like a wet towel; shoes that no longer fit my bony feet; and the old t-shirts-as-nightshirts that read more Dobby the House Elf than hot girl. Because honestly, how many of those can I truly rock beyond my 1995 Lollapalooza tee?

It felt satisfying to Marie Kondo it all. Although I have not read her books, I am familiar with her ethos, and am grateful for popular mantras like "if it doesn't bring you joy.....". She was with me in spirit and I am making a vow to step up my wardrobe game from this point forward. I loved dropping 2 bags at the Salvation Army, its literal weight, gone.

I've been living out of that packed suitcase for a week now, observing the hangers at the end of my bed, noticing if I ever reach for any of it. Wearing only what made the cut, in my own home, I can see I should have pared down to the essentials a long time ago. If I wouldn't wear it on vacation, why the flip am I wearing it now? (Work clothes aside) I can't actually remember the things I donated now, which feels like a good sign. I get eyegasms when I see my newly organized closet now. Fewer choices. Less laundry. Being able to see everything I own instead of having to excavate for it. I'm not saying I want to live out of a suitcase forever, but it has been a really useful exercise.

Paring down to my favs for the trip

While trying on everything I was unsure of, I rediscovered pieces I'd forgotten I owned, cool things collected over decades that still fit and still look great. Something I can wear to the Getty Museum, something that's perfect for the Huntington Gardens. I have a whole closet of clothes that are meant for fun excursions, so I am committed to letting my outfits inspire me to explore my beautiful city when I get home, with the mindset of a traveler and the wardrobe that makes me feel good while I'm out.

So before a single bag gets zipped, the reckoning is already done, and the most useful thing I'm packing isn't a thing that goes in the suitcase at all. It's a new perspective: take what feels good on, what fits the life I actually want to live, and let the rest go. That less encumbered life I am flying all the way to Europe to try on? I can start living it right here at home.

More to come as I actually pack this thing, find out how many bags I will schlep around in the name of the perfect outfit? Will I actually use the vacuum bags so that I can stuff more in?

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