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 you like. We didn’t talk. The social contract of a nearly empty beach is simple and perfect: we’re all there on purpose, and that’s the whole point.
What you bring to a place like that is some sort of argument about how you want to spend your time. So here is my list of things to pack for the beach, not one that covers every eventuality, but one built around a single question: what do I really need to be fully there?
My beach packing list
Think of this list as you would design a room. William Morris said it well: “Have nothing in your home that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful. » Everything here was chosen according to this standard. Because good taste means 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 deliberate rather than nautical, and large enough to hold everything on this list without looking like you’re trying.
Claire V.
The towel
The kind of thing that justifies its place in your life by being exactly what it says it is. Big enough to lie on, soft enough to make you want to stay longer than expected, and in a color combination that looks like a painting made in the late afternoon. The marigold does something to the sunlight that I can’t explain and won’t try.
Parachute
The swimsuit
A one-piece that does real structural work (support, compression, the kind of fit that doesn’t require you to think about it after you put it on) while still looking like it was made by someone who went to the beach. Wear it in the water. Wear it with the sarong for lunch. Wear it as a bodysuit with linen pants on the way home. I’m obsessed, as is the rest of the Internet.
Left Friday
The cover-up
Cotton voile hand-printed in Italy by Como artisans. It drapes like fabric does when it’s been made by someone who knows what they’re doing. Tie him at the hip, wrap him at the waist, let him do what he wants. (It will be.)
Bembien
The hat
The one you wear when you want to look like you’ve been at the beach your whole life. Structured enough to stay in place, relaxed enough to forget you’re wearing it. If, in fact, you can’t get enough of raffia, the crochet texture does it all.
Jenny Kayne
Sunglasses
Thick acetate, a barely-there cat eye, and a turtle pattern that’s dark enough to be sophisticated and warm enough to feel like summer. It flatters all face shapes and goes well with everything.
Claire V.
The SPF
The sunscreen gods have answered our prayers: this bottle stays clean and leaves no streaks. Bless. The unglamorous but nonetheless non-negotiable part of the beach recommends applying generously.
Bask sun care
The glow of the body
A non-negotiable summer: beach or no beach. What it does is specific: no sparkle, no shimmer in the disco ball sense, but a warmth that catches the light in a way that makes you feel like you’ve been somewhere nice. I wear it every day from June to August. People who know know. People who don’t just think you look remarkably on vacation.
Jewelry
I have this iridescent abalone necklace, if you ask. The compliments are constant and I have stopped being surprised by them. She is astonishing.
Kendra Scott
The book
Ten years after her debut, she’s back with a thriller about a Hollywood producer who returns to her alma mater for a funeral and finds herself mixed up with the one who got away – or rather, the one she ran away from. Smart, dark, with a Gone Girl twist and an ending I’ll never recover from. It’s out July 7 – pre-order and prepare to be unreachable for hours.
Jessica Knoll
This article was last updated on June 23, 2026 to include new information.
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