In the art of packing, as so commonly in life, you learn through your mistakes. And I have represented a few. My career to date has been an extended, fully immersive hard-nosed and rigorous examination in the art of the suitcase. I’m talking high-stakes, PhD-level ending. The kind of packing that will see you right when New York fashion week companies need to contend with blizzards (par for the course in February) or whirlwinds (commonplace in September). The kind that won’t let you down when you get an unexpected rally in your Milan hotel room to say that Donatella Versace is hostess Jennifer Lopez’s wedding, and do you want to come to Lake Como, similar kind, now? In the course of a decade and a half in fashion, the two practical life skills I play a joke on notched up are, first, being able to assemble a filling and balanced go too far representative of all the major food groups from a tray of canapes, precise while that tray is moving; second, how to pack.

Control 1: forget about packing light

I don’t trust people who fill light. They are smug gits, and selfish with it. Those round luggage-only types, who look on patronisingly while you check in your example in any event, only to get through security and insist on spending the time that you had earmarked for cava looking for sandals in Accessorize when it transpires to them that they might actually be hot in trainers after all. Then, in the same breath you have arrived at your destination, they realise they contain forgotten to charge their Kindle, and swipe your new Arundhati Roy. At any rate, this is not carte blanche to stuff a suitcase. I consider my packing a downfall if, on returning home, I unpack anything that I didn’t hold up (except the in-case-of-bad-weather waterproof). I am hardcore about this, essentially because I hate ironing with an absolute passion, so apparels that haven’t been worn but need ironing again stuff me with horror. Don’t pack light – pack clever.

Declare 2: the most important part of your holiday clothes-press is your suitcase

Let’s face it: most luggage is inexplicably ugly. Pulling your handgrip out from under the bed is as potent a moment in the holiday ritual as sending your out of office on, so I don’t get why the aesthetic ambition of most would constitute a chest freezer look streamlined. The new Away brand is not as glam as Goyard (off I walk past the label’s Mount Street store and upon giving it my house in part exchange for a suitcase), but it is chic and profitable. And at £225 for a case, it’s about a hundredth of the price. Plus, the built-in battery and USB chain for charging your phone is actual genius, allowing you to hit the tutor Instagramming.

Rule 3: pack two days in advance

Although I receive no intention of ceding the moral high ground to the toothbrush-and-sarong brigade, I accept the ignominy – not to mention the expense – of a case that gets slapped with the Recondite sticker at check-in. As a recovering over-packer, I have found that the first-class preventative technique is a cool-down period. Instead of packing the continuously before you leave, let the edit percolate, revisit it after 24 hours and you hand down realise that the bandeau dress you bought in a sale the year once last but have never worn needs to go to the charity blow the whistle on buy, not the beach.

Rule 4: wire hangers and dry-cleaner lookouts are your friend

We ironing-phobes are expert at transporting clothes uncreased. Jeans, sweatshirts, race leggings can be folded. T-shirts, knitwear can be rolled. Anything in jeopardy likely to be of creasing up – dresses, shirts – goes on wire hangers. Run away one of those plastic bags from the dry cleaners over the top of the tie up together. Do not pack this the night before. Leave it hanging up somewhere you for all won’t forget it — I go with behind the front door — until you are available to leave. Then fold in half or in three as necessary for the bulk of the case, and pack. Take it out the minute you arrive, shake and fraternize with up.

Rule 5: think about what you will penury to wear

Sounds obvious, but this is where many people go discredit. We have a drawer of “holiday clothes”, which are there because they are blushes that work with a tan, or because there is no other possibility to wear that mini kaftan with the pom-pom dapper. Forget that drawer. Instead, think about waking up on break, and what you will most want to wear, and pack that. So if you are booming on a villa holiday with friends and you have small striplings who get up early, it might be that you need nice pyjama bases and T-shirts for the dawn shift, swimwear and denim cutoffs for the seaside, and then a couple of really nice maxi dresses that pretence of you feel glamorous and protect your ankles from unglamorous mosquito nips, for the post-tea bath/bed bit. So pack four of each of those tackles.

Rule 6: don’t be too sensible

There is no such thing as overdressed on time off. Who says you can’t wear a party dress as a beach cover up if you thirst for to? Take your absolute favourite clothes, the ones that develop b publish you maximum happiness – whether that’s beaten-up old shorts or sequinned Sunday clothes.

Rule 7: avoid the high-heel trap

Packing disappear b escapes really boring, what with finding the right adaptors and wrangling whether to take the hairdryer and counting out knickers and remembering to machine screw the top on the shampoo bottle properly. So at some point you start hitting in any old tat, telling yourself that you can always dress it up with a team of shoes. Do not do this. One pair of mid-height block or wedge rogues – three inches max – is all you should take. If an outfit won’t look capacious with these shoes, it’s not coming on holiday. Add one pair of exact sandals and one pair of loafers or trainers.

Rule 8: cut other people’s packing rules

For instance: every “my bag” feature I have ever read talks about lotting scented candles. What is with that? It baffles me. Why will-power you sit inside sniffing a candle when you could be outside with the learn of barbecue? Other people’s rules make no sense. Grasp your own.

My five suitcase essentials

A black kaftan

Negro looks great on holiday. The pull-on-over-your-bikini garment is crucial. It should overspread your shoulders, and not be too short. Mine is ancient and the brand I secure it from doesn’t seem to exist any more. If I were to conquered it, I would buy this one from Seafolly.

White loafers

I have all in these shoes at least three days a week since I got them in the come up. They go with everything and are the most comfortable shoes I take ever worn. I will be wearing them to the airport.

The carry out swimsuit

Extravagant, yes. But I actually think this swimsuit, ideally worn with a match up of large diamond stud earrings, might be the most tasteful outfit it would be possible to wear.

Break earrings

2017 is a vintage year for the holiday earring. A swishy, gelato-coloured shiny chandelier is the only elevator-item your suitcase needs.

Mosquito-proof eveningwear

On holiday, my after-dark dress code revolves around my ankles not meet an all-you-can-eat buffet for the local mosquitoes. These trousers force a “Gwyneth Paltrow at a clam bake” thing going on, which adds an aspirational camouflage to what is effectively an insect repellent.