I’ve always loved a secret hiding place. From a young age, I was very into (age-appropriate) books of tradecraft. Secret messages written in lemon juice! Dead drops you can organize with your friends! Hollowed-out compartments in books for “my stuff”!
What stuff? Some version of this pointed question has always been what poked a hole in, and deflated, my enthusiasm. I’ve never had anything that needed hiding. Likewise, was anyone really trying to intercept my correspondence with friends? Did I even correspond with friends? Did I even have friends to correspond with?
As you can see, contemplating the weak points in my plan to institute infosec protocols — well, it got depressing in a hurry. Maybe paranoia was just another game you couldn’t play unless you found enough other like-minded participants. (Fuck you too, Laser Tag.)
As a teenager, I started reading books about this stuff written for a more mature — and sketchier — audience. They had lots of suggestions for clever hiding places where the only thing that would fit was pills. Oh, shit; are these manuals for drug dealers? Is that what I’ll have to get into if I want to put my passion for hidey-holes to use? Couldn’t I just hide… I dunno, my journal?
I still dreamed one day I’d outfit my house with secret panels, safe rooms, and weatherproof underground caches for all my valuables. When I learned about diversion safes, I about hyperventilated with glee. Here were some hints as to how law-abiders answer the “what stuff?” question, at least. In the promotional photos, it’s always: a passport, a modest fan of hundred-dollar bills, a string of pearls, and a handgun. But to the extent I keep anything like that in my home (AND WOULDN’T YOU LIKE TO KNOW), my standards for safety and/or accessibility require they not be in a shaving cream can.
(Pro tip: Context matters when hiding things in plain sight! Burglars will probably not open every last Mountain Dew in your fridge, but if they find one on your bedroom closet shelf, they’ll likely look it over. Likewise: A false bottom in your safety deposit box? Sure. A Hide-A-Key rock in there? Unlikely to be effective.)
This garment bag we’re selling today does not exactly hide your clothes. It’s built for convenience, not stealth. But boy, it sure does light up the part of my brain that’s still keen on secrets and subterfuge! Check the ingenious way this bag identifies and exploits a piece of previously neglected negative space. You can schlep your carry-on necessities in the bag while your apparel is secreted inside the bag itself, like Krugerrands sewn into a hatband! No one will know but you and the TSA stooge manning the x-ray conveyor.
Of course it’s travel accessories that get to have this kind of clever fun. Whether they’re designed to hide valuables (like a money belt, or travel vest with interior pockets) or just give the already-encumbered wayfarer more ways to carry the things she needs (like a money belt, or travel vest with interior pockets), travel accessories address the one activity during which squares like me have a halfway-legitimate justification to think like a smuggler of contraband. I’ll probably always get a faint kick out of it.
BOE JU’MM IBWF UP CF FOPVHI GPS NF, VOMFTT J POF EBZ NBLF B GSJFOE XIP XBOUT UP USBEF FODSZQUFE NFTTBHFT. Which I kinda doubt will happen.
