I wrote about packing for VICE Italy
I’ve spent all week packing and by that I mean crying face-down in my suitcase. Moving is emotionally exhausting when you’re leaving a country you hate to admit you’ve fallen in love with the same way the Popular Boy in High School Comedies falls for the Nerdy Girl after she takes her glasses off. And it’s especially draining doing it alone. No, I didn’t ask friends to help me move because I’m an Independent Woman and by that I mean I’m not an asshole willing to annoy my friends and by that I mean I don’t have friends.
But packing isn’t just emotional, it’s confusing. Going through your belongings fills you with soul-searching questions, like, where did all my socks go? Did I ever wear socks? What were these antibiotics for? Can I take antibiotics recreationally? Who’s panties are under my bed? Is it gross to wear used panties? Why do I have ten identical black dresses from American Apparel? Why can’t I fit into any of them? Where did I get all this shit? And how do I get rid of it? And that’s the hard part.
I don’t hoard things, I hoard feelings. Everything I own reminds me of a fond memory, a beautiful friendship or traumatic one-night-stand. It’s hard to not keep worthless trash for the sake of nostalgia, like that metro card I used to cut coke with or my fashion school diploma.
But when moving you need to be ruthless. You’re starting a new life, not dragging around your old one! It’s essential to only take essentials! And I’ll show you how.
~TEA’S PACKING GUIDE~
Tip: If your suitcase isn’t comfortable enough for you to sleep in, it isn’t comfortable enough for your belongings! Remember, things have feelings too.
You know when you find a dress two sizes too small but it’s the only size available because it’s a sample sale and it’s designer and it’s special you know you’ll look amazing in it as soon as you lose those Last Five Pounds so you buy the dress with your rent money and you keep it hanging on your door to remind yourself to stick to your diet every day but every night you come home drunk and full and as you fall asleep you see the dress and think “tomorrow I’ll do better” until finally you’re using that dress but you’re using it to dry your tears because two years have passed and you still can’t get it over your thighs? Pack that dress. Only that dress! Remember, you’re packing for the person you want to become-not for who you are now (you’re running away from that person). Also bring a Statement Piece like that T-shirt you bought at your first punk show and nailed to your wall to remind yourself that you used to be cool.
You need a Practical Piece like [Faux] Fur for California Winters.
And don’t forget underwear! Only bring your sexiest sets and enough whiskey to convince yourself you look good in them.
Donate the rest of your clothes to charity so after you leave all the people you knew will see homeless people wearing your outfits and that will make them think of you and that will make them miss you and that will make them regret never throwing you a going away party and that will make them hate themselves as much as you hated them.
They won’t fit in a suitcase so I’m mailing them to my parent’s house but every time I’ve sent an American ex-boyfriend locks of my hair or voodoo dolls or fake pregnancy tests they never arrived so I’m not keeping my hopes up.
Of course my most important pair of shoes is flying with me. You never know when you’ll need your Stripper Heels or your Croatian passport but I do know those two usually go hand-in-hand.
I’ve kept every perfume bottle I’ve used since moving here and I’ve grown obsessed with them and though I can’t take them with me I can’t bear to recycle them either! What will become of them? What if they don’t want to be Coke bottles? What if they’re unhappy as ash trays? What if they get separated from their loved ones in the process? And speaking of the process, does recycling even work in Milan?
It was all too much to bear so I decided to set them free. Every day until I go I’ll leave a couple bottles somewhere in the city so they can start a new life together and live happily ever after. (I’ll be documenting this on my blog) so y’all can follow the adventure! You’re welcome).
By “accessories” I mean wigs because how else will I trick all my new friends into thinking I’m interesting?
Let’s all take a moment of silence to study what’s happening to my Sex Supplies:
The birth control and condoms are unopened and the lube is unused but the iGino vibrator is worn out AKA welcome to my Long Distance Relationship. Why am I packing this stuff? So I’m ready to see my boyfriend and by “ready” I mean “already poked holes in the condoms.”
Speaking of my boyfriend, I’m moving in with him aka re-decorating his flat. My American Flag will be put on his wall so he never forgets that I’m the one with the US passport so if he misbehaves I’ll report him to immigration.
My Lady Gaga poster will hang close so he remembers what to call me in bed.
I’m bringing my Polaroids so he knows that I have a social life outside of him and that I used to date models because jealousy is the secret to any healthy relationship. Just kidding, I keep these pictures to remind myself to never dye my hair back to black (what was I thinking).
And this flower will go where it wants. I found it at my first Milanese House Party, stole it and watered it for a week until I realized it was plastic. It’s stayed with me since and has guided me through the most troubling times via black magic.
Obviously my stuffed seal is coming so I have something to comfort me when my boyfriend decides that letting me live with him was the biggest mistake of his life.
You are what you watch. That’s why I’m only bringing the show that proved promiscuity and substance abuse is cool, the movie that showed me the power of slutty dancing and the cartoon that taught me that I want to be a cartoon.
John Waters once said that if someone doesn’t have books at their house, you shouldn’t sleep with them. But what about bad books? I have dozens that I’m burning because after reading them I’m only more convinced of how much I hate everyone. Bukowski was an asshole, Hunter S. Thompson was a psychopath and Nabokov was a pedophile. I’m only bringing literature which will enlighten me, brighten my spirit and inspire my dreams! Lady Gaga interviews will remind me of my goals and Hollywood murder mysteries will predict my future.