Back in December, Jon and I took an eight day trip to London. It was our first international trip since COVID and my first trip abroad with type 1. Thrilling! Exciting! Mildly terrifying!
Before we left, my first order of business—before practical things like researching transit, currency exchange, or cell coverage(!)—was to write a packing list. (Pro tip: Check if your phone is SIM-locked BEFORE arriving in another country.) As someone who didn’t travel much growing up, I’ve always loved packing lists. They signal many things—aesthetics, personality, taste. Packing lists also imply the freedom to be in another place, to move between places. (Authors “splitting time,” anyone?) That freedom’s always felt luxurious, often out of reach.
Lists can be a tool to tell ourselves who we are, what we hold close. There’s a decisiveness to packing lists; there is an intention to include or exclude certain things. Deodorant? Enough socks? We can debate if those things belong—they do on mine, because I’m forgetful. Such lists are aspirational, creating a vision of yourself and your style. They are Tumblr before Tumblr. To me, the ultimate aspirational packing list is Joan Didion’s, published in her 1979 essay collection The White Album.
TO PACK AND WEAR:
2 skirts
2 jerseys or leotards
1 pullover sweater
2 pair shoes
stockings
bra
nightgown, robe, slippers
cigarettes
bourbon
bag with: shampoo
toothbrush and paste
Basis soap, razor
deodorant
aspirin
prescriptions
Tampax
face cream
powder
baby oil
TO CARRY:
mohair throw
typewriter
2 legal pads and pens
files
house key
Didion had a bright, cool self-awareness that came out in her essays. Describing the list, she says, “It should be clear that this was a list made by someone who prized control, yearned after momentum, someone determined to play her role as if she had the script, heard her cues, knew the narrative.” While it’s unlikely she would have called this “curation,” she knew she was telling herself (and us!) a story: A story about a woman who travels. The list, the journey—both are performance. She is authoring herself and playing a part, all at once. Didion is there in the text, tucked between wardrobe and carry-on. The list nods to what we know; she was an able-bodied cis white woman who came from money and worked as a journalist. The body finds its way in: She shaved her legs. Drank. Had a period. Famously averse to identity politics, she would hate this line of thinking. So it goes.
It’s no coincidence the text continues to thrive on Tumblr. This list has followed me to every corner of the internet for decades, from time as a girl online (miss you LiveJournal!) to more recent Instagram doomscrolling. It’s a list that inspires, intrigues, and annoys in equal measure. A list that remains, unlike so many scraps of discarded paper and deleted Notes files. What keeps us coming back to it? This list, and our collective fascination with it, says much about who we are and who we long to be.
For me, that is a person without illness.
Unboxing my new suitcase, I looked online for the list. Seeing it again, I was struck by the different readings, the parts that resonate now vs. then. Reading it, young me imagined a literary It Girl on the go, complete with pashmina and legal pads. I daydreamed of traveling with a typewriter, leotards, and bourbon, the lovechild of Audrey Hepburn and Charles Bukowski. (We were all 19 once!) Back then, fashion drew me in; I loved the idea of a minimal wardrobe. There’s also the element of uniform dressing, a method I’ve tried for years, though I never landed on a go-to look. See: Every yearly trip to Beacon’s Closet to offload lumpy sweaters or hard pants.
According to Didion, clothing’s less about style and more about “the deliberate anonymity of costume,” a neutral outfit for work. (It’s really both.) She goes on: “[In] a skirt, a leotard and stockings, I could pass on either side of the culture.” Her outfit is functional, and if it happens to be chic, that’s a happy coincidence. Ironically, those basics are part of what captured the popular imagination; every few years, Elle and Vogue speculate on what kind of skirt or ballet flats she might have packed.
Looking at Didion’s list now, different things call to me: Prescriptions. Aspirin. The mohair throw. The specifics interest me, as do the omissions. We know her brand of tampon, but not what medicine she takes. Why note the material of the throw, but leave off the prescriptions? Maybe it’s an easy shorthand—listing meds can be a lot! Maybe it’s a choice to keep private. Maybe they vary from trip to trip.
I’m not sure any of that covers it. Didion saw style as character, and she felt it important that her work reflected her sensibility. Leaving off medications is an aesthetic choice. It’s an interesting way to hide the body, its needs, and the fact of illness. We know more about her taste in textiles than her prescriptions; that’s a choice.
That leads me to my London list.
Because I live for fashion, darling, the outfits come first. Didion still lives in my head rent-free. But there’s surprisingly little detail, since I knew I’d need more space (mental and page) for essentials. If I wrote this list in 2013, it would have looked a lot like hers—skirts, a trench coat, neutral flats, maybe some comfy chic sneakers. Now I’m more interested in making sure I have enough CGMs (Continuous Glucose Monitors) to keep tabs on my blood sugar. A different take on functional fashion. As for makeup, it’s there because I’d forget it! I couldn’t make it on baby oil and face powder alone.
Flying is not my thing, but dramamine and melatonin make it manageable, along with lots of reading material. Books take up less space on the list because I tend to make snap decisions about what to bring, ideally a mix of novels and magazines or zines. Shoutout to the Bushwick mini-mart where I scored four issues of The Baffler for $1.50 each. I also started reading John Bowen’s The Girls—totally delightful. If you like books that are equally cozy and unsettling, highly recommend the McNally Editions reissue. Sound off in the comments with your favorite in-flight reading recs!
