Four wheels good, two embarrassing

Fast Lane followers are an impatient lot. While it might have been a bit of a tease to leave you with a cliffhanger at the end of last weekend’s column, I wasn’t expecting a flood of correspondence from Asia late on Friday evening, London time, already asking if I could offer a sneak preview of next week’s edition. By the time I woke up last Saturday, there were threats from some that they might cancel their subscription if this weekend’s column took a wrong turn.

En route to New York on Sunday, there were sympathetic notes from readers who felt they could fully relate to my story. And by Monday I was being incentivised by some of you to send draft versions of this weekend’s column. As tempting as many of the offers were, the fine men and women who edit this page would have chuckled: they know only too well that these words usually arrive just as Life & Arts is about to go to press.

It wasn’t my intention to stir up such controversy. I simply wanted to write about my new fitness regime, my trainer Vivi and a bit of doctor’s advice suggesting that I look at wheeled luggage rather than bags that put my back out. Clearly I misjudged the mood in the room regarding the highly divisive issue of wheely bags versus luggage carried by hand or slung over shoulder.

For the record, I’m not a fan of wheely luggage – particularly the carry-on (or wheely-on) variety that rocks and rolls down aircraft aisles clipping toes, getting caught on seat frames and rarely fitting in overhead bins. How often have you seen the worst wheely offenders act dumbfounded as the suitcase they can barely lift doesn’t quite fit into the bin of a Boeing 737?

“That’s funny – it usually fits into the overhead bin,” the roving management consultant says to nobody in particular (as if this specific aircraft you’re standing in on a packed Monday morning flight is somehow different than the other 1,200 in service). “Is there somewhere else I can store it?”

Worse than the wheely that’s too big for the cabin, however, is the all-too-common combination of the micro-wheely briefcase towed by the giant businessman. It’s without question one of the worst sights at international airports. At first glance, everything seems normal. Then, on arrival, aircraft comes to a halt at the terminal and the businessman (almost always about 6ft 6in tall) stands up to pull his bag down from the overhead locker. He pulls on his coat and, just as you think he’s about to march down the aisle with briefcase at his side, he pulls out the telescopic handle, lets his case drop to the floor and off he marches.

Aside from the fact that the whole picture is completely out of scale as you watch this massive frame tow a tiny clutch full of documents, there are some serious personal branding issues at play. What does it say to your client if you stride into his or her office with a toy-size bag on wheels? What does it say to the opposition in a boardroom setting if you squeak in, slightly stooped because the handle is too short, and then you attempt to look formidable as you collapse the handle and place the attaché case on the table? Anyway, I think you get the idea where I’m going with this.

For delicate ladies, grannies and grandpas, the weak and injured, I’m all for wheely carry-ons. I’ve nothing against the select few who’ve paid attention to issues of proportion (is the bag to scale with its owner?) and can manoeuvre and manage their wheely case under their own steam.

The vast majority, however, would be better served by a sensible tote, decent-sized duffel or a good-sized bag and a fold-over garment carrier. Not only would thousands of hours be saved getting on and off aircraft, it would also save millions of litres of airline fuel as most cases end up being stuffed with too many garments thanks to humankind’s psychological aversion to travelling with a half-empty case.

Rewind to last week’s column, where I left you dangling as I sampled Rimowa’s gleaming array of aluminium cases at their store in Tokyo’s Marunouchi district. With the words of my doctor ringing in my ears (“wheels equals better posture and a better back”), I took one of their cabin-size cases for a spin around the store. I went up one aisle and down the next – catching myself in the mirror. It wasn’t working. I went through the whole exercise again but still wasn’t convinced.

Just as I was about to abandon the idea all together, I decided to pull a four-wheel case (stand-up style, rather than a trailer dragging behind you) down from the shelf. Too big for a cabin but not so large that it would look like I didn’t know how to pack, it seemed perfect for those two- to three-week tours. I gave the four-wheeler a small spin, walking it alongside me, and made my way to the cashier. In a world where porters no longer exist at the baggage carousel, where baggage trolleys always have a wobbly wheel and I’m not getting any younger, I’m now on four wheels for grand tours but still wheels-free for most of my travel.

Tyler Brûlé is editor-in-chief of Monocle magazine

tyler.brule@ft.com
More columns at www.ft.com/brule