Packing with Natalie Shaquer

Yolanda sent me one of Natalie’s reels a few weeks back and I was immediately won over by how simple and sensical her approach to packing is. She created the Packing Sudoku framework: a grid-based system for building a 9-piece travel wardrobe that makes 27 outfits. Even as a carry-on devotee, my bag is always stuffed to the brim with things thrown in at the last minute that never get worn—faithful stowaways on trips halfway around the world with nothing to show for it. Having an actual framework that makes packing light feel intentional rather than punishing is the exact thing I didn’t know I needed. We asked Natalie to walk us through her method, and you can read even more about her travels and packing systems on her Substack. 

What’s your go-to luggage and why?

You’d assume someone who built a packing system leads with carry-on. I don’t. Years ago I traveled around the world with a husband, two kids, and one carry-on each, which tends to clarify your thinking about luggage. For two weeks in one place—I’m more than happy checking a bag. If I’m moving more than twice—carry-on only. A rolling suitcase on a cobblestone street at midnight is not a neutral experience. (Tumi or Away, for anyone interested.)

Your Sudoku packing method has gone seriously viral, can you walk us through how it works?

Five million views and turns out nobody knows how to pack! The idea comes from the puzzle. In Sudoku every square has a rule and the whole thing solves itself. Packing Sudoku works the same way: three tops, three bottoms, three layers, each positioned within a 3 x 3 grid. Those nine pieces make twenty-seven outfits.

The feedback I get most is some version of: “I can’t believe how well this actually works.” Which tells me the problem was never discipline—we’ve been told to “pack light” with no real framework for how to do it. Other systems tell you how many pieces to pack. This one tells you how they have to work together. Every piece must work with every other piece. It’s not a capsule wardrobe, which is about owning less, but about compatibility. 

We overpack because we pack for a fantasy version of ourselves. I know this because I packed a silk dress on every trip for years. I don’t wear silk dresses at home. I have never once worn one on a trip. But she was always in there—the woman I might become somewhere over the Atlantic. The grid ended that, because it makes you pack for the person who’s actually going.

How do you approach building that core nine?

Start with a glass of wine and your itinerary rather than your wardrobe. Think about the trip first—where you’re actually going, what you’re actually doing—and let that edit the clothes.

The nine pieces have to earn their place across the full range of the trip. The same grid that gets you through a long lunch at the Wild Rabbit in the Cotswolds has to get you into Wiltons that evening. Shoes first, then pants, then layers, then tops—every piece has to work with every other piece, across every scenario. One-occasion pieces stay home, no exceptions.

For the trying on, the eliminating, the moment the grid locks—put some music on and make an evening of it. It beats staring at an open suitcase at midnight wondering why nothing works.

How do you test that each piece works together?

You try everything on. That’s the whole job. I know that sounds like more work, not less, but this is the moment where the system pays off. You stop standing in a hotel room on day three holding a top that goes with nothing, wondering what you were thinking. You already had that conversation at home, in your own mirror, with time to fix it.

And it’s where you discover something nobody tells you about packing: a piece isn’t successful just because it reads well on paper. It has to feel good on your body, work for the trip you’re actually taking, and be something you’ll actually reach for. The try-on is where the fantasy version of yourself finally has to sit down and let the real one pack.

Do you ever expand the grid for longer trips or trips with dress codes?

The grid doesn’t double, it stretches, and there’s a difference. If I’m combining two destinations with completely different climates, say coastal France and Amsterdam, I’m not rebuilding the whole thing. I’m adding one piece that solves the outlier problem, like a rain jacket or summer dress. It extends the logic without breaking it, and the system absorbs the exception rather than collapsing under it. This is where people talk themselves into a second grid. Suddenly the carry-on is back in the closet and the big suitcase is back out. Don’t!

Do you make a new grid for each trip, or do you have pieces that make it every time?

