The first law of travel gear

Thoughts on a backpack obsession years in the making.

Occasionally, I’ll get a message from a friend or reader asking which backpack to buy for an upcoming trip. It’s a reasonable question, or at least it would be if I was a normal, well-adjusted adult. But I’m not normal nor am I well-adjusted, which means those brave souls don’t really know what they’re getting themselves into when they send that query.

Behind my desk is a gear rack with at least 10 different backpacks piled on it. They’re all slightly different, ranging in capacity from 35-65 liters, with some designed for thru-hiking and others for more general travel. I can rationalize the utility of all the bags and tell you why they all deserve a place on the rack, but mostly it’s an obsession.

At one point, the dominant traveler archetypes were either “I work at McKinsey and am a very important person” or “I have no idea what McKinsey is but I know where to find the best kombucha.” You could choose either a roller bag or the old crunchy hiking backpack you had lying around. Around 2010, a crop of travel-specific backpacks and gear started entering the market. At the same time, the one-bag and minimalist travelers communities gained momentum.

It was a unique combination of 1) millennials with disposable income and an eagerness to travel, 2) the faux minimalist era of consumerism and, 3) the rise of budget airline carriers (Ryanair, easyJet, etc.) that limited the size of your carry-on. The constraints were clear; as long as I packed in one small bag, I could fly from Dublin to Paris for under $20. A price that was particularly appealing to me, a broke 20-something who just finished paying off his student loans.

After two weeks traveling around Serbia and Switzerland, frustrated by my old hiking backpack, I went deep into the one-bag travel gear rabbit hole and haven’t really returned since. It’s an expensive hole, folks. And an oddly radicalizing journey. One minute you’re looking for a new backpack, the next you’re buying $100 merino wool t-shirts and $200 polyester “travel pants” all to avoid the $30 baggage fee. All you can do is laugh, I think. There are about 822,000 other folks who share my obsession, though, so at least I’m not alone.

There’s plenty of ridiculous advice and some silly attempts at optimization out there, so it took a few iterations of backpacks and gear to figure out what actually matters. For example, Merino wool is worth it, but 100% Merino is often overkill - blends have better durability while still giving you most of the benefits. On the other hand, microfiber “travel towels” are garbage and a waste of money. So are neck pillows.

Regardless of the optimizations, there’s a natural temptation to maximize the amount of kit you can carry. But out of this travel gear crucible, I formed my “Law of 35 Liters,” which states:

• Any backpack over 35 liters will be too heavy, especially if you’re carrying a laptop.

• You can pack 7 to 10 days’ worth of clothing in 35 liters. If you can pack for one week, you’ve packed indefinitely. Laundry is inevitable (and not a big deal).

• Embrace the constraints; you won’t be able to pack everything you own.

I can feel your doubts. They’re the same doubts Steph had when we first met. The same doubts that led her to buy a monstrosity of a backpack and promptly regret it. The 35-liter capacity strikes the ideal balance between having a decent amount of space while forcing you to be judicious with your packing and make tough cuts. More than 35 liters will be burden to carry and you’ll end up regretting the backpack life. Under 35 liters and you’ll be riding those underwear a little too hard.

I’ve put this law to the test by living out of 35 liters for over a year straight across multiple countries, climates, and activities. There are real benefits that can justify my neurotic obsession, like cheaper flights, the ability to stow it under the seat in front of you, and increased mobility in transit (especially important for long, multi-modal days) - which are all true! But the biggest benefit of packing in 35 liters is a euphoric feeling of freedom. When you’re sitting canal side at a bacaro in Venice, glass of wine, cicchetti on the table, and everything you need is in a small backpack at your feet, the world suddenly feels limitless.

If you’re intrigued and on the hunt for a backpack, take a look at the Minaal 2.0/3.0 or the Matador GlobeRider35 - those are my favorites on the market right now.

Skylar

The GlobeRider35 in action in Mexico City.