In which our correspondent finds there’s no hand luggage case big enough to pack her essentials.
I am jealous of you men for several reasons. Your ability to shrug off the deadliest, most debilitating strain of influenza known to the human species overnight (that man flu sounds like a right bugger). Your tendency to look more distinguished, as opposed to haggard, as you get older. Your non-incubatory role in the child-bearing process. And, of course, the way you can sit in a hotel bar without being hit on by some sleazy-looking creature (give or take the odd lady of the night that frequents our “top” establishments the world over).
But if there is one thing that really makes me green with envy, it’s the ease with which you can pack for business trips. Take one suit, add two shirts, two ties, two pairs of socks, two sets of pants, an all-encompassing pair of shoes and you’re set for the off, à la George Clooney in Up in the Air. If you want to push the boat out, you can add some light slacks or jeans and a casual shirt and jacket to cover the bases for any evening soirées. Job done.
But for us women, it’s so much more difficult. And despite all my years of travel, I’ve never really mastered the art of compiling a capsule wardrobe. First, there’s the business attire – a dress and jacket times two, or a full suit and blouse if I really have to (I always feel a bit dehumanised in this, though I appreciate there are times when it really is the best option). And in case I find that I can play a bit looser with the rules, I pack something with a little more flair – maybe a wrap dress with some oversized jewellery, if I’m feeling a little crazy. Or a nice top and pencil skirt, though I should really pack something a little less figure-hugging…
Then there’s the minefield that is “smart-casual” (and while I am on the subject of dress codes, who on earth invented the “lounge suit”? A man, that’s who). In go a couple more tops and trousers, to be on the safe side, and next I have to consider evening events. I pack the cocktail dress but just in case my female co-conspirator on the ground tells me that won’t quite be necessary, a less glamorous option.
Then come the shoes to go with all the possible configurations – and, no, I’m not being all pathetic and girly here. Smart courts for day, flats to keep in my bag for walking between meetings, heels for the cocktail dress, other heels for the “just in case” dress, boots for inclement weather, trainers for the gym (number of times I have visited one in the umpteen years of my travelling life, zero, but one day I will surprise you).
Add in the evening bag for dinner (yes, I will narrow it down to one), jeans and T-shirts for any “me” time (not much of that these days but I live in hope), something cosy for the plane, scarves and gloves for colder places, tights of varying thickness depending on the outfit, underwear – pale as well as dark – and I’m just about ready to go.
Just need to ram in the make-up, mini-toiletries and hair straighteners (I will take a gamble that the hairdryer isn’t completely rubbish but softer water abroad plays havoc with my cut). Plus all the chargers and cables I need for my gadgets – no wonder the seams of my hand luggage are looking like they’re set to give after only a few uses. And don’t even get me started on the impossibility of doing all this within the constraints set by the budget carriers my company now stipulates I use for short-haul travel.
Even taking all this into account, I do have a tendency sometimes to ever so slightly get it wrong once I’m at the destination. The Middle East, for example, has a habit of tripping me up. On my first trip some years ago, figuring that my day was involving some touring around as well as formal meets, I erred on the smart side of smart-casual – making sure to cover my shoulders and knees, and congratulating myself on my forethought – to find that all my other associates were suited and booted to the max. So on my next visit I made sure to put on my full regalia – only to get down to the lobby and spy the people I was meeting wearing cargo pants and, as the Americans would say, “fanny packs”. Now if there’s one thing I draw the line at, it’s a bum bag.
But if I have one word of advice for all of you, man or woman, it’s this – if you are fair of skin and going somewhere hot, on no account should you pack anything pink. On a recent trip to Africa, I opted for a nice bright V-neck under my suit and, having a little time to spare between meetings, took a seat by the hotel pool with my laptop (and, of course, the one thing I’d forgotten to pack was sun cream). Fast-forward an hour and I’m sitting opposite a very important client with a fuchsia top, fuchsia face, fuchsia neck and fuchsia chest. At least he couldn’t see me blushing.
Picture credit: Ben Southan
