Half of All Women Pack Their Husband’s Suitcase For Their Summer Hols. Would You Too?

As it’s the last Sunday before I take a week’s summer holiday from this ever-joyful community, I thought I’d leave you musing over an emotional load tier which you hadn’t perhaps yet identified. Because what are the summer holidays aside from a gender battle between two working parents and the one without a penis ending up sourly shouldering the slack? Just me? Thought not.

Anyway. While working on another piece about moving houses (whenever I think of Dante’s seventh circle, I imagine a rent-a-van parked on double yellows just outside), I came across a seemingly depressing statistic that in the U.K., around half of all mothers pack their significant other’s suitcase for the family summer holidays. This is obviously on top of her own case and the kids’ too. It gave me a moment of pause, because it’s something I’ve never done, nor honestly ever considered doing. More than being on some feminist high horse (fear not, I’m definitely trying to mount that saddle), I confess to being totally at sea with the logistics: how would you ever know what they wanted to wear? What is de rigueur? I’ve never been invested deeply enough in a partner’s ‘look’ to be competent enough to curate it, let alone dissect it sufficiently to take the whole shebang on tour.

My other initial thought was, can it really be true? In 2023? According to my nearest and dearest, absolutely not (one response read: ‘OVER MY COLD, DEAD BODY’). But I asked each of my besties to reach out to their own WhatsApp communities and several women once removed came back to say that they did indeed organise their entire family’s steamers. The reasons behind the arrangement fell into three main camps. Firstly, it was women who were policing their significant other’s outfit options. Secondly, it was a case of avoiding anxiety with lackadaisical packing partners crucifying them with their lastminute.com. And finally, there were those who saw it as part of their role within their family.

To try and extend the context beyond my broader circles, I did the perfunctory TikTok deep dive. Now, it is a truth universally acknowledged that you can prove literally any argument via TikTok videos, but there is no doubt that ‘husbandpacking’ is a comprehensive cultural seam which I hadn’t realised existed. I watched videos captioned: ‘What I bought and packed for my husband for a two-week trip’, ‘Packing for your husband because you don’t trust his style decisions’ and ‘Married life is packing your husbands suitcase for every trip forever (sic)’. There was also a shitload of videos of wives packing lunchboxes for their husbands, but I digress.

My hot take on the dynamic is absolutely influenced by the fact that I live with a man who has a degree in menswear and is exceptionally meticulous about the threads that touch his skin. Metrosexual really doesn’t cover it; his wardrobe is worth considerably more than mine. He is more high-end, more considered and I’m sure if we were in a line-up, would win more cool points than me. When we first got together, he was the one who tried to buy me the kind of clothes he’d have preferred me to wear—mostly oversized Acne sweaters, limited edition sneakers and utility jackets. He could have done a video, but clearly those efforts were for naught. Just to be clear, he doesn’t think I have terrible taste, we just have very different style languages, which from my vantage is down to the fact our parents are twenty years apart. I’m all Daisy Jones ‘70s sparkle-eyed glamour; he’s 90s Jil Sander and limited palette. Where I was raised on the ‘Stones and Fleetwood Mac, he was weaned on Massive Attack. While there’s only a four-year age gap, our references are decades apart. Anyway again, the point I’m really making is that he is very confident with his look and it’s very different to mine. When I mentioned this piece to him, he nearly choked on his spritz and subsequently mouthed ‘fucking nightmare!’ which was both heartening and offensive in equal measure.

However, I have also been in other significant relationships where my partners couldn’t have given the faintest shit about what they were wearing, and I wouldn’t have had the foggiest how to pack for them either. I’ve definitely given men more style conscious clothing and suggested a direction to go in with their purchases, but that man-makeover thing which sometimes happens in relationships? Forget about it. I’m just way too focused on my own closet to consider anyone else’s (and this extends to my kids who are un-styled the vast majority of the time). Thinking about it now, literally what is the list? Fourteen pairs of pants and (white?) socks? Fourteen T-shirts? A few pairs of shorts and a sweater if there’s a chill in the air? A couple of Birkies and you’re done?  When you write it out like that, it doesn’t seem so much of a drag. I could totally do this while I’m doing the rest of it all, so I can see why so many women do. On top of the first aid, travel snacks and distractions, feeding and changing detritus, travel systems and emergency gear, one more bag doesn’t really touch the sides, does it? Depressingly I can confess that I am the architect of 100% of all these valises, so that high horse is looking prrreeeetty shaky. Really, when you’re doing 90% of the boot, being principled about the last 10% is potentially petty.

But there is no question that packing a partner’s bag is emblematic of the load that tips so many of us into Munch-level scream. Speaking to several people in my life over 50, I heard that packing was, in their perception, 100% part of the SAHM (stay at home mum) deal. My mum obviously rolled her eyes and got her soapbox out, but conceded that most of her friends still pack for their husbands, even if kids are grown and flown. I guess that isn’t such a surprise—the wonder relates to millennial women doing the same. It goes without saying that every relationship has its own division of labour and there is no right way to do that. I’m just slightly open-mouthed that anyone can swallow his bag on top of the rest.

Equally, there is a sub-zero chance I would ever let anyone else pack for me (it’s such a process, I try it all on, edit it several times, end up adding at least half another bag, take more of it out, buy the thing that I need to pull it all together then wedge in a silly amount of skincare products. It’s a one-woman job and that woman is me). I also couldn’t give a monkey’s about how my other half dresses; I am not my boyfriend’s keeper and thank God, I don’t think he represents me. There was a moment when I did really worry about this representation, especially when we first met and I died a few thousand deaths over all sorts of mortifying moments. Stopping caring about what the world thought about me had a knock on impact of making me chill tf out about what other people thought about him too. I like him the majority of time and that is the only barometer that counts.

Conversely, I absolutely do empathise with the anxiety factor, but then again if your other half cant pull his finger out and ends up stuck in his travel clothes for two weeks in 36 degrees, that’s his look out isn’t it? True, it’s annoying that he’ll probs be stuffing his case while I’m muling the kid’s shit down the stairs. But I pick my battles and think about my triceps. That final aspect about holiday packing being a pink job obviously grates against my personal compass, but who am I to judge? For some women, maybe packing is an act of service and one of the ways they show their love. Perhaps they’re getting the bins in return and having recently lost a skirt to trash juice, it’s potentially not that shabby a deal.

According to Skyscanner, amongst couples 75% of holiday planning is done exclusively by women. On top of 50% doing the packing job lot, I guess the real reminder is how often most women’s emotional labour extends beyond the home. Whether it’s preparing the packed lunches for the beach, always being the one with SPF on hand and doing the mid-week wash in the self-catering villa, it’s hard to take a holiday from the load even when you’re meant to be on hols. So why not send this email to your partner and suggest he starts his holiday reads from here? If he’s anything like mine, he’ll archive it immediately and put his ear buds in for the duration of the flight. It’s most probably wasted breath. But the truth remains that mum needs a break from more than just the job that comes with a salary. I’m resolutely sure she does over on your side of this page too.