July 18, 2026

The story Behind the MPM Lungo. A Parisian Luxury Travel Satchel Designed for the Luxury Nomad

Philippe Montagne

The story Behind the MPM Lungo. A Parisian Luxury Travel Satchel Designed for the Luxury Nomad.

People occasionally ask me how long it takes to design one of our bags, and I always find myself smiling because I honestly do not know how to answer. The process certainly takes months, sometimes considerably longer, but time has never been the measure by which I judge a creation. The only question that really matters is whether the object has finally become what I hoped it might become from the very beginning.

At Maison Philippe Montagne, every creation follows exactly the same modus operandi. Whether I am designing a backpack, a travel satchel or a suitcase, I always begin from the same place and pursue the same objective. The object must feel genuinely avant-garde without becoming fashionable, it must aspire to timelessness without becoming nostalgic, and it must remain beautifully functional because I have never believed that beauty should ask us to compromise. Those three qualities rarely coexist naturally, and finding the right equilibrium between them is probably the longest part of the entire process.

People often imagine that the work begins with leather or colours, but in reality it begins with paper, pencils and an unreasonable number of drawings. Most of them will never leave my studio. Some are rejected because they solve a practical problem without creating any emotion. Others are aesthetically pleasing but become impractical as soon as one imagines travelling with them. There are also designs that appear innovative at first glance but which, after living with them for a few days, already feel strangely attached to the fashions of their own moment.

There is one habit that has accompanied me throughout every project and which has gradually become my own private test. Once I believe a design may finally be finished, I simply leave it in my studio for several weeks. I continue working on other things while the bag quietly occupies its place in the room, and every time I walk past it I look at it again without trying to improve it.

Eventually I ask myself exactly the same question I have been asking for years : If this bag were already mine, would I still enjoy looking at it ten years from now?
If the answer is anything less than an immediate yes, I begin again.

Because trends disappear remarkably quickly. Timelessness takes much longer to reveal itself.

There are also those curious moments when every practical requirement has apparently been satisfied. The proportions are balanced, the leather is beautiful, the functionality is convincing and the craftsmanship leaves little to criticise, yet I realise that I feel absolutely nothing when I look at the object. It is competent. It is elegant. It is well made.

But it has no soul.

That may sound like an unusual way to speak about a leather bag, yet I have always believed that the finest objects somehow become more than the sum of their materials. They tell a story before we even begin using them. They evoke a world. They express a philosophy. They possess a personality that cannot be measured with a ruler or explained by a list of specifications. Without that invisible quality, a luxury bag remains a beautifully manufactured object. With it, it becomes a travelling companion.

That, perhaps more than anything else, became the ambition behind the Lungo.

Its story actually began with one of the oldest forms of travel luggage, the pilot case, sometimes called the flight bag. It was already an intelligent piece of design, but I found myself wondering whether it could evolve into something better suited to the way many of us travel today, where the boundaries between business, leisure and discovery have become increasingly blurred. A meeting in another city easily becomes an overnight stay, and a professional journey often extends into a museum visit, a good restaurant or an unexpected weekend away.

Rather than designing one bag for business and another for travel, I wanted to explore a different idea. Could one beautifully designed object accompany all of these moments with equal elegance?

That simple question became the true beginning of the Lungo.

Like every Maison Philippe Montagne creation, it was never conceived for a single purpose. It was imagined as a multi-function companion capable of adapting naturally to different lives. Depending on the day