I’m pretty sure the first time I tried to do that whole “capsule holiday wardrobe” thing was for a trip to Cornwall when I was like twenty-four. I’d been following all these minimalist fashion bloggers who made it look so easy – you know, the ones who travel with five perfectly coordinated pieces and somehow always look effortlessly chic? Yeah, well, I bought into that fantasy hard.
Spent weeks planning this supposedly versatile collection of basics, packed everything into this tiny canvas weekender bag I’d bought specifically to look like I had my shit together, and drove down feeling incredibly smug about my minimalist packing prowess. The bag was definitely too small but it looked so intentional, which at the time felt more important than practicality.
Day two it rained. Not just a little drizzle – proper biblical flooding for like fourteen hours straight. My single pair of canvas Vans got so soaked they were still damp three days later, and I’m pretty sure they developed their own ecosystem. Day three the sun came out blazing and my “versatile” black jeans made me sweat in places I didn’t know existed. By day five I was wearing a bright yellow rain jacket covered in cartoon seagulls that I’d panic-bought from a tourist shop, plus my friend’s boyfriend’s oversized hoodie and flip-flops from a gas station that gave me blisters in entirely new locations.
Anyway, that trip was my wake-up call that British holiday packing is basically impossible if you follow normal advice. Our weather is absolutely psychotic – you can start the day in what feels like the Mediterranean and end it feeling like you’re in Scotland in February. And when your budget means you might be doing Brighton one year and Barcelona the next (or both in the same trip if you time the sales right), you need clothes that work whether you’re dodging seagulls or sipping sangria.
After about fifteen years and way too many packing disasters, I think I’ve finally cracked the code. Not the perfect minimalist capsule thing – that’s a lie sold by people who don’t live in Britain – but something that actually works in real life.
The breakthrough came when I stopped trying to pack the absolute minimum and started focusing on what I call “adaptable foundations.” It’s not about having fewer things, it’s about having the right things that can handle multiple situations. Like, I don’t need seventeen sundresses “just in case” but I do need pieces that won’t leave me shivering in an air-conditioned restaurant or sweating through a heat wave.
My current system revolves around three pairs of trousers, and I swear by this combination. First, proper jeans – mine are Levi’s Ribcage straight leg that look good rolled up or down. Second, wide-leg linen-cotton blend pants because pure linen is a nightmare that creases if you look at it wrong, but the cotton mix keeps them civilized. Third, and this is my secret weapon, a pair of what I call “fancy pajamas” – they look like real trousers but have an elasticated waist and are basically the most comfortable thing ever. Got mine from Arket ages ago and they’ve been to job interviews, nice dinners, and yes, I’ve actually slept in them on overnight trains.
For tops I’ve given up on the fantasy that one white shirt works for everything. Instead I pack one genuinely good cotton shirt that’s oversized so I can tie it at the waist or roll the sleeves, two different weight t-shirts (lightweight for serious heat, medium weight for layering), and what I call my “fancy top.” Currently that’s a black silk-cotton tank with tiny smocking details – doesn’t crease, hand washes in hotel sinks, always dry by morning. Cost me like £45 from COS two years ago and it’s been everywhere.
Dresses are where people totally lose the plot. You don’t need seven nearly identical sundresses. You need exactly two: one that works with trainers for day but can handle sandals and earrings for dinner, and one substantial enough that you won’t get hypothermia if the temperature drops ten degrees or you end up in some brutally air-conditioned restaurant. My go-to combination is a cotton midi shirt dress with sleeves that roll and buttons I can adjust depending on how hot it is, plus a short-sleeved knit dress that sounds weird but is honestly the most useful thing I own.
Outerwear is where British packing gets serious. I don’t care what the weather app says – if you’re staying in the UK, you need actual waterproof protection. Not some “shower-resistant” blazer that looks cute but leaves you soaked, a proper rain jacket with a hood. Mine’s from Rains, cost about £85 four years ago, dark green instead of black so it looks intentional rather than apologetic when I’m wearing it over a sundress. That jacket has saved holidays from Devon to Edinburgh.
