Why Every Minimalist Should Pack One ‘Useless’ Luxury Item

When most people think of minimalist travel, they picture an empty room, a single pair of pants, and a stark lack of personality. The entire goal, they assume, is to see how much you can leave behind. The conversation is all about cutting, reducing, and depriving yourself for the sake of a lighter bag. But what if that’s missing the point entirely?

What if the ultimate expression of smart, minimalist packing isn’t just carrying less, but carrying exactly what you need to be happy? This includes packing one item that is, by all practical standards, completely and utterly “useless.”

It sounds like a contradiction. But I’ve found that packing one small, personal luxury item is the key to making one-bag travel sustainable and, more importantly, joyful. It’s not a failure of minimalism; it’s the final, most personal part of the process.

My name is Raji Deneshan Kumar, and I run Travel with dp. I’ve spent the better part of five years refining my one-bag travel system, figuring out what’s practical, what’s reliable, and what just gets in the way. And I can tell you that my favorite item—the one I’ll defend a place for in my 40L bag—is my small, manual coffee grinder.

It’s a perfect example of a “useless” item. It’s heavy for its size, it’s single-purpose, and I can buy a cup of coffee on literally any street corner in the world. But here’s the thing: I don’t pack it for the caffeine. I pack it for the ritual. That ten-minute process of grinding the beans, brewing a cup, and starting the day with a familiar smell and taste… that’s my anchor. It’s a piece of home that keeps me grounded, no matter where I am.

Redefining “Minimalist”: Why We Get It Wrong

The core philosophy we follow here at Travel with dp is that minimalist travel is about prioritizing experiences and freedom, not about deprivation. It’s a tool, not a competition to see who can suffer the most.

The problem is that “minimalism” has been co-opted by social media to mean something cold and sterile. This version of minimalism is all about aesthetics and strict, arbitrary rules. It’s about owning the least amount of things.

Practical minimalism, the kind that actually helps you travel, is different. It’s not about owning less; it’s about making sure everything you do own serves a powerful purpose. The purpose of my packing cubes is to organize. The purpose of my merino wool shirt is to be worn for five days without smelling. And the purpose of my coffee grinder is to bring me joy.

The true goal of one-bag travel is to avoid checked luggage at all costs. That’s the real enemy. Checked bags cost money, they get lost, and they tie you down. They are the opposite of freedom. A tiny, 300-gram luxury item that fits in your 40L carry-on doesn’t.

Once you accept that minimalism is a tool for freedom, the idea of a “useless” item starts to make sense. You aren’t breaking the rules. You’re just reminding yourself why you wanted the freedom in the first place.

The Case for a “Useless” Item: It’s About Joy, Not Utility

Packing 100% for utility is efficient, but it can also be draining. If your entire bag is full of gray merino wool and nylon, your trip can start to feel a bit like a military operation. You’re efficient, but you might not be having much fun. The single luxury item is the counter-balance.

The Anchor: How a Luxury Item Connects You to Home

Travel, especially long-term, can be disorienting. You’re constantly in new beds, new time zones, and new environments. It’s exciting, but it’s also tiring. A small, familiar ritual can be a powerful psychological anchor.

For me, it’s the coffee. When I wake up in a loud 12-person hostel dorm or a sterile hotel room, that 10-minute ritual is all mine. It’s a quiet, predictable moment before I step out into the chaos of a new city. It grounds me and makes me feel “at home,” even when I’m thousands of miles away.

This is the most powerful argument for a luxury item. It’s not about the item itself, but about the feeling it gives you. It’s a tool for mental well-being, which is just as important as a rain jacket is for physical well-being.

The Reward: Reinforcing Good Packing Habits

Here’s a way to think about it that helped me. Being a minimalist packer takes work. You have to research the right fabrics (like merino wool), learn to be ruthless about what you don’t pack, and get good at using tools like packing cubes.

The “useless” luxury item is your reward for all that hard work.

Because I’ve managed to fit all my clothes for two weeks into a single medium-sized packing cube, I have earned the small corner of my bag for my coffee grinder. The efficiency in one area creates the space for indulgence in another. This makes the whole system feel sustainable. You’re not just depriving yourself; you’re making a smart trade-off.

The Icebreaker: A Surprising Way to Connect

An unexpected benefit of my “useless” item is that it starts conversations. When I’m grinding beans in a hostel kitchen, someone always asks about it. It’s a simple, friendly way to connect with other travelers.

