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There’s a beach on the Oregon coast that the internet hasn’t found yet. I know this because I was there on a Tuesday with a book and a towel and about four surfers who looked at me the way you look at someone who has correctly identified what they love. We don’t talk. The social contract of a nearly empty beach is simple and perfect: We’re all here for a purpose, and that’s the point.
What you bring to a place like that is kind of an argument about how you want to spend your time. So here’s my beach packing list, not the one that covers every contingency, but the one based on a single question: What do I really need to be fully here?
My packing list for the beach
Think of this list as you would designing a room. William Morris said it best: “Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful or that you do not believe to be beautiful.” Everything here was chosen to that standard. Because good taste is knowing exactly what you need.
the bag
For people who are tired of raffia. Structured where beach bags typically aren’t, striped in a way that reads more deliberate than nautical, and big enough to hold everything on this list without looking like it’s trying.
the towel
The kind of object that justifies its place in your life by being exactly what it claims to be. Big enough to lie on, soft enough to make you want to stay longer than planned, and in a color scheme that looks like a painting someone made at the end of the afternoon. Calendula does something to sunlight that I can’t explain and won’t try to explain.
The swimsuit
A one-piece suit that does real structural work (support, compression, the kind of fit that doesn’t require you to think about it after putting it on) while also looking like it was made by someone who’s actually been to the beach. Take it in the water. Wear it with the sarong to lunch. Wear it as a bodysuit with linen pants on the way home. I’m obsessed, just like the rest of the internet.
The cover-up
Cotton voile, hand-printed in Italy by Como artisans. It drapes like fabric does when made by someone who knows what they are doing. Tie it to your hip, wrap it around your waist, let it do whatever it wants. (Goes to.)
the hat
The one you wear when you want to look like you’ve been going to the beach your whole life. Structured enough to stay put and relaxed enough to forget you’re wearing it. If, in fact, you can’t get enough of raffia, the crochet texture does it all.
The sunglasses
Thick acetate, a barely-there cat eye, and a tortoise pattern dark enough to look sophisticated and warm enough to feel like summer. It flatters any face shape and looks good with literally everything.
The sunscreen
The sunscreen gods have answered our prayers: this bottle goes on clean and leaves no cast. Bless. The unglamorous part of the beach that is, however, non-negotiable: it is recommended to apply generously.
The glow of the body
A non-negotiable summer, with or without a beach. What it does is specific: not glow, not sparkle in the disco ball sense, but a warmth that catches the light in a way that makes you look like you’ve been in a good place. I use it every day from June to August. People who know, know. People who don’t just think you look remarkably good on vacation.
The jewelry
I have this necklace in Iridescent Abalone, if you’re asking. The praise is constant and no longer surprises me. She is a marvel.
Bible
Ten years after her debut, she returns with a thriller about a Hollywood producer who returns to her alma mater for a funeral and finds herself entangled with the one who ran away, or really, the one she ran away from. Smart, dark, with a Gone Girl style twist and an ending I will never get over. Coming out on July 7th – pre-order and prepare to be unavailable for hours.
This post was last updated on June 23, 2026 to include new insights.