For the whole UK-plus-abroad situation, I always pack a denim jacket and what I call my “fancy cardigan” – oversized knit with interesting buttons that’s basically a very soft jacket. Both can layer together if it gets really cold, which has prevented hypothermia on more occasions than I’d like to admit.
Shoes are honestly where most holiday wardrobes completely fall apart. After the Great Soggy Trainer Incident I’m almost paranoid about footwear. My holy trinity is: comfortable walking sandals (Birkenstock Arizonas – not groundbreaking but they work with everything), trainers that can handle getting wet (currently some Veja that still look decent when damp), and slightly dressy flats that don’t take up much space. Mine are black suede pointed Mary Janes that look fancy but can actually handle cobblestones.
I used to pack like six different tiny handbags which was incredibly stupid. Now it’s one decent crossbody for day that fits water, small umbrella, phone, keys, lip balm, wallet, and emergency snacks (apparently I pack like I’m chaperoning a school trip), plus one small evening bag. Both in colors that work with everything – tan leather crossbody and black raffia clutch that’s survived three summers.
The real secret though is what I call “weather adapters” – small things that completely change how an outfit handles temperature. Cotton bandana can be sweat band, shoulder cover, hair tie, or nose sunscreen. Lightweight cotton shirt works as swimsuit cover-up, layering piece, or tied around waist when sun appears. Thin ankle socks transform sandals into something that works with jeans when it gets unexpectedly cold.
Also finally accepted I need a packable sun hat after my scalp got so burned in Hastings that my hair parting literally peeled for weeks. Super attractive in editorial meetings, obviously. Mine’s a slightly beaten-up straw fedora that somehow springs back to life no matter how much I crush it into bags.
Swimwear took ages to figure out. Not seventeen bikinis or one sensible swimsuit, but two pieces that mix and match. High-waisted bottoms that don’t give me kidney freeze in British seas, matching top, and one-piece in similar colors. Three different looks without taking up half my bag.
The biggest realization has been accepting that British summer dressing isn’t about pretending you’re permanently in the south of France. It’s about embracing clothes that can handle a blazing hot day that turns into November by teatime. There’s something quite satisfying about mastering outfits that work in multiple climates – same look that handles windswept Brighton might work for tapas in Barcelona with minor tweaks.
Last month I ran into an old uni friend at Heathrow. She was dragging this massive suitcase to Ibiza while I was off to split time between visiting my parents in Reading and a weekend in Rome, just with cabin bag and tote. “How do you fit everything?” she asked, staring at my modest luggage situation. “I packed like six outfits per day just in case.”
Didn’t have the heart to explain that “just in case” thinking leads to excess baggage fees and wardrobes that don’t work in actual life. Just mentioned my adaptable foundations approach while she wrestled what looked like a fifth pair of wedges into an already exploding side pocket.
Three days later she WhatsApped from Ibiza: “It rained. Nothing works. Bought jumper from tourist shop that says ‘I ❤️ Ibiza’ in glitter. Help.” Resisted saying I told you so, just sent sympathetic emoji and promised to help pack for her next trip.
Because honestly, good holiday packing isn’t some innate talent – it’s learned through multiple disasters. I’ve been that person panic-buying random clothes from foreign supermarkets. I’ve worn bikinis with hoodies because I misjudged British summer weather. I’ve ruined good leather sandals in surprise downpours and shivered through meals because I trusted the deceptive sunshine outside my hotel window.
But now, whether I’m in Margate or Mallorca, I know I’ll be comfortable and appropriately dressed no matter what weather chaos gets thrown my way. And really, that’s the ultimate holiday luxury, isn’t it? Not perfect designer everything, but knowing that whatever meteorological nonsense happens, you’ve got it sorted. Sometimes literally.
Madison’s a Portland-based designer who treats thrift stores like treasure hunts. She writes about dressing well on a real salary—think smart buys, affordable finds, and brutal honesty about what’s worth it. Stylish, broke, and proud of it.
