There is a woman who travels with unsettling efficiency. You spot her at a quiet café, newspaper in hand, destination uncertain.
In another life, you might’ve called her a divorcée. That word’s gone out of style, but the sensibility remains. It’s not about a divorce per se. It’s about a studied independence. She’s left something behind. Not necessarily a person but a version of herself. She packs accordingly.
Her suitcase is small but not ostentatiously so. She has no emotional attachment to the “what ifs.” No emergency flats, no aspirational gym clothes. She doesn’t pack for potential. Or possibility. Or Pilates.
She carries a proper bag—structured, hushed, with a zip that closes decisions as much as compartments. Inside: a passport, an expensive lip balm, a tortoiseshell toothbrush, supplements that delay the inevitable, and glasses that make her look more withholding than she is.
She brings one scent and one book. A slim paperback, already halfway read. The bookmark is a receipt. The receipt is from a pharmacy. The pharmacy was in Rome.
There is one coat: the kind that looks put-together even when she isn’t. Her trousers are high-waisted with an unapologetic hem. Her watch is vintage—the kind you inherit or buy quietly secondhand. A small luxury that says she’s spent time thinking about time. Her jewelry is intentional.
She orders a glass of Menetou-Salon. She leaves early, tips in cash. She doesn’t post where she’s been. Not because she’s secretive but because she’s not broadcasting. Her itinerary belongs to her.
In recent years, this sensibility has been mistaken for minimalism. The difference is that minimalists want less; the divorcée simply no longer needs more. She isn’t ruthless. She’s serenely reconciled.
I’ve tried to travel this way—less for the image than the intention. Some trips are more successful than others. My instinct is to prepare for possibility. The maybe dinner. The backup shoe. The outfit I might want to feel like a different version of myself in.
But lately I’ve been interested in subtraction. Not for style’s sake but for freedom. Packing lightly isn’t about discipline. It’s about clarity. Not who you want to be on vacation but who you’ve already decided you are.
I’m not fully there yet. I still pack a pharmacy (because I aim to travel well, not recklessly). But I’ve stopped pretending I’ll work out. Ditched the “just in case” shoes and the unread books that guilted me from the nightstand.
These days I carry one coat that knows what it is, two things stubborn enough not to wrinkle, and one (fine … two) pair of shoes with absolutely nothing to prove.
Jennifer Noyes is the Editor and Chief Merchandiser at AIR MAIL’s AIR SUPPLY
