The Suitcase Economy: What Actually Earns a Place in My Luggage

What years of travel taught me about what to pack, what to leave behind and the things I apparently can’t live without.

I have been travelling long enough to know better. I know I don’t need six pairs of shoes. I know there will be shops where I am going and Asians have small feet like me. I know shampoo is sold in other countries. I understand that civilisation does not end at the Australian border.

And yet, every time we leave Australia, I stand over an open suitcase wondering how on earth two supposedly experienced travellers have accumulated enough supplies to establish a small overseas trading post.

You would think that after years of travelling and living around Southeast Asia I would have mastered the art of packing light.

I haven’t.

I have, however, mastered the art of explaining why everything in my suitcase is absolutely essential.

My husband would strongly disagree.

The real trouble starts when he produces the travel scales. Until that moment, my suitcase and I are perfectly happy. Then suddenly there are accusations, judgement and unreasonable demands that I remove things simply because the airline has decided 20 kilos is enough for a woman to take overseas.

Apparently, but I might need it is not a recognised weight exemption.

I do have a solution. Business Class.

I’ve never actually flown Business Class, but I understand they give you a much bigger baggage allowance. Frankly, this seems far more civilised. David points out that paying thousands of dollars extra just so I can take more clothes is ridiculous. I point out that nobody asked him.

So, for now, we continue flying Economy, David continues holding the travel scales, and I continue standing beside him quietly wondering whether he really needs everything in his suitcase.

Clothes are my downfall

My biggest packing problem is clothes. I am a bigger woman, and one of those wonderfully casual pieces of travel advice I often read is:

“Don’t take too much. You can always buy clothes when you get there.”

No. You can buy clothes when you get there. For many bigger women, particularly travelling through Southeast Asia, it simply isn’t that easy.

I have stood in shops holding something labelled XXL and wondered whether we are using the same alphabet. On more than one occasion, the largest size available looked as though it might fit an Australian twelve-year-old.

Bali can be particularly brutal. Sometimes they just laugh. Other times I have been cheerfully offered what has been described to me as the “King Kong size”. There is nothing quite like being told you need the King Kong size, only to discover that even King Kong apparently has a smaller backside than you do.

I can laugh about some of it now, but there is another side to this that isn’t funny. I have shed plenty of tears over clothes shopping in Asia. I have also bought clothes that didn’t fit, knowing perfectly well before I even left the shop that they didn’t fit. Sometimes you become so embarrassed, frustrated or determined to make something work that handing over the money seems easier than admitting defeat yet again.

That is why I overpack clothes.

It isn’t because I think I need fourteen different outfits for a two-week trip. It is because I know that if something doesn’t fit, gets damaged or simply isn’t suitable, replacing it may not be as easy for me as it is for someone else.

Shoes, on the other hand, are a completely different story. I can buy shoes. Lots of shoes. Remarkably, I have never encountered a shop assistant who looked at my feet and suggested the King Kong range. So naturally I feel it is important to support the local shoe economy whenever possible.

And then there are bras. If clothes shopping can be difficult, bra shopping has defeated me completely. Firstly, I don’t need the additional padding that seems to come as standard with so many bras in Asia. I arrived with that particular feature already installed. Secondly, the sizing can be extraordinary. I have picked up bras that looked approximately size 6A and thought, That wouldn’t have fitted me when I was twelve. So bras have earned permanent priority status in my suitcase.

Clothes that fit, bras that fit and sunscreen that works. Everything else can negotiate for the remaining kilos.

Then there is the food

We don’t just pack clothes. We export Australian culture.

First into the suitcase is the mandatory Vegemite.

I can’t stand Vegemite. My husband loves it, so apparently that is enough to justify giving it precious luggage space. I do, however, get some entertainment value from it because I use Vegemite as a teaching tool with my international students.

Watching someone try Vegemite for the first time is one of life’s little pleasures. They are invariably very polite.

“Oh yes, that’s nice.” Their face is saying: “What on earth have you just made me eat?” I smile, congratulate them on trying an iconic Australian food and resist the temptation to tell them that I wouldn’t eat it either.

So perhaps the Vegemite earns its place after all.

It also undergoes a remarkable transformation once you leave Australia. At home, it’s just another jar sitting quietly on a supermarket shelf. Overseas, Vegemite becomes a commodity. Mention that you have a spare jar around a group of Australians living overseas and suddenly people are interested in you.

Very interested. Which makes me think we may be overlooking a business opportunity. Forget affiliate marketing. Forget online courses. We could be dealing Vegemite.

“Psst. Australian? Looking for the good stuff? I’ve got a 380-gram jar. Unopened. Australian stock.”

At the right moment, we could probably name our price. But Vegemite is only the beginning.

