There comes a time in the avid traveller’s life when you want to feel like a grownup, to look like a “serious” traveller who knows their way around an airport. You’ve already transitioned from hostels to hotels, from discount train tickets to decent seats. You may fly economy but only because you’d rather blow the budget on overpriced cocktails with an unbelievable view of the French Riviera.
Finding the right luggage is part of this goal. Recently, both of my averagely priced, hard-sided roller bags slid onto the baggage carousel with structural corner cracks (why, oh why, did I volunteer my carry-ons for gate check?). It was time to upgrade. But to what?
Once, I had a lot of fun flying with see-through luggage. Packing was a strategic challenge and the carry-on was a real conversation starter in the airport. But I haven’t had the nerve to fly with it again. I’m done with rucksacks, even though I have friends in their 50s that fly business class with them still.
I needed something sleek and durable but light, too. (Know thyself: when you always fly home with more than you left with, luggage weight is key). Was my aesthetic obsession with luxury luggage worth the big spend when I had survived well enough with cheaper bags?
I borrowed a couple of brand brag pieces from German-based Rimowa and gave them a whirl on a two-flight long-haul from Toronto, through Frankfurt to Bergen, Norway. Rimowa’s price point of entry is steep. Its legendary aluminum-sided luggage, built in Cambridge, Ont., starts at $1,500. I experimented with its Essential Check-In bag with a polycarbonate (basically, bendable plastic) hard shell that’s just less than five kilograms.
Rimowa Essential Check-In bag.Rimowa
Outside, the design apes the well-known grooves of the brand’s aluminum status-symbol luggage. Inside, the Essential features handy dividers with mesh pockets for both halves of the bag – one even works like a clothing compressor. What’s smart about this feature is its hook-and-loop fastener, it works like Velcro but does not catch and ruin fabric. The Essential’s telescopic handle has many height positions to work with, and this was surprisingly more useful when schlepping in public transit than you might think.
Happily, it arrived in Norway when I did. But, of the two of us, my bag had a rougher trip. The polycarbonate shell was scuffed visibly and its TSA lock (while initially easy to set) was damaged. The zipper tabs, which insert into the locking mechanism, had been torn from the lock, and there was a mighty scrape on the side. The zipper was fine and the scuffs could be rubbed off with elbow grease but the lock was unusable. Some cities have hotels and Rimowa luggage shops where this could have been fixed for free, but I couldn’t find one on my travels.
Lock issues aside, what really made this wheeled bag stand out was its incredibly fluid roll. It flowed through airports like a fast-moving river, it bumped over cobblestones with ease. It raced me down carpeted ramps, sailed ahead with a gentle tap of the toe and, on the return journey, packed within an ounce of allowable weight, still moved with a dancer’s agility. I often had to wait for my companion, struggling with her wonky wheeled luggage, to catch up. But at $1,125, was I really ready to commit to the Essential Check-In when, basically, it would always be at the mercy of baggage handlers?
Rimowa Never Still backpack.ARTEM_KONONENKO/RIMOWA
The second Rimowa piece I travelled with was the new Never Still backpack. Switching out my tried-and-true in-flight backpack was an act of faith: The Never Still was slightly smaller with fewer pockets but, I told myself, perhaps three zippered pockets, two deep interior hold-alls and a laptop pouch was enough? Forcing myself to edit down to essentials also meant I travelled lighter, and certainly with more style. The Never Still line is made in Italy; the all-black nylon/leather design – right down to the hardware, magnetic closure, zippers and straps – upgraded my look instantly. It’s an elegantly made piece, more purse than backpack. Once I finessed the straps to fit my torso, the sturdy fastenings never moved and unbelievably I often forgot I was wearing it (and no, that wasn’t the jet lag). It fit so well that running to make a tight connection was easier than anticipated.
When I picked up my checked bag from the carousel in Toronto, I was able to slip the backpack’s two-inch rear-panel strap over my telescopic handle. This kept the Never Still securely in place (no matter how many times my rolling luggage got away from me on slick floors). Wearing it gave me a stealth-wealth vibe I didn’t deserve, eliciting a few double takes in the airport. At $1,800 it’s a discreetly chic investment purchase, one a frequent flier on a quest to upgrade her luggage, if not her seat, is ready to consider.