Remembrance of bags past.
My father made me very angry one day when I was around nine. I can’t recall what he’d done to cause this fury–but I remember what I chose to do next.
I ran away from home. This was the cleverest revenge my tiny mind could fathom.
We lived in a somewhat pastoral, rural neighborhood in Malibu. My plan had been to hoof it to an underpass bridge that connected Malibu Park with Zuma Beach. Down there, under the Pacific Coast Highway, I would lead a new, fatherless life as a troll.
To pack for this noble expedition, I unfastened a large, brown leather briefcase. It was my father’s, and it smelled of fine, musky leather. I stuffed it full of the important things: my action figures–mainly Mattel Secret Wars and Kenner Super Powers. I would need neither warmth nor sustenance with them at my side. So, I set out on my way.
But I only made it to the end of the long, rambling driveway before my father noticed, and darted after me. I picked up the pace, but realized the briefcase was slowing me down–so I tossed it. It snapped open and all my things spilled across the lawn.
My father ignored it and continued after me. He easily caught up to my stout nine-year-old legs, and we had it out–about whatever it was—and then we walked together, ambling for miles around the neighborhood. It became a sort of tradition of ours–a walk and talk. Along the way, he convinced me against living under a bridge, and when I got home, we picked up my toys and his leather bag and lived happily ever after.
Recommended Fodor’s Video
This memory struck me recently when an oversized package arrived at my doorstep. Out slid a Steamline Pioneer carry-on. A brown leather suitcase that looked remarkably like my father’s briefcase. Even the smell had a slight resemblance–not quite the same, but coupled with the appearance, it all tugged on my senses. I was nine years old again. Sure, the carry-on is larger than my father’s briefcase–because it’s not a briefcase, but a suitcase–but I’m larger too, so perhaps the proportions are the same.
But is nostalgia enough to make me truly fall in love with a suitcase? I decided to run away from home again and test it out.
How Many Action Figures Does It Fit?
Sadly, like a side character in Barbie, I outgrew my superhero dolls in the ‘90s.
I’m also a heavier packer than I was at nine. So for a trip to a conference in South Carolina, I knew the Steamline alone wouldn’t do, and also brought along my Away hard-side carry-on bag. I planned to check the Away and carry on the Steamline–the Steamline is simply too pretty to check.
Lined with yellow honeycomb silkened fabric, the Steamline is as lovely on the inside as the outside (and as a child, I was always taught to look for internal beauty), but here’s the rub: it’s snug inside compared to the Away. The standard Away carry-on benefits from having two sections with a middle zipper; the Steamline opens from the top. It’s not nearly as easy to cram a full weekend wardrobe into the Steamline–if you’re only bringing one bag, you really need to edit.
However, as a carry-on, the Steamline has a grand benefit: you can actually open it on a plane and fetch something. You don’t need to shut down the aisle and spread it open like a spatchcocked turkey as you might with an Away.
And the Steamline’s multiple zippered nooks are handy for organizing small things–should I have brought along my action figures, these would have made for a rather luxurious Fortress of Solitude.
Can I Easily Outrun My Father While Carrying It?
I might have 30 years of youth on my father, but he’s got two brand-new titanium knees–plus he strength-trains them daily and partakes in vigorous cardio. Meanwhile, I stroll the treadmill twice a week at a casual 2.5 setting.
Between my age and his vigor, let’s call us equal, shall we? So, if I were absconding with the Steamline, it’s quite possible he’d catch up to me. That’s because the suitcase has three small issues when one’s in a hurry (as I discovered during a narrow connection in Chicago):
1. It only has back wheels. I forgot how much easier it is to navigate a four-wheeled suitcase. A few times the bag lurched off-kilter, lobbing from wheel to wheel like a runaway train about to derail. But after getting used to maneuvering it, I was able to safely gain speed.
2. It is a bit heavy. Not too heavy, but at 9.9 pounds, it’s heavier than the Away carry-on, which is 7.6 pounds.
3. It’s so beautiful that passersby frequently stopped me to ask about it. At least four people in each airport approached me and complimented me on the bag or inquired where they might buy one themselves. One woman even wondered if I’d purchased an antique and affixed wheels to it–I appreciated that she believed I might be remotely handy.
So, could I outrun my father with it? No. But could I make a tight connection? Yes, with time to spare for compliments.
Will I Be Able to Live Happily Under a Bridge With It?
The Steamline gussies up even the most aggressively mediocre spaces, elevating them to something, well, romantic. The bag’s mere presence practically transformed my room at a South Carolina Courtyard Marriott into the Gritti Palace in Venice.
Therefore it stands to reason that even the dreariest, dankest, most troll-infested bridge would transform into the Rialto Bridge with a Steamline on display. And how could I possibly live unhappily under the Rialto, with a view of Venice’s Grand Canal?
Should Someone Unaffected by My Nostalgia Consider the Steamline?
It’s easy to overlook the functional flaws of something as bewitching as the Steamline. And I certainly intend to do so–this will be a forever bag for me, which I plan to carry to the farthest stretches of the globe.
But would I recommend it to someone without my nostalgic affliction?
Well, it depends on one’s aesthetic proclivities or romantic delusions. Sufferers of either malady are prone to yearn for the Orient Express over a Eurail pass, or the Queen Mary 2 over basic economy. Should this describe you, then buy two bags and tell your doctor that you’ve been cured.
But it’s important to know that beauty comes at a price. Steamline carry-on bags start at $580 (the Pioneer is $940). Though the only bag brand that approaches its charms is Louis Vuitton, and those start at $2,940 (and frankly, many Louis Vuittons are revoltingly tacky).
I showed the bag to the one person whose opinion mattered most to me: my father. After he examined it thoroughly, I asked him what he might do if he saw me running away again, this time with the Steamline in tow. And he said: “I’d chase you down again, obviously.”
“Well, that’s very sweet,” I said.
“But this time, I’d be chasing after the bag–not you.”