We also bring Maggi gravy powder. Not a couple of sachets. Not a sensible little container for those moments when only gravy will do. A one-kilogram container.

One kilogram. When you are standing at the airport trying to get a suitcase under the baggage allowance, one kilogram suddenly becomes an enormous amount of weight. That’s a pair of shoes. Several tops. Possibly a small household appliance. But apparently gravy outranks all of them.

Then there are herbs and spices, Cup-a-Soup and assorted other supermarket treasures that seemed completely ordinary when we lived in Australia but have somehow acquired luxury status now that we don’t.

This is how the expat cupboard begins.

You don’t plan an expat cupboard. It evolves. One day you open the door and realise you have created a small shrine to Woolworths.

Things that once sat unnoticed in your Australian pantry suddenly require stock control. You know exactly how many you have left, when the next trip home is and whether current consumption levels are sustainable.

There are also strict rules about who can have what. Visitors are welcome to tea, coffee and anything readily available locally. But don’t casually reach for something that has flown in from Australia and in limited supply. That’s not a snack. That’s inventory.

Apparently, my armpits have requirements too

Then we get to toiletries. Deodorant comes from Australia. There are practical reasons for this. I know the brands I like, I can buy them in containers that aren’t glass, and I don’t have to worry about discovering halfway through the label that the product also promises to whiten my armpits.

I have reached a stage in life where I have many things I could potentially improve about myself. The colour of my armpits is not currently high on the list. So Australian deodorant earns its place.

As does sunscreen. I am Australian. I have old Australian skin. This skin has already spent decades being exposed to a country where stepping outside to collect the mail can sometimes feel like you’ve wandered onto the surface of the sun.

I am not experimenting with sunscreen. I want something I know, something I trust and something that works. That goes in the suitcase. No discussion.

Everything has to earn its weight

And that, after years of doing this, is what I have finally realised. Packing isn’t really about how much you can fit into a suitcase. It is about what earns the right to be there.

When you only have a limited number of kilograms, everything starts competing. Do I want this badly enough to carry it halfway across the world? Will I actually use it? Can I buy something similar when I get there?

And, most importantly: Is it more important than the gravy? Apparently, that’s the benchmark in our household. I am getting better.

Or Have I Found a Loophole?

I think I may have found a loophole in the whole baggage allowance system.

We travel a lot, particularly during cruise season when my husband works as an Enrichment Speaker. We also return regularly to Australia to spend time with my 94-year-old father and the rest of our family.

In the past, whenever we left for several weeks, we would pack up our apartment, take our belongings with us and start all over again when we returned sometimes in a completely different apartment. Not anymore.

Now that we have a permanent base in Da Nang, we simply lock the apartment door and leave. This has created a problem I hadn’t anticipated. Nothing leaves.

Every trip back to Australia I somehow return with another 20 kilograms. Twenty kilos go in. Nothing comes out. I am no mathematician, but even I can see where this is heading. I don’t unpack anymore. I conduct a merger.

The clothes join the clothes. The toiletries join the toiletries. The Australian pantry supplies disappear into the cupboard to join their relatives. And somewhere, deep in the darkness of the pantry, I am fairly certain two packets of Cup-a-Soup have started a family.

And still nothing gets thrown away.

I am beginning to suspect that while we’re travelling, the contents of the apartment are breeding. There is no other explanation. I open a cupboard and find things I don’t remember buying. Clothes appear that I haven’t seen for months. There are enough reusable shopping bags to open a supermarket.

The frightening part is that we will eventually return to Australia again. And I already know what will happen.

I’ll arrive back in Da Nang with another 20 kilos. At this rate, the apartment isn’t our permanent base. It’s a storage facility with a bedroom.

But I am also realistic.

I am never going to be one of those travellers who glides through an airport with a tiny carry-on bag containing three perfectly coordinated outfits, a toothbrush and an air of superiority.

I have accepted that. I have clothes that fit me, sunscreen I trust, deodorant that leaves my armpits exactly the colour nature intended, enough gravy to cater a small wedding and a jar of something I don’t even eat.

And somewhere in all of that, I like to think I’ve become a better packer.

Although the scales and my husband may disagree.

Love MyLifestyle #Sheridan-Leigh

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About the Author:

Sheridan-Leigh is the passionate voice behind the MyLifestyle Blog, where life is celebrated with vibrant stories and insightful travel tips. With a deep love for slow travel, she believes in truly experiencing each destination, creating connections beyond the surface. Her blog is a blend of personal stories, expert advice, and a philosophy that life is for living to the fullest and is rich with opportunities for growth and adventure. Join Sheridan-Leigh as she shares her journey, inspiring others to embrace life, travel deeply, and live fully.

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