How to Pack for a Week in a Carry-On Like a Normal Person
I want to tell you about the worst packing experience of my life, because I think it'll set the tone for everything that follows.
It was 2019. I was flying from JFK to Lisbon for a friend's bachelor party -- five days, nothing crazy. I checked a massive rolling suitcase because I'd packed like I was relocating to Portugal permanently. Three pairs of jeans. Four button-downs. A sport coat "just in case." Dress shoes, running shoes, flip flops. A full-size bottle of shampoo that I somehow thought would make it through security (it didn't). I even packed a travel iron. A travel iron. For a bachelor party.
The suitcase never made it to Lisbon. It went to Lisbon, Ohio, or maybe just vanished into whatever purgatory lost luggage occupies. I spent the first two days of the trip in the same clothes I flew in, buying overpriced tourist t-shirts from shops near the Alfama. My buddy got married and there's a photo of me at the rehearsal dinner wearing a shirt that says "LISBOA" in rhinestones.
I vowed that day to become a carry-on-only person. And after about six years of refining the system, I can now pack for a full week -- business meetings, dinners, workouts, all of it -- in a single carry-on bag that fits under the seat if I need it to. No checked luggage. No baggage carousel anxiety. No rhinestone t-shirts.
Here's how I do it, and how you can too, without becoming one of those minimalist weirdos who owns three shirts and calls it a "philosophy."
The Bag Matters More Than You Think
Let's start with the bag itself, because this is where most guys either overspend dramatically or grab whatever duffel is in their closet and wonder why it doesn't fit in the overhead bin.
You want a bag that maxes out the carry-on dimensions (22 x 14 x 9 inches for most airlines) without being a rigid hard-shell suitcase that wastes space with its own structure. A travel backpack is the move. It packs flat when empty, expands to use every cubic inch, and you can actually carry it through a crowded airport like a human being instead of dragging a wheeled box through people's ankles.
The Peak Design Travel Backpack 45L is what I use, and it's the best $300 I've spent on travel gear. It opens like a suitcase (full clamshell zip), meets carry-on requirements, has a dedicated laptop compartment, and the shoulder straps tuck away so you can check it if you ever need to. It looks good too, which shouldn't matter but does.
If 160. Slightly less organized, fewer pockets, but bomb-proof construction and Osprey's lifetime warranty means you'll only buy it once. I used a Farpoint for three years before upgrading and it still works fine. I lent it to my brother and he's taken it to six countries.
The Cotopaxi Allpa 35L is another solid pick at around $200. Gorgeous colors if you're into that, great internal organization, and it's made from repurposed materials, which is a nice bonus if you care about that sort of thing.
Whatever you choose, avoid anything with external straps and dangly bits hanging off it. Gate agents look at those bags like they're pipe bombs.
The Capsule Wardrobe (It's Not as Pretentious as It Sounds)
Here's the concept: instead of packing a complete outfit for each day, you pack pieces that all work together. Everything matches everything else. Any top works with any bottom. This means you can pack fewer items and still look like you put thought into it, instead of looking like you packed in the dark, which -- let's be honest -- most of us have done.
For a seven-day trip, here's what I bring:
Bottoms (3): One pair of dark jeans, one pair of chinos (navy or olive), and one pair of athletic shorts that double as swim trunks. The Vuori Kore shorts are perfect for this -- they look like regular shorts, but the liner means they work for the beach or the gym. Three bottoms, seven days. Each pair gets worn two to three times. Nobody notices. Nobody has ever noticed. I've asked.
Tops (5): Two plain crew-neck t-shirts (black and charcoal), one henley, one button-down that works untucked, and one polo or casual collared shirt. All in neutral colors -- navy, gray, black, olive. Everything matches everything. I could get dressed in the dark and still look presentable.
Layers (1-2): A lightweight quarter-zip or crewneck sweater, and maybe a packable rain jacket if the destination calls for it. The Patagonia Nano Puff compresses to the size of a softball and handles everything from airplane AC to chilly restaurant patios.
Underwear and socks (5 each): Merino wool for both. I know, I know -- merino wool underwear sounds bougie. It is bougie. It's also the single best upgrade I've made to my packing. Allbirds makes solid merino boxer briefs, and Darn Tough makes socks that are borderline indestructible. Merino doesn't hold odor the way synthetics do, which means you can push a pair to two days in a pinch. I'm not saying you should. I'm saying you can.