The main difference? On my list, meds are front and center. For eight days in London, I packed 90 days of medicine, including extra tubes of Humalog (mealtime insulin) and Lantus (nighttime insulin), needles, and juice, which, while not a med, is my go-to for combatting lows. (Apple & Eve: Hi again, sponsor me!) Insulin is at the heart of the list. Insurance gives me a month-long supply of each type at a time. I try not to think about how this is tied to capitalism, and how—if I keep working hard!—I can live another thirty days. It’s maddening, to say the least. To get an additional 60 days of meds, it took approximately twelve hours of phone and in-person pleas, efforts to get my endocrinologist, United Healthcare, and the fatigued pharmacy techs at Duane Reade to process a “vacation override” for each prescription.
With its easy bullets, labor disappears beneath the surface of this list. It conceals my struggle (Knausgaard much?) for enough medicine to visit a new place and live a few weeks. If this sounds melodramatic, it is! Thinking about the state of American healthcare takes me from mild annoyance to existential despair in five seconds flat. Still, I’m thankful to be able to get what I need. With a flexible work schedule, English proficiency, and a white WASP voice (like a nicer Karen!) I can get what I need, with extra time and effort. Many others, including folks with physical disabilities, limited English proficiency, and/or multiple jobs, don’t have this level of privilege. The time and space and appearance to get necessary care. Knowing the system is designed this way fills me with rage. The cruelty is the point. It goes without saying, but I’ll say it: Everyone should have what they need to stay alive and live. Give people medicine, money, housing.
Back to the list: Like Didion’s, mine shows a longing for control. Her list is about ease, mobility, being able to toss things in a bag without thought. Drive off on a moment’s notice. For me, it’s a longing to move through the world with less worry. Less attention to my illness. It’s less about ease than anticipation—anticipating my blood sugar will run high from sticky toffee pudding or low from walking many miles in Battersea. Knowing my illness will make itself known. The extra meds mean that, when I feel unwell, I can pause, take what I need, and move on with the day. It’s about peace of mind.
I haven’t always been so proactive. Writing the list, I remembered spending a weekend at a friend’s on Staten Island without Humalog. It was meant to be a fun overnight, with movies, baking, and dinner at a local Italian spot. Only after we arrived did I realize my single Humalog tube had six units left. Six units of insulin could be a cookie, a half a sandwich, or a banana—definitely not enough for a full day of cooking. By that time, I would’ve lost several hours to the pharmacy or cabbing back to Brooklyn, so I decided to soldier on. Not wanting to dampen the mood, I kept it to myself. After the pen ran out, I went almost 24 hours without insulin, blood sugar running in the 300s from kabocha scones (delicious!) and handmade pasta. It was bittersweet, what should have been a fun weekend punctuated by brain fog and body aches. There’s also the specter of DKA, the cause of my hospitalization. Lacking insulin is frankly terrifying. Since that weekend I bring spares everywhere. This fear doesn’t fit well in the aesthetics of Didion’s list. In her longing for order and control, what fear lives between the nightgown and cigarettes?
As I started chewing on all this, I looked for writers who’ve been inspired by and complicated the OG packing list. In her newsletter The Isolation Journals, Suleika Jaouad shares a writing prompt inspired by Didion. This is followed by a powerful reflection on packing for hospitalization and cancer treatment. In it, she writes one of my favorite lines of all time: “Survival is its own kind of creative act.” Reading her take on a packing list brought me back to my own with fresh eyes. While it may not read chic, it’s creative; and more importantly, this list kept me alive.
What’s on your packing list? I’d love to know what’s at the top of the list, the things you bring on trips and what they mean. Medicine, yes, but also outfits, silly things, your favorite hand sanitizer, etc.
And while I have you, a few travel notes from London and from Philly, where we spent last President’s Day weekend eating everything in sight.
Eating & Drinking
Culinary highlights from London:
After baking from The Violet Bakery Cookbook for years, I finally got to visit in person. The winter citrus meringue slice is heaven.
Quince! That perfumed fruit, so tough to find in New York, was abundant. We saw it everywhere from fancy bodegas to provisions shops. I love edible souvenirs, so we picked up quince ketchup from Leila’s Shop on Calvert Ave. Joy in a jar.
Sitting at the bar of Ducksoup was a total delight. We ate plate after small plate, a blur of local mushrooms, focaccia, chicories, pasta, and odd-delicious wines.
At Nostos Coffee, Jon and I tried flat whites with housemade freeze-distilled milk. These days I don’t do dairy in espresso drinks, but this was totally worth it. Freezing the milk brought out caramel notes that paired well with the coffee.
Cafe Cecilia is my favorite place in London. I dream of the anchovy sage fritti every day.
And recent faves from Philly:
Dinner at Pietramala was straight-up revelatory. Between HAGS and Pietramala, we’ve been fortunate to have incredible vegan food in restaurants over the past two weeks. I loved the fettucine with aged tofu and sweet potato; combstooth mushrooms; and the gem salad. Warm hospitality, beautiful space. Chef’s kiss!!!
Down North Pizza does great things for the community and the Norffalo Cauliflower Wings can’t be beat. Ultimate comfort food.
Persimmon Coffee is my platonic ideal of a coffee shop. Small but thoughtful space, kind service, delicious coffee. Grab a cortado and sit in the back while the snow melts.