The Red Pouch & The Blue Pouch
I first noticed the usefulness of a red pouch on a flight to Marrakech, when an Italian countess beside me sneezed so dramatically the stewardess crossed herself. I had tissues, drops, even a scented wipe. She had gratitude. And, in truth, I had become the most prepared man in row 14.
The red pouch stayed with me after that. I carried it into the Hamptons, where everything is immaculate except your hands after touching someone else’s sunscreened martini glass. It came to Toronto too, where, in a nearly deserted gate lounge, I once whispered its secret to Nelly Furtado. She nodded as if I’d just confessed the existence of a second passport.
What began with eye drops and towelettes took on new dimension the day I discovered Prequel’s Skin Utility Gel. It was like finding a confidante in a room full of strangers. I spread it on my hands, my face, even my elbows when no one was watching. Soon the pouch was no longer an emergency kit. It was a philosophy.
The blue pouch, meanwhile, emerged during the years when chargers and cables bred like rabbits in every suitcase I packed. The chaos was unbearable. Out of that came an edited system so spare, so exact, that even a certain late Apple founder—when shown the arrangement by a mutual acquaintance at a dinner I will not describe—allowed himself the smallest smile.
Together, the pouches became less about what they carried than what they prevented: chaos, discomfort, the humiliation of needing and not having. They are not accessories. They are alibis against disorder, manifestos against bad luck.
System 001, as I call it, is not just mine anymore. It’s yours. Carry it, and you may find—as I have—that the smallest objects carry the most civilization.
For Leisure Society Eyes Only
There are people—well-heeled, well-traveled—who keep our Recipe Cards stacked beside their Baccarat tumblers as if they were family silver. One woman in Bel Air keeps hers in a monogrammed leather binder, and insists it is the most useful book in her house.
Now it’s your turn. As a Leisure Society member, you receive exclusive access to these cards, each one a “recipe” not for dinner, but for life—systems, rituals, small defenses against exhaustion.
Click the image. Save it to your desktop. Build your own Reis Daniel Lifestyle Cookbook. Page by page, it becomes less a collection and more a quiet record of how you chose to live.
If this wisdom from THE ART OF LEISURE proved useful, share it with someone who still believes they can travel with just their phone charger. We appreciate your quiet support in spreading the gospel of preparedness.