Show me your suitcases – and I’ll tell you who you are. This wisdom, which for centuries applied to princes, film stars and ancestors, has sunk into the depths of fashion history with the triumph of the rolling suitcase.
For style-conscious people, travelling has become an aesthetic torture chamber: on the platform, passengers push their boring black trolleys into their knees; on the plane, overstuffed jute bags, rancid giant sacks and worn-out nylon bags fly around the traveller’s ears from the shelves. If hard-boiled eggs are taken out of neat Tchibo freezer bags on the train, you can call it a lucky day, because the clothes of many passengers look like the crumpled McDonald’s bags from which they stuff lukewarm chips into their mouths in public. In the best case, a balalaika peeks out of a fat Deuter backpack.
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