That's 16 items of clothing for a full week. It all fits in one large packing cube with room to spare.
Rolling vs. Folding vs. Packing Cubes (the Holy War)
Every travel blog on the internet has an opinion about this. People get genuinely heated. I've seen Reddit threads about rolling versus folding that devolve into personal attacks. It's like the great steak doneness debate but for luggage.
Here's the truth: packing cubes are the answer, and the rolling-vs-folding debate is a distraction.
I use Peak Design Packing Cubes -- the medium and the small. You could also go with Eagle Creek or Gonex or literally any brand, because packing cubes are not complicated technology. They're zippered rectangles. What makes them essential isn't the cube itself, it's the compression. You stuff your clothes in, zip it shut, then zip the compression panel and watch it flatten to half its size. It's deeply satisfying in a way I can't fully explain.
Inside the cube, I do a combination of rolling (for t-shirts, underwear, socks) and flat folding (for button-downs and chinos). Rolling saves space. Folding prevents wrinkles on things you care about keeping wrinkle-free. The items you don't care about, roll tight and stuff in the gaps.
The system looks like this: one medium cube for tops and bottoms, one small cube for underwear and socks. Both go in the main compartment of the bag. Everything else -- toiletries, tech, shoes -- goes in its own zone. Organized, compressed, done.
The Toiletry Situation
TSA's liquids rule is 3.4 ounces per container, all containers in a single quart-sized clear bag. You know this. I know this. And yet every time I'm in the security line, some guy is arguing with a TSA agent about his 6-ounce bottle of face wash like the rules don't apply to him personally.
Get a clear, quart-sized toiletry bag -- the Humangear GoToob set is great, or honestly just a Ziploc works fine -- and fill it with travel-size versions of your essentials. Mine holds: face wash, moisturizer, deodorant (solid, not aerosol), toothpaste, a tiny bottle of whatever shampoo I'm using, and sunscreen. That's it.
Toothbrush goes in a case in the same pouch. I use a Quip electric toothbrush for travel because it's slim, the battery lasts forever, and it doesn't take up much more space than a manual one.
Everything else -- razor, nail clippers, comb -- goes in the toiletry bag but outside the liquids pouch. Pro tip: buy a good razor that travels well. I use a Henson AL13 safety razor. It's aluminum, it weighs nothing, and because the blades are so thin, you can take them through security (TSA allows safety razor handles; just remove the blade if you want to be safe, or pack a couple of spares since they cost about ten cents each).
The big move, though, is to stop packing stuff your hotel will have. Shampoo, conditioner, body wash, lotion -- every hotel has these. Yes, even cheap hotels. You don't need to bring your own unless you have specific skin or hair needs. I used to pack a full shower lineup and it's genuinely embarrassing in retrospect.
Tech Gear Without the Rat's Nest
If you're anything like me -- and if you've read my EDC kit breakdown, you know this is a problem area -- you travel with too many cables. Phone charger, laptop charger, earbuds, portable battery, camera charger, the cable for that one thing that uses micro-USB for some ungodly reason in 2026.
The solution is a small tech pouch. I use the Bellroy Tech Kit, which is about the size of a thick paperback and holds everything without the cable spaghetti. Inside mine: a 65W GaN charger (Anker 735, charges my laptop and phone from one brick), two USB-C cables, my AirPods Pro case, and an Anker 10,000 mAh power bank. That's the whole tech kit. One charger, two cables, and a battery. If your gear all uses USB-C -- and at this point it should -- you don't need six different cables.
Laptop goes in the bag's dedicated laptop sleeve. Phone goes in my pocket. Everything else goes in the tech pouch. No tangles, no digging through your bag for fifteen minutes looking for a cable you definitely packed but somehow can't find.
Shoes: The Final Boss
Shoes are the biggest space problem in carry-on packing and there's no clever hack that makes it go away. Shoes are bulky. That's just reality. The only real strategy is to minimize how many pairs you bring.
My rule: two pairs, max. One on your feet, one in the bag.
I wear my bulkiest shoes on the plane -- usually a pair of versatile sneakers that work with jeans and chinos. Right now that's the Nike Killshot 2 or a pair of white leather Adidas Stan Smiths. Clean enough for dinner, comfortable enough for walking all day.
