My carry-on only zipped because I sat on it.
So I sat on it. Bounced a little, honestly. I worked the zipper around the corner one tooth at a time while the bag groaned like it had opinions. It was packed for a single week, and it held enough “just in case” outfits for a month.
A week later I unpacked it and took stock. About half the clothes had never come out of the bag. Meanwhile I’d worn the same 2 pairs of trousers all week, because they were the only bottoms that went with everything else I’d brought.
That’s the moment Mys Journey traces back to.
The name on the posts, Larry T. Mallory, is a pen name, and the person behind it is me. Quick honesty break: a professional stylist would have packed better than I did that week, and I’m not one. What I am is a guy who got very curious about how a stuffed bag can leave you with nothing to wear.
Everything That Never Left the Bag
The problem wasn’t the bag. It was how I’d filled it.
I’d packed outfit by outfit, each one for a different maybe. A bright shirt that only worked with one pair of shorts. A heavy jacket for a cold snap that never came. Shoes that matched exactly one outfit. Nothing talked to anything else, so the 2 pairs of trousers that did go with everything got worn to death.
So I read up, the way I do whenever something bugs me. A few ideas stuck:
- Pack around a single color family, so every top goes with every bottom.
- Plan a wash halfway through. A sink and a bit of soap turn 7 days of clothes into 4.
- Roll or fold depending on the fabric. Rolling saves room and keeps tees and knits from creasing; crisp shirts and anything structured still travel better folded.
The next week-long bag zipped without me sitting on it. Everything in it came home worn at least once.
Seasons turned out to be the same puzzle in slow motion. A closet is basically a carry-on that changes weather every few months, and the same rules hold.
Packing Quirks I Can’t Shake
- 3 zip packing cubes, each a different color: tops in one, bottoms in another, everything else in the last. I can find a pair of socks without unpacking my whole life onto the bed.
- I pack everything, then take 3 pieces back out before I zip the bag. Every time. It stings a little, and I’ve never once missed what came out.
- I leave a little empty space in the bag on purpose. Trips have a way of sending something home with you.
- When I read someone else’s packing list, I search the page for the word “laundry”. A week with no wash planned was written for photos, not for wearing.
- My pet peeve: packing lists that call 4 pairs of shoes “only”. Only! That’s most of a carry-on right there.
What’s in the Closet Here
Everything lives in Outfits, so think of it as one long closet with sections.
- Trip packing, including a beach list built for a suitcase rather than a moving truck.
- Seasonal outfits, from cold-weather dressing that actually keeps you warm to a trench coat styled 10 ways for the in-between months.
- Aesthetics worth the hype: coastal grandma pieces built into an easy summer capsule, and double denim done on purpose.
- Over-40 styling, with summer ideas the title promises are realistic, and I hold it to that.
- Modest, warm church outfits for cold Sundays.
- Leggings outfits that look good, which is a higher bar than it sounds.
- A handful of hair and nail posts, braids and winter cuts and darker manicures among them. Those come from research, all of it.
Who’s Packing Alongside Me
You’ve got a trip coming up and one bag to do it with. Or the season just turned and your closet suddenly feels like it belongs to someone else. You’d like to wear what you already own, plus maybe a piece or 2 that earns its spot.
That’s who this is for. People who shop online plenty but are done buying things that sit in the bag. People who’d rather see 12 outfits made from 9 pieces than 12 outfits made from 12 new purchases.
The Not-So-Glamorous Process
Every post on Mys Journey starts as an AI draft. I pick topics from search questions and the outfits people save on Pinterest, which is how a post about cold Sunday church outfits ends up sitting next to a beach packing list.
Then I read the draft, start to finish, before it goes up. Nobody reads it before me; it’s a one-person setup. While I read, I fix things: a packing count with bad math, a tip that fights the one before it, filler that says nothing at all.
Where a post names a specific piece and its price, I match those details to the listing they came from. The pieces in a roundup haven’t been through my bag; those picks lean on what sellers and brands publish.
The pictures in the posts are AI-generated illustrations of an outfit or a styling idea. They aren’t photos of anyone’s actual wardrobe. If a picture from another person’s public post ever shows up, it carries their @handle and a link back to where they shared it.
Spot something wrong? A price that moved, a product that changed, a tip that’s off? Tell me and I’ll fix the post. That happens whenever something gets reported, not on a calendar.
When a post points you to a specific piece, the link often heads to Amazon. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.
The Editorial Policy has the full checklist, and the AI side is spelled out in the AI Content Policy.
Say Hi, or Tell Me I’m Wrong
[email protected] comes straight to me, and so does the contact page. Corrections get read first. Packing tips that saved your trip get read with a grin.
Zip It Without Sitting On It
Pick one color family. Plan one wash. Take 3 things back out.
If the bag still won’t close, the bag isn’t the problem. Trust me. I’ve sat on that answer.
