The Limits of the Suitcase: How Many Kilos of Your Identity Can You Carry?

Author: Ece Uygan

Last week, while packing my suitcase for a week-long trip, my bedroom turned into a battlefield. I was indecisive between three t-shirts, as if I were choosing which part of my life to take with me. I once experienced the same chaos while preparing for another trip; I couldn't decide which notebook to take or which shirt to leave behind.

At that moment, I thought of Chinese artist Yin Xiuzhen's Portable City series. She places everyday objects she collects from cities—fabrics, postcards, soap—into a suitcase; each one exudes the spirit of that city. Every suitcase is both a container of memories and an inquiry into identity. This pushed me to think about what I take with me when packing, which items I leave behind, and on what basis I make these decisions.

BUILDING A HOME AWAY FROM HOME

Packing a suitcase is not about collecting items, but distilling identity. Before setting off on a journey, we weigh what we will leave behind: a habit, the residue of an argument, perhaps the weight of a city. Then, we choose what to take with us. This is more than a simple list; it is a self-portrait. The saying "fewer items, fewer worries" is like a consolation for those who cannot fit into their luggage. But in reality, the suitcase tests us: How light can we become, and how much of ourselves can we remain?

This process is one of the rare moments when algorithms fall silent. It is just you and the possibilities. What if it rains? What if you get an invitation? Or what if you are left alone with your own silence in a hotel room? How much can you give up, and how much can you carry?

For some, this is more complex. An immigrant stuffs a piece of their mother's hand-woven fabric into their suitcase; for them, the journey is not about breaking away from roots, but a temporary reflection of the bond established with home... An old photograph carries traces of belonging. A small rug is an act of stubbornness to establish the warmth of home in a foreign room.

THE WEIGHT OF EXCESS

A minimalist traveler wards off excess with three t-shirts. Someone who believes in possibilities gets caught up in the enthusiasm of "maybe I'll need it" and stuffs in three umbrellas, as if preparing for a tropical storm. But a suitcase is not just a functional tool; the items it carries also reveal the owner's social status and values. A suitcase with few items reflects the urban culture's ideal of speed and efficiency. An expensive watch whispers economic power, while a student who has just left their family home clings to their roots with a few personal items. Every choice is a declaration of identity, and every item is like a social coordinate.

In addition to all this, the suitcase weighs not only identity but also the consumer frenzy of the modern world. As stores overflow with "travel-friendly" small gadgets, each one whispers to us: More items, a better journey. A compact charger, a collapsible water bottle, or even a portable coffee maker "just in case." On one trip, that multi-purpose knife I bought in a hurry returned in my suitcase without ever being used, but at the moment of purchase, it felt like a traveler's essential. This rush is fueled by the concept of FOMO (Fear of Missing Out), which is popular in the accelerated world of 2025. FOMO takes hold of us with the anxiety of not being able to capture the perfect photo frame at that cool restaurant or missing out on an unexpected plan. When you see your friends' holiday posts on social media, it triggers the urge to stuff one more "maybe" into your suitcase. Every item is an attempt to guarantee a possibility, but this effort increases the chaos. Consumption places a burden on our suitcases that is too heavy to fit: Does the pressure to be prepared for everything weigh down our freedom?

THE AESTHETICS OF THE SUITCASE

The suitcase acts as a crisis management center for the journey against this chaos of consumption. On one trip, it became my map when my phone was lost, my notebook when I lost my bus ticket, and my hand fan when the heat became overwhelming. While placing each item, I felt as if I were building a small fortress against chaos. These items accompanied me like silent friends throughout the journey.

But the suitcase is no longer just a practical burden of the road. It has become a showcase of identity rather than a crisis preparation bag. Nowadays, packing a suitcase turns into a social media stage. Influencers dictate which bag will suit that cool restaurant and which hat will match the beach pose. Outfits are planned: a dress in a color that harmonizes with the surrounding scenery for a beach walk, a linen shirt for social media, and a "just in case" dress for the night. One more accessory, one more "aesthetic."

In Agnès Varda's film Vagabond, Mona's backpack is filled with a few clothes and a note. A farmer asks: "Why do you have so few things?" Mona's answer is sharp: "Because everything is heavy." That bag carries Mona's search for freedom and her conflict with the boundaries of society.

CLOSING THE SUITCASE

The suitcase closes, and the journey seems to end. But the real reckoning begins when you return. When I opened my suitcase, I found a wrinkled shirt, a tram ticket, and an unused notebook. The things you organized in a hotel room, the things you threw away in a hurry at the airport, the things you left on the street... These are a piece of your past. Like Mona's bag, your suitcase also shows your choices and your limits. What do the things you carry, the things you leave behind, and the things you ignore tell you?