I’ve seen this with other people, too.

• A traveler in Bolivia who had a small watercolor set. People would gather around to watch her paint the sunset.
• A friend who carries a Deck of cards (a high-quality, unique deck, not a standard one). It’s an open invitation to play.
• Someone I met in Vietnam who had a tiny, portable Bluetooth speaker. They’d play quiet music while our group cooked dinner.

These items show personality. They tell people something about you beyond “I also own a gray t-shirt.” They prove you’re a person, not just a packing list.

What a “Luxury Item” Is (And What It Isn’t)

This is where people get confused. A “luxury item” is not just “a nice version of a useful item.” A $300 rain jacket is not a luxury item; it’s just an expensive practical item. Its job is to keep you dry.

My coffee grinder is a true luxury item because I can get coffee anywhere. Its function is redundant. I pack it purely for the experience.

The “Pure Joy” Litmus Test

To find your luxury item, ask this one question: “Does this item serve any practical purpose that I can’t easily and cheaply get on the road?”

If the answer is “no,” but you still feel a powerful urge to pack it, you’ve found your item. It’s something you pack for joy, not utility.

What Doesn’t Count as a “Luxury Item”

It’s just as important to know what doesn’t qualify. These are items that are just smart, practical packing, even if they feel nice.

• An E-reader (like a Kindle): This is a practical, hyper-efficient item. It’s the minimalist way to carry 1,000 books.
• A Smartphone: This is your map, camera, wallet, and translator. It’s the most practical item you own.
• Noise-Canceling Headphones: On a 14-hour bus ride, these are not a luxury; they are a survival tool.
• High-Quality Merino Wool Clothing: This is a core part of the minimalist system. It’s practical because it lets you pack fewer items.

A true luxury item is one you could definitely leave behind with zero practical consequences.

Here’s a simple table to show the difference. I find this helps me stay honest when I’m deciding what makes the cut.

Practical Tool vs. True Luxury Item

Looking at this, I hope the distinction is clear. The “True Luxury” items are all about feeling and experience, while the “Practical Tools” are about function and efficiency.

How to Choose Your One Luxury Item Without Ruining Your Pack

Okay, so you’re on board with the idea. But how do you choose an item that won’t make you hate yourself every time you lift your bag?

This is where your practical minimalist brain has to work with your joyful brain. You have to be just as ruthless in picking your luxury item as you are with picking your socks.

The Three Rules of the Road: Size, Weight, and Fragility

Your chosen item must pass three tests to earn its place in your 40L bag.

1. Size: It must be small. It should fit in the palm of your hand or slide into a gap between your packing cubes. My hand grinder, for example, fits perfectly inside my travel mug, taking up no extra space. A small watercolor tin can be the size of a wallet.
2. Weight: It cannot be a brick. This is the hardest one. You have to set a personal limit. For me, it’s about 300-400 grams (under one pound). Anything heavier, and you will feel it.
3. Fragility: Can it survive being thrown into the back of a bus? My manual grinder is solid stainless steel; it’s nearly indestructible. A glass French press, on the other hand, would be a terrible choice. A special teacup? Not a good idea. Choose something robust.

The “Will I Actually Use It?” Reality Check

This is the most important test. You must be brutally honest with yourself.

Do not pack a watercolor set if you wish you were a painter. Pack it only if you are a painter. Do not pack a travel guitar if you intend to learn. Pack it only if you already play every day.

The guilt of carrying an aspirational item you never use is a thousand times worse than the regret of leaving it at home. My personal rule is this: I must use my luxury item at least every other day to justify its space. If I’m not, then on the next trip, it stays home.

Finding the Space: The Reward of Packing Cubes

“But Raji,” you might say, “I’ve already cut everything. My 40L bag is full.”

This is where the whole system comes together. The reason we evangelize core minimalist tools is that they create this extra space.

• Because you’re using packing cubes, your clothes are compressed into dense, manageable blocks.
• Because you’re packing merino wool, you only need three shirts instead of seven.

This efficiency is what gives you a “profit” of a few liters in your bag. You can choose to leave that space empty, or you can re-invest it in something that brings you joy. Your luxury item isn’t an add-on; it’s a dividend you get from packing smart elsewhere.