Both. The grid is always new. Iceland and Thailand are completely different problems—different climate, different pace, different aesthetic register. But the logic is identical, and that’s the point. For me there are pieces that have earned their place over years of trips. A Frank & Eileen shirt, Levi’s, my favorite cashmere sweater from Italic they stopped producing (good thing I have five). They’ve proven themselves across enough grids that they’re the first things I reach for. They don’t make the grid automatically, but they’ve never once let me down.

Any other packing tricks?

I love to pick a scent for every trip and only wear it on that trip. Smell and memory are more closely linked than any other sense. Years from now, I can be standing in my bathroom on the East Coast and one inhale of Diptyque Figuier and suddenly I’m back at a café on Place aux Herbes in Uzès. That’s not necessarily a packing trick, but just one of the best things I know.

Are you a roller or folder?

Neither—flat lay! I lay everything flat in the case, and for things that are too long like pants, I fold those in half. Pieces stay pressed and you can see the grid at a glance. I roll the things that I don’t care about, like workout gear, and tuck those around the edges. One packing cube for everything that lives outside the grid. I’ve tried every method. I take what works, leave the rest. In packing, life, same rule.

What’s your shoe strategy?

Three pairs, always. But it’s not about the number, it’s about the logic behind each slot. One has to work hard and carry you through long days, cobblestone streets, markets, everything. For me that’s a white leather sneaker. They’ve survived Reykjavik streets, Roman ruins, and the endless gravel paths of Provence. The second pair solves for the climate—sandals in summer, boots in winter, whatever the destination demands. The third is what I call the “you” shoe. The one that has nothing to do with practicality and everything to do with point of view. For me it’s often the ballet flat du jour. For someone else it’s a Birkenstock or a stiletto.  

How do you think about accessories?

They live outside the grid, but they’re where the grid comes alive. The same white shirt looks completely different on day seven in Positano than it did on day one in Milan if you’ve changed the scarf. That’s the difference between feeling like you’re wearing a uniform and feeling like yourself. 

For me it’s the things I’ve picked up along the way, like my favorite scarf from a souk in Marrakech, or a belt from somewhere in Provence, and the two or three pieces of jewelry I never take off. I don’t bring a lot, but just enough to make nine pieces feel like an endless wardrobe. 

Do you have a great travel hat?

Not a signature one. I’ll pick something up if the destination calls for it, a market find is always more interesting than anything I’d have packed anyway. I do wear baseball caps in summer, though I’ve never loved what they do to my hair. I just discovered silk-lined baseball hats exist and I’m genuinely excited about this in a way that probably says a lot about me.

What’s always in your Dopp kit?

I’m done being talked into anything else. Years of trying every boutique brand and venture-backed “disruptor” and I’ve landed exactly where I’ve landed. This is the list.

Hair: Pureology Hydrate Sheer shampoo and conditioner, Wow Dream Coat, Kérastase Elixir Ultime, Living Proof dry shampoo. I call ahead to find out what the hotel uses. If it’s good, I’ll use theirs.

Face: Elemis cleansing balm, Paula’s Choice BHA, SkinCeuticals C E Ferulic, Avène Retrinal, and Caudalie anti-aging cream.

Body: Nuxe. That’s the whole list.

The exception is Paris, where I take almost nothing and restock at a French pharmacy. That’s half the point of going.

On a plane, what does your carry-on always contain?

Nothing unusual. My one exception is wired headphones—yes, still. No battery, nothing to lose under the seat, no panic looking for an Airpod somewhere over Greenland.

Any wisdom on traveling with electronics?

I manage my entire travel and content business business from my phone. There’s genuinely nothing I can’t handle on it, though my eyes are probably paying the price. No laptop, no extra bag through security, no decisions about chargers. I pack wired headphones and a phone.  

Do you have a travel uniform?

Eileen Fisher wide-leg pants, a Me+Em linen vest and cardigan, Veja sneakers. That’s comfortable enough for a long-haul flight, and pulled-together enough to go anywhere without stopping to change first.