The bag sizer: a short history of the most hated object at the airport

The European Parliament's Transport Committee has just approved a resolution that brings suitcases back under airplane seats. The proposal, which still needs to be confirmed in plenary, aims to recognize hand luggage—considered an essential item—as an integral part of the ticket price, without additional charges. It would therefore prohibit airlines from charging extra for cabin bags, provided they do not exceed the maximum dimensions of 100 centimeters in total, alongside so-called “personal items” such as handbags or backpacks. In short, while Ryanair celebrated its 40th birthday, the European Union played spoilsport. The resolution forces all airlines to take a step back in time, to the happy anarchy of pre-9/11 air travel: a flashback to when low-cost airlines were taking their first steps and a few ungainly suitcases stood alongside elegant briefcases.

But what really changes if luggage changes? Is it really the end of a certain “bratty” image, the one that saw us arrive at the airport with vacuum-packed clothes and underwear stuffed into travel pillows, turning departure into a moment of pure entropic chaos? It could at least be the questioning of a design object that, silent and relentless, has established itself as the modern Pillars of Hercules of airports around the world: the rack, or more precisely the bag sizer, that physical limit that since the 2000s has separated the known from the unknown, the free from the paid, order from disorder.

Made of metal, U-shaped or cage-shaped, with a modular structure, wheels and—in the latest models—even built-in digital scales, the so-called bag sizer first appeared in low-cost airport areas in the early 2000s in response to the commercial logic of “packages”: at first they were only found at boarding gates or check-in desks, then they began to appear everywhere, at every turn. The first to implement them systematically were Ryanair, easyJet, and Wizz Air. They were followed by the flag carriers, which, although more “tolerant,” also ended up with strict rules on cabin baggage. But it is Ryanair in particular that has given it its true branding: the blue screen-printed steel cages have become an immediate visual symbol of the company and have established a model—and a new aesthetic—for low-cost airports, which are becoming more spartan, functional, and standardized.

However, there is no single patent holder or standard measurement: the dimensions of hand luggage and “personal items to be stored under the seat” vary from airline to airline (40×20×25 cm, 45×36×20 cm, 40×30×20 cm, etc.). It is precisely this jungle of rules and formats that has prompted the European Union to address the issue with a resolution aimed at establishing common dimensions.

Until now, every airline had its own customized bag sizer model. And while the basic design, inspired by measuring devices used in manufacturing, has remained virtually unchanged, the number of manufacturers has multiplied (the main ones include companies specializing in airport furniture and logistics supplies such as Usm Airportsystems, Adelte, Airport Seating Alliance), and so have the super-colorful, “foolproof” graphics: simplified icons and paternalistic instructions reminding us that the airport is, after all, a place for educating bodies and suitcases, a collective ritual that shapes docile travelers and regulation-compliant luggage. In short, quality control, but applied to people. There are many stories about them—the latest being the social media breakdown of a Chinese tourist who collapsed in defeat at Malpensa Airport—and each of us has at least one to tell.

In our editorial office, for example, we were refused boarding because we had filmed one of the bag sizers falling under the weight of a passenger who had been a little too enthusiastic in measuring their luggage with their iPhone. We have all witnessed long discussions and sometimes furious arguments at the gate. Episodes like these only confirm that these objects are more important than we think: hand luggage racks are not only the real gateway to the airplane, but also the industrial design object that more than any other tells the story of how our way of flying has changed over time. Lightweight, extremely lightweight, like on a bus. So much so that now, again in accordance with European regulations, you no longer need to show your ID to board in the Schengen Area.

The installation of bag sizers in the most famous “non-places” on the planet therefore marks a very specific historical transition: the transformation of airports from “monumental palaces” for a privileged few – remember Pan Am and the concept of flying as luxury? – to “logistical machines” designed to sort mass flows. It is the story of democratization, but also of standardization and dissolution, like an assembly line where every step is measured, codified, and quantifiable. The history of low-cost flying began many years ago, in the late 1970s and early 1980s, when the Airline Deregulation Act of 1978 was passed in the United States, opening the door to new, more flexible and aggressive operators, including Southwest Airlines, founded in Texas in 1971 and considered the first true low-cost airline in history. Today, it remains an important player in US flights, alongside Spirit, the other major US low-cost airline. European airlines followed suit about a decade later, with Ryanair (founded in 1984 but ‘reinvented’ in 1997 with a pure low-cost model) and easyJet (founded in 1995). The new paradigm is the opposite of the old “full service” model: instead of an all-inclusive ticket – with baggage, meals, and seat selection – there is a basic fare reduced to the bare minimum, often lower than the operating cost, to which surcharges are added for each additional service.

To keep costs down and fares low, everything is optimized (or reduced): airplane models are standardized, fleets fly at a fast pace, equipment is kept to a minimum, and staff are less pampered than is usually the case in civil aviation. If you want to eat or drink, you have to pay for it. Low-cost travel in Europe involves many critical issues, never fully regulated, which resurface cyclically in public debate: as in the case of the recent protests by French air traffic controllers, which at the beginning of July paralyzed dozens of European airports and turned the spotlight back on the worn-out continental aviation system.

In short, while our luggage is getting ready to return to the cabin “for free,” the world outside is becoming more complicated. The consequences of the European directive could be significant: from low-cost airlines threatening to raise prices to recover losses resulting from the obligation to include hand luggage in the base price, to clashes between European consumer lobbies and seventeen airlines divided on the issue of passenger rights. Meanwhile, Ryanair has already announced a change that sounds almost epoch-making: a 20% increase in the size allowed for “personal bags” to be stowed under the seat. The update will come into effect in the coming weeks, just enough time to adapt bag sizers to the new measurements. Yet this matters little to our generation. What makes us tremble more than delays, strikes, and cancellations is finding ourselves in front of that small metal guillotine that decides whether we will fly light or with a hundred dollars less. The outside world matters little, as long as our luggage fits inside.

Opening image: Photo Stolbovsky from Wikimedia Commons