In the bag, I pack a pair of flip flops or slides for the beach, pool, or hotel room. Slides pack flat and weigh nothing. If the trip is more formal and I actually need a dress shoe, I'll bring a pair of Thursday Boots -- their Chelsea boots are dressy enough for most occasions and way easier to pack than oxfords.
The shoes go in the bottom of the bag, soles facing the back panel. Stuff socks inside them to save space. If you're worried about your shoes getting your clothes dirty, toss them in a plastic bag or a shoe bag first.
Do not bring three pairs of shoes. I repeat: do not bring three pairs of shoes. I have broken this rule exactly twice and both times I regretted it before I even got to the airport.
The Laundry Hack for Longer Trips
Seven days is about the limit for a true carry-on wardrobe without repeating things to the point of becoming noticeable. If your trip runs longer than that -- or even if it's exactly seven days and you want to pack lighter -- the sink wash is your friend.
Merino wool, which I mentioned earlier, is basically magic. A merino t-shirt or pair of underwear can be hand-washed in a hotel sink with a tiny bit of soap, wrung out in a towel, and hung to dry overnight. By morning, it's dry and it doesn't smell like anything. I've done this in hotels in Barcelona, Tokyo, and Denver, and it works every single time.
Bring a flat rubber sink stopper (the size of a coaster, weighs nothing) and a few feet of paracord or a travel clothesline. Fill the sink, add a drop of Dr. Bronner's or even hotel shampoo, agitate for a minute, rinse, roll in a towel to extract water, hang on the line or over the shower door. Done. You just extended your wardrobe by another three to four days without packing a single extra item.
If hand-washing feels beneath you, most international cities have laundromats or same-day laundry services at hotels. But once you do it a couple of times, the sink wash becomes second nature. It takes five minutes. I actually find it weirdly meditative now, which is probably a sign I need to get out more.
What NOT to Pack
This is the section I wish someone had written for me before that Lisbon disaster. Here's what you should leave at home:
"Just in case" items. You will not need the blazer just in case there's a fancy dinner. You will not need the hiking boots just in case there's a trail. You will not use the snorkel. If a situation arises that requires something you didn't pack, you can buy it there. That's what stores are for. Every city on Earth has stores.
Full-size anything. Full-size shampoo, full-size sunscreen, full-size cologne bottles. If it doesn't fit in the quart bag, it doesn't come.
More than two pairs of shoes. I already said this but it bears repeating because it's the number one carry-on killer.
Books. I love physical books. I own hundreds. But a Kindle weighs six ounces and holds thousands of titles. A single hardcover weighs a pound and holds one. The math is not complicated.
A travel pillow. Controversial take, but those C-shaped neck pillows are massive and you can just ball up a jacket. I've slept on plenty of flights without one.
Jeans for every day. Jeans are heavy and bulky. One pair is plenty. Rotate them with chinos or lightweight pants.
Putting It All Together
Here's what my packed bag looks like for a seven-day trip:
Main compartment: one medium packing cube (all clothes), one small packing cube (underwear and socks), shoes in the bottom.
Top/front pocket: toiletry bag with liquids pouch, tech pouch, sunglasses case.
Laptop compartment: laptop, Kindle.
On my body: wearing my bulkiest outfit (jeans, sneakers, the heaviest layer).
Total weight: about 15 to 18 pounds, depending on the laptop. That's well under every airline's carry-on weight limit, and more importantly, it's light enough that I can walk through an airport, navigate a subway, and climb stairs without feeling like I'm hauling a body.
If you're planning a trip -- whether it's a week in Europe or a road trip across America where the car is doing the heavy lifting -- the principles are the same. Pack less than you think you need. Make everything work together. Trust that you can survive without your fourth pair of shoes.
I've been doing carry-on-only for about six years now. I've packed for work conferences in Chicago, beach weeks in Costa Rica, and two-week trips through Southeast Asia with this exact system. I've never once wished I'd brought more stuff. Not once.
The freedom of walking off a plane with everything on your back, bypassing baggage claim entirely, and heading straight into whatever city you're exploring -- I can't overstate how good it feels. No waiting. No anxiety. No rhinestone t-shirts.
Just you, one bag, and a week's worth of everything you actually need.
