Had you been in Paris this time last year, you would have wanted to put your head under a cushion the first time you stuck your nose out on to the Rue de Rivoli. Five minutes of watching chic Parisiennes parade by and you recognized you had one of two options: either find The Jeans (some obscure label already back-ordered into the next century) or latch on fast to The Skirt. So I did, buying a three-tiered peasant number in pond green for 25 euros on a side street and wearing it out of the shop. That's the first thing to know if there's a trip in store for you this summer: when you go to a foreign city where style rules, take very little. You'll only get it wrong. Instead head for street markets and tiny shops where fashionista residents buy the trend of the moment.

The second rule is to travel as lightly as possible, and””especially if you're facing a long flight””dress smartly enough that you might score an upgrade but comfortably enough that you don't spend 10 torturous hours. Which brings me to shoes. Now, if you let them, shoes can take up far too much space in your luggage. In hindsight, it was taking a huge risk, but I was determined to pack (or, rather, wear) just one pair of shoes for a month in Asia last year, and I did, buying them the day before I flew out and not even putting them on until I got ready to head to the airport. The brand is Naot, and they are””pun alert””naot cheap, pushing $150 with tax. (I found mine at Broadway Shoe Salon, 2809 West Broadway.) They've been worth every cent. Made in Israel of leather with Velcro-fastening straps, they have a cork bed that allegedly contours to the foot the way sand does when you walk barefoot on the beach. All I know is that I traipsed kilometres around Angkor Wat and went up and down hilly trails in northern Thailand and in and out of Buddhist temples (where, because you have to lose the shoes, Velcro beats buckles every time), all in total comfort. Nor are Naots so clunky that you feel you have “backpacker”  written all over you when you want to eat out at a decent restaurant.

The more Air Miles you clock up, the less you learn to pack. Luisa Rino, Straight contributor and West Coast correspondent for Flare magazine, does two kinds of travelling. When business takes her to New York in the summer, she relies on a '50s-style white-cotton dress by Yso that she bought in Montreal and “round-toed flats so I can walk” . When she's journeying on her own dollar, “I always end up bringing a pair of flip-flops,”  along with red-striped white gymnast-type shoes by Vialis that she picked up in Barcelona. And that's it for footwear. “I travel really light,”  says Rino, who also stashes in her small backpack just one pair of pants, either a luxe take on Thai-style fisherman's pants or authentic military, plus a full skirt, usually dark, to just below the knee, “which shows respect if you're going into temples or churches” . Not all fashions travel well, she notes: “Tank tops in Europe are usually beachwear.”  She prefers plain cap-sleeved T-shirts and usually brings about five, plus a light cardigan. “If things are thin and fitted, they look a bit more elegant.”  Skincare goes in her pack, but little or no makeup (“Even a lipstick will get you all dressed up” ) and no jewellery at all. “I'm very minimal,”  Rino insists.

Although no longer topping the fashion hit parade, a pashmina is still brilliant for wrapping around you on long flights. In fact, as less trend-conscious cultures have always known, a piece of cloth is a godsend. Travel journalist Isabel Nanton spends time in Africa “and countries with a biggish Muslim population” , where covering up is a must. Her preference is a kikoi, Swahili for “sarong” . As well as a head wrap, you can use it as a towel, she says, or sit on it at the beach, sleep in it, wrap it over a swimsuit, tie small children to you with it, or, if you find yourself in the forest, as she did near Whistler last fall, use it to hold wild mushrooms. My version is an Indian shawl, which rolls up to nothing and, because it's dark and densely patterned, doesn't show the occasional stain or crease. It has got to be cotton and opaque to serve its intended purposes (such as doubling as a dressing gown for corridor walks to the bathroom in budget hotels). Try the Punjabi market, but most shawls there are polyester or blends. Better to buy a couple of metres of soft cotton and finish the edges yourself.

Be honest. You know that you won't wear half the clothes you bring. As you stand wearily at the carrousel realizing that all black luggage looks the same, wouldn't you kill to be that woman striding toward the exit, carrying only one small bag? Plan carefully and you could be.