2. Fill your suitcase with Scandi fashion

In search of Nordic style and a cooler persona in Copenhagen.

Wearing wide-legged gray pants, pastel sweaters, and old-school tan trench coats, the young women in Copenhagen whooshed by on their bicycles. Backdropped by the city’s regal 19th-century apartment blocks, they resembled a pack of well-dressed Nordic secret agents. A few carried bouquets in their bike baskets or huffed with the extra weight of a toddler strapped in behind, their purposeful pace slowed only by red lights or cobblestone bumps.

It was June, and my husband, C., and I had just landed in my favorite Scandinavian city. Contrary to that midsommar propaganda promising sunshine and flower crowns everywhere, it was overcast and cool. After wandering past the fish mongers and pastry sellers of the Torvehallerne food market, we sat outside on a stone bench eating flødeboller (Danish chocolate covered marshmallows). Stylish Copenhageners strolled past: a tall woman in a sweeping yellow floral dress and pale green suede cowboy boots, a good-looking man in a blue chore jacket and dark jeans. (Could he be Mads Mikkelsen?)

C. and I started walking back to our hotel near Tivoli Gardens. At the since-1843 amusement park, a multicolored swing ride lifted happily shrieking patrons skyward, a rainbow shock in the silver-gray sky. As I shivered in the breeze, everything I’d packed—and the magenta dress I had on—suddenly felt too brightly colored, too American, and most of all, not warm enough. Maybe I needed a new trench coat? And I really should’ve brought that pale yellow summer sweater!

I was suffering from Suitcase Lag, an affliction travelers sometimes come down with when they arrive in a new place and feel itchy, ill-dressed, or just wrong in whatever they’re wearing. It’s essentially a combination of packing regrets and an urge to slip into the guise—and clothes—of people around you.

Suitcase Lag might be rooted in a childlike urge to fit in. (“I need those shorts my friend Lily has!”) Or it could simply be tourists dressing their way towards a vacation mindset with an Aloha shirt in Hawaii or the pull-on, elephant print pants sold at every market in Southeast Asia.

Dresses from Swedish brand Rodebjer; trench from Danish brand By Malene Birger.

Many times, I can ward off Suitcase Lag before I travel by studying the weather where I’m going, and pondering who I might want to be—or dress like—when I get there. If I’m flying to San Antonio (my childhood hometown), I wear cowboy boots and bring lots of turquoise jewelry, channeling my inner rodeo queen.

Other times, I worry I’ll accidentally make some sort of culturally inappropriate wardrobe fail, like tourists sporting Cleopatra costumes taking selfies outside Egyptian temples or anyone non-French wearing a beret in Paris.

I used the Copenhagen cold snap as an excuse to gently try on another self, to experiment with what a chilled-out, pared-back Nordic Jenn would dress like, think like, be like. Could buying and wearing Scandinavian clothes turn me into a chic Dane who lived in an apartment with views of the North Sea and owned an electric bicycle? Would I even be able to pedal in a long skirt and longer raincoat?

“There are many different Copenhagen styles,” said Rebecca Thandi Norman, the editor in chief of the Scandinavia Standard, an English-language online magazine and regional guide for newcomers and travelers. “Certainly bike-friendly style stands out, but there’s also minimalism and an extremely colorful, pattern-heavy style. It’s all usually perfectly cut and tailored, but also oversized.”

Left: Rebecca Thandi Norman, editor in chief of Scandinavia Standard, a website exploring Nordic life and fashion. Right: Women on bikes during Scandinavian Fashion Week. Photos by Freya McOmish.

Most Nordic fashion designers also have a strong commitment to sustainability—it’s even baked into the requirements to show clothes at Copenhagen Fashion Week. “We have the idea that clothes should be high quality, long-lasting, and mostly made from natural materials,” said Norman.

And while lots of the clothes by Nordic designers (Sweden’s Rodebjer, Finland’s prints-mad Marimekko) look and feel quite luxurious (loads of silk-cotton blends, lots of metallic leather), few pieces flaunt ostentatious labels or initials—or insanely high price tags.

“There are so many different Copenhagen styles. Certainly bike friendly-style stands out, but there’s also minimalism and an extremely colorful, pattern-heavy style.”—Rebecca Thandi Norman, Scandinavia Standard

Using my own recon and Norman’s recs, I visited boutiques selling Scandinavian designers in Copenhagen’s Indre By neighborhood. No more pink dress—I wore a Danish disguise: white New Balance sneakers, a black peplum sweater, and a purple and black print skirt by Ganni, the powerhouse, feminine Copenhagen brand.

Crisscrossing bike lanes and stopping often for coffee, I popped into boutiques snuggled into 19th-century buildings and glassy modern cubes. At By Malene Birger, known for its pared-back bohemian vibe, I bought a crinkly taffeta maxi skirt (the same ethereal blue as the Copenhagen sky) and eyeballed ladylike tunics that would look apropos from Oslo to Ibiza.

Colorful Standard sells shirts, socks, and sweatshirts in dozens of hues at its Copenhagen store.

I loved the unisex T-shirts and hoodies (in shades from Burned Yellow to Ultra Violet) amid the gallery-like white walls at Colorful Standard. There was more tailored-yet-not-uptight Danish style at the old-school department store Illum, where a vintage leaded glass roof shaded decidedly modern clothing by names like Aiayu (well-made, dead-simple button downs and tissue-weight cashmere) and Stine Goya (feminine dresses in candy bright florals).

In a melon-colored, half-timbered vintage building elves might’ve built, the newish shoe store Anonymous showed off crackled silver leather sandals and pointy-toed leopard print Mary Janes (both would’ve worked with my new skirt).

Danish designs I bought in Copenhagen (left to right): By Malene Birger skirt, Munthe top, Munthe jacket.

Around the corner from Anonymous was Munthe, a clothing brand whose surrealist botanical prints and eco-friendly fabrics I’d fallen in love with back in the U.S. (Thank you, Kaight boutique in Beacon, New York!). Though its flagship boutique was about the size of a studio apartment, it carried a large stock of ankle-grazing skirts (one in yellow with pink and black sequins!), floral blouses, and crisp pants. I spotted a gray top in one corner, cleverly made of sweatshirt fabric embroidered to resemble eyelet.

The shirt was like a cozy, chic read on a summer sweater, a feminine basic with a twist. It didn’t look like anything you’d find in America, and I promptly bought it.

The next day dawned, cool and spitting rain. I pulled the fancy gray sweatshirt over my magenta dress before we went on a cardamom bun breakfast run. The bakery clerk greeted me with a “Hej” before asking me a question in Danish.

I have no idea what she said, but I knew I’d successfully cured my Suitcase Lag.

All the brands mentioned in this post can be purchased online and shipped to most countries, including the U.S.