Real-World Examples of “Useless” Items I’ve Seen (and Packed)

Besides my coffee grinder, I’ve seen some brilliant examples on the road. These items all passed the test: they are small, (mostly) lightweight, and brought their owners undeniable joy.

• My Coffee Grinder: The champion, in my opinion. Provides a 10-minute ritual of sound, smell, and taste that anchors my day.
• The Travel Artist’s Kit: A friend carries a tiny, mint-tin-sized watercolor palette and a small Moleskine notebook. She spends 20 minutes at a cafe or a park overlook capturing a scene. It’s her way of seeing a place, not just photographing it.
• The Comfort Seeker’s Pillow: I met a traveler who carried a tiny, ultralight, packable down pillow. Hostel pillows are often terrible, and this small item guaranteed him a good night’s sleep. To him, that was worth everything.
• The Ambiance Setter: A girl in my dorm in Colombia had a 6-foot string of battery-powered “fairy lights.” They weighed nothing. At night, she’d string them around her bunk, creating a warm, cozy glow. It instantly made the sterile 10-bed dorm feel like a personal space.
• The Scent-imentalist: A traveler who carried a tiny, 5ml atomizer of a specific, high-end perfume. A single spray in the morning made her feel “put together” and human, even after a 12-hour bus ride. Scent is powerfully tied to memory and comfort.
• The Fidgeter’s Toy: A small, well-made set of metal “worry coins” or a high-quality fidget spinner. Something to do with your hands while waiting in long lines at airports or bus stations.

The One Item I Thought Was a Luxury (But Was Actually a Mistake)

I want to be clear: I’ve gotten this wrong, too. This is how I learned the “Will I Actually Use It?” rule.

A few years ago, I decided to pack a heavy, high-quality pair of 10×42 binoculars. I thought they would be an amazing luxury. I’d sit on balconies and do birdwatching! I’d see mountains up close!

Here’s what really happened:

1. They were heavy. Way heavier than I admitted to myself when I packed them.
2. They were bulky and awkward. They didn’t fit in my bag easily, so I had to carry them around my neck.
3. Because they were expensive, I was afraid to use them in crowded areas. I just looked like a tourist.
4. I used them exactly twice in six weeks.

The binoculars failed the test. They were an aspirational item—I packed them for the idea of the person I wanted to be on that trip, not the person I actually was. It was a heavy, expensive lesson. I learned that my luxury item has to be something that fits my real daily habits.

That failed experiment is what led me to my coffee grinder. I know I will use that every single morning. It’s not an aspiration; it’s a part of my day.

Frequently Asked Questions

1. Won’t packing a “useless” item make me fail at minimalism?

Absolutely not. It proves you understand the point. Minimalism is a tool to get more freedom and experience. If that one item enhances your experience, it’s serving the core purpose of minimalism. It’s about intention, not deprivation.

2. What’s the difference between a luxury item and just being unprepared?

A luxury item is intentional. You pack it knowing it’s not essential, but you’ve made a conscious choice that its joy-value is worth the space. Being unprepared is negligent—like not packing a rain jacket for a trip to a rainforest. One serves joy; the other fails to serve a core function.

3. I’m trying to pack in an 18L bag, not a 40L. Do I still have room?

This is the one time it gets really hard. When you’re in that “ultra-minimalist” category, every single gram matters. But even then, your luxury item might just be smaller. It could be a single, high-quality pen. It could be a small photograph. It could be a 1oz bottle of your favorite hot sauce. The principle remains the same, even if the scale changes.

4. My luxury item is my phone/e-reader. Does that count?

In my opinion, no. As we covered, those are practical, hyper-efficient tools. They are the epitome of modern minimalist packing. A true luxury item is something functionally unnecessary.

Your Pack, Your Rules

At the end of the day, minimalist packing is not a contest. The goal isn’t to carry the least amount of stuff; it’s to get the most joy and freedom from the things you do carry.

Once you have your system dialed—your 40L bag, your packing cubes, your merino wool shirts—you’ve created the freedom to be inefficient in one small, personal way.

My coffee grinder isn’t just a grinder. It’s my 10 minutes of peace. It’s my small, daily slice of home. It’s the one thing in my bag that is 100% for me.

So, take a look at your own packing list. You’ve got the practical parts covered. Now, ask yourself: What’s the one “useless” thing you can pack that will make your trip better, just for you?