Can summer fit inside a tote? No, obviously. But that has never stopped anyone from trying. The beach bag has always been a place where optimism goes to live. Our mothers packed as if the beach might turn into a week-long adventure: ham-and-cheese sandwiches, fruit, towels, rackets, balls, probably something nobody asked for but everyone eventually needed. We have simply exchanged the "just in case" mentality for a more personal kind of preparation. The contents may have changed, but the idea remains the same: every beach bag is a tiny expression of who we are and how we want to spend our time by the sea.
While you are at it:
Valisia’s
To be clear, I am never casual about skin and hair care. Looking like you’ve spent twelve hours under the Mediterranean sun is only acceptable if you mean your mood, not your complexion. SPF, after sun, leave-in conditioner and a perfume mist are non-negotiables because I fully intend to age like a marble statue rather than forgotten driftwood. My beach kit also reveals my eternal love affair to the ‘80s. The towel, lip balm, power bank, and even my diving mask, look like they wandered out of a 1987 summer catalogue. I could spend hours swimming and inspecting the seabed, so the mask is a permanent companion. My Mono Araña skirt is my idea of the perfect modern sarong and pairs beautifully with the one-piece swimsuits I practically live in. And the blue sunglasses? They simply match the sea. It would be rude not to.
Stella’s
I go to the beach to stay at the beach. I don’t understand people who go for a quick dip and then move on. Summer days are meant to be dedicated to the sea.
So, I like being prepared. The plan is simple: relax and read a book. Which one? Boris Vian’s final novel, Heartsnatcher. It’s set in a bizarre and slightly sinister town where the elderly are auctioned off at an Old Folks’ Fair, the townspeople harass the priest in the hope of making it rain, and the official town scapegoat, Glory Hallelujah -a man paid in gold to absolve the village of its shame by fishing corpses and fish heads out of the local river with his teeth- allows the residents to murder apprentices, abuse the vicar and behave beastly in general without guilt. At the heart of the story is Clémentine, a mother who punishes her husband for the excruciating pain of giving birth to triplets. As they grow older, she becomes increasingly obsessed with protecting them, eventually building an invisible wall around their property.
I’ve taken care of the entertainment, so now it’s time for a swim. And what could be better, when you’re soaking wet under the blistering sun, than dipping a peach into the salty sea before taking a bite? It’s one of summer’s simplest pleasures.
Since I’m spending the entire day at the beach, I come prepared. First, a change of swimsuit for later, and an extra piece to look presentable enough for dinner at the taverna (for Australians) or lunch (for Greeks). I choose either the Tucán Pico Iris playsuit, the “Bush Picnic” kaftan or the Catequil shirt. All three pair perfectly with my black tercel pareo.
And if I happen to catch the sunset, a little romance never hurt anyone. Just bring a portable aquarelle set and paint with the help of seawater.
Alexandra’s
Beach days are rare when you live in Athens - a habit left over from primary school ‘90s summers and island holidays, but never quite an everyday thing.
Still, there are a few things I never go without. SPF 50 comes first - I don't want to get tanned, so sun protection matters more than most things in the bag, along with a T-shirt with a logo I actually care about, usually a favourite band or a film. I never set foot on organised beaches (I despise them for so many reasons), so a proper textured, sturdy beach mat is essential - something that can handle sand or rocks. My phone stays firmly out of the equation; salty hands and screens don’t mix, and honestly there’s nothing on it I need while I’m there - instead, my analogue Minolta camera comes along to catch the moments worth keeping. A dry bag lives in there too, purely so my wet swimwear doesn’t turn the rest of my bag into a disaster zone. And because my caffeine needs have a habit of becoming urgent, instant coffee is always on standby - nothing beats a Nescafé frappé mixed up on the spot.
What I won’t be doing is lying flat and tanning - you will never catch me asleep on the sand. I need to be doing something, so I bring a book that’s light enough to read in the sun but still lines up with how my brain works - right now that’s Kurt Vonnegut’s The Sirens of Titan, a gloriously daft space odyssey with a genuinely bleak heart. The richest man on Earth gets dragged across the solar system by forces entirely out of his control, and underneath the Martian invasions and chrono-synclastic nonsense sits a sharp, funny argument: life has no built-in meaning, so you’d better make your own out of the people and things you actually love.
When I’m not reading, I’m exploring the seabed - that’s something that excites me, so a pair of goggles always comes with me. And holding it all together is my oversized ‘15’ tote by 2WO+1NE=2, which somehow fits everything - your whole life, really, even an umbrella.
Happy swimming!
Valisia + Stella + Alexandra