Journal

The single-use culture (doesn’t) go on holiday with us.

July 20, 2026 · · One minute read

On holiday, we allow ourselves more freedom, a more carefree attitude and a few exceptions – even in the way we consume. But what if travelling were the perfect opportunity to rediscover the value of items designed to last?

On holiday, we allow ourselves more freedom, a more carefree attitude and a few exceptions – even in the way we consume. But what if travelling were the perfect opportunity to rediscover the value of items designed to last?

 

How long does a holiday last on average? One, two, or let’s say… three weeks? As long as we’re talking about this sort of duration, everything’s fine. But let’s think about it: some of the items that come with it will stay with us – and with the planet – for much longer.

For a few days, our rhythms, schedules and priorities change.

We seek lightness, practicality and simplicity. And it’s only natural that this should be the case.

It is perhaps precisely this sense of suspension that alters, almost without us realising it, our relationship with objects too.

We buy the travel-size version we’ll use for a week. We accept disposable tableware because ‘it’s just a packed lunch anyway’. We buy cheap accessories meant to last just one season.

Small choices that seem insignificant, taken one at a time.

Yet they all convey the same idea: that if something is only going to last a short time in our lives, it might as well be designed to last only a short time in the world.

 

The problem isn’t convenience. It’s choosing it at the expense of durability.

 

Let’s start with a curious contrast. 

On holiday, we treat ourselves to a glass we’ll use for ten minutes – perhaps tossed haphazardly into our beach bag as we rush off to enjoy an unmissable sunset from the cliffs – or a pack designed to last just a few days, or even a garment that probably won’t see the following summer.

Their purpose is short-lived. Their existence, however, is far less so. 

And here… let’s nip an objection in the bud straight away: no, this isn’t about sacrificing comfort.

Rather, it’s about asking ourselves whether practicality and durability really must be seen as incompatible.

Perhaps the problem doesn’t stem from the objects themselves, but from the habit of imagining them as already destined to be replaced.

  

A holiday always leaves something behind. The question is: what?

 

Travel, par excellence, is a spontaneous generator of memories. 

This is borne out by a photograph forgotten on my mobile, that hard-earned tan (in every sense of the word) that is slowly fading, and the scent of sun cream that wafts up when I open my suitcase weeks after returning home.

But every trip also leaves a less obvious trace. 

The destinations we choose for our holidays welcome millions of people every summer. Millions of small actions which, when added together, have a much greater impact than we imagine when we convince ourselves that it’s just for today.

There’s no need to turn your holiday into an exercise in perfection.

We simply need to remember that every action we take during those days, however fleeting, will continue to serve as a reminder of our visit even after we’ve returned home.

  

Perhaps the real luxury is taking fewer things with you… but choosing them more carefully

 

Yes, indeed: unconsciously, when travelling, we break the rules we follow at home. As if they didn’t apply on holiday, as if they didn’t carry the same weight…

And this is precisely where the (let’s face it… often very tempting) idea of single-use items creeps in. 

Mini bottles.

Hotel toiletries.

Lightweight packaging.

Single-use portions.

Everything ready to use, everything quickly disposable, everything ‘tailored’ to the individual. 

Today, however – and thankfully – another idea of practicality is emerging. 

One that isn’t about fast consumption, but about the quality of the items we choose to take with us. Because let’s face it: a few well-designed products are the true convenience (and the only guarantee) of a successful holiday. 

Items capable of accompanying us on our journey without becoming, on our return, something we need to get rid of. 

After all, the lightness of a suitcase depends not only on its weight, but also on the intentions with which we pack it.

 

 

Even the packaging tells a different story about travelling

 

There are objects which, regardless of their use, tell the story of the future that was imagined for them. 

Some seem designed to fulfil their purpose quickly, whilst others are created with a different concept of longevity in mind.

This is why Oway’s agricosmetics are housed in glass and aluminium bottles: materials chosen not only to best preserve the integrity of the formulas, but also because they can continue to exist well beyond their initial use, through upcycling 

Or by returning to the natural resources from which they were created: glass that becomes sand once more, aluminium that reverts to the form of the mineral, bauxite, from which it originated.

A choice that reflects a clear philosophy. 

Packaging is not merely a wrapper, but an integral part of the product. It safeguards the formula, preserves its quality and embodies a different approach to design: one not aimed at fuelling fast, compulsive consumption, but at creating lasting value.

 

Pre-departure reminder:

a suitcase a few kilos lighter (by avoiding unnecessary choices)

 

At this point – setting aside all these reflections and before closing your suitcase – it’s worth asking yourself a few questions. Not to turn your departure into an exercise in self-control, but to choose more consciously what you decide to take with you. 

·       Do I really need to buy a product that I’ll only use for a few days?

·       Can I choose items designed to accompany me on future trips too?

·       Am I prioritising immediate convenience or long-term quality?

·       Can I reduce what I’m taking without giving up what I really need?

·   Does the packaging I’m choosing reflect the same values I’d like to embody whilst travelling?

Now, all that’s left is to set off.