I took exactly two plane rides in the first 16 years of my life. And until I was 28 years old, the most permanent piece of luggage I owned was the navy trunk I shlepped to Camp Ramah in the Poconos every summer. So, when I got a job as the Entertainment Editor at Teen Vogue, my best friend (a fashion editor, naturally) sent me a link to an army-green canvas Marc By Marc Jacobs suitcase on ShopBop. It cost more than a week’s rent — I lived with two roommates at the time — but I figured, "I’m going to be traveling from NYC to L.A. every five minutes, so what the hell?"
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In the past five years, I’ve taken more than 150 flights. I’ve read more young adult books than anyone should ever have to, and have rinsed out my brain with all of Tom Wolfe’s essays. Traveling from NYC to L.A. to Russia to Puerto Rico to Nashville, I’ve watched every Joss Whedon show available. I’ve consumed the majority of my culture diet whilst 50,000 feet off the ground, and I’ve carted it all in the front pocket of my trusty little suitcase that could.
As someone who books celebrities for a living, nothing makes me happier than not being one. I like to trudge along unnoticed, pulling my little carry-on behind me. But, when a well-dressed fellow traveler goes out of her way to compliment it, I feel kind of cool. I think of all of the opportunities I’ve had and how I’ve gotten to see the world in so many ways that my parents never did. (I also think: "I bet you have no idea that these pants are actually jeggings." But I don’t actually say that out loud.)
I’m sure people look at my overtly branded luggage and scoff: "Really? A Marc Jacobs suitcase? It’s canvas. I bet she paid a fortune for an army-issued wheelie that someone stenciled on in gold. It’s so ordinary."
It’s not fancy or sweet. It doesn’t get that much attention. And it certainly won’t win any best-dressed awards. But it lasts! And the more it wears, the better it looks. I hope one day, someone will say that about me.