Prior to commercialized aviation, capacious tweed overcoats and flowing raglan-sleeved things were considered sensible items to wear for travel. They acted as wearable blankets, I suppose, protecting the person (and his clothes) within from the blasts of cold air at each stop and the jostling of the platform. A few months ago I was reminded why these otherwise handsome garments are no longer just the thing for today’s traveler: a tall fellow swept into the crowded cabin of our commuter jet, the folds of his caped balmacaan nearly collecting several pre-flight cocktails and a small child before he finally found his seat. Once there, he and the crew puzzled over where to store the monstrosity. It was unceremoniously folded and jammed beneath a seat. He was silly for wearing it, but generally speaking, I can commiserate; travel today limits considerably good choices, and outerwear takes the greatest casualties.

Lightweight technical gear is one solution, but finding an example that covers the rear, let alone extends several inches below a jacket line, is difficult. The other problem with technical jackets is they derive warmth from some sort of filler—wadding, down or, I was amazed to recently discover, polystyrene beads. While not as cumbersome as heavy wool, volume of any description is just unwelcome in a cramped cabin. My solution is an exercise in true compromise: I travel most often with the original technical gear—the waxed cotton jacket. A Barbour Beaufort, to be precise. This model is raglan sleeved, unlined, water resistant and what it lacks in real warmth, it makes up for in its ability to easily layer over anything from heavy fisherman’s sweaters to tweed odd jackets. Its most valuable property, however, is that it is unprecious, looking as good rumpled and battered as it does freshly reconditioned. I wouldn’t flinch if a sullen flight attendant should screw it up into a ball and use it to mop up a spilled Bloody Mary, let alone cram it into an overhead bin.

The other, considerably more imaginative configuration poses a fundamental question: what is outerwear? A tweed jacket was, and often still is, outerwear. And what about sweaters, garments developed to be worn for outdoor pursuits? Many might ordinarily pack both, but the smartest packers do so with an eye toward creating a traveling wardrobe that serves in lieu of proper outerwear. A fourteen ounce tweed jacket worn over a shirt and knit serves well in temperatures down to freezing with scarf, gloves and hat added to the rig. And as long as we are playing fast and loose with categories, another more progressive option lurks: the lightweight technical vest. If it is slim enough and not too puffy it, too, can be worn beneath a tweed jacket. I’ve done this; it is as warm as any proper outerwear.

I perhaps overstated the difficulty of traveling with an overcoat. I have done it with a covert cloth coat. It does require a certain amount of strategic folding and stashing, but it can be done. Perhaps what is really needed is the right degree of carelessness; my covert coat is old and softly unstructured and I wouldn’t lose my cool if a gate agent ordered me to check it amongst the strollers and golf bags. The real issue is convenience, though. Travel is rarely what it once was, and the more the traveller can do to reduce friction, the better. If this means going without a beloved overcoat for the duration, so be it.