I'm free! I'm free! For a long weekend. With my best friends from college. As is our annual tradition, we're hightailing it up to Martha's Vineyard for some lobstering/BBQ-ing/amateur mixology in the land of grosgrain belts and pressed jeans. I, however, always take the opportunity to pack as little as possible, and this year is no exception: no makeup (not a lick), 1 bikini (Lisa Marie Fernandez), clean underwear, the Ksubi shorts and Sandro tank on my back, an Isabel Marant "America" jersey (the most athletic I'll get, Olympics or no), sandals (from a Tibetan store in Williamsburg), Céline shades, and a smattering of easy-breezy skincare products chucked into my trusty Wm. J. Mills & Co tote... I'm ready to hit the road. "That's it? Where's your stuff?" my friends will say, and I'll flash a gratified smile that indeed, I can survive and thrive for four days with next to nothing. Because when you roll out of bed in some magical beach house, are you really going to go through a three-step routine? I think not. I'll reach for my SkinCeuticals antioxidant potions, throw on some Anthelios SPF, and call it a day. After I wash off the grime at dusk—with, gasp, whatever's laying around—I'll throw on some Joelle Ciocco oil, sweep Lucas' Papaw ointment over my lips and make a cocktail. Oh, and somewhere in between, you better believe I'll be bringing myself up-to-date on that heart-wrenching K-Stew/R-Patz debacle. The chicest thing I'll be doing this weekend is reading Vanity Fair’s best-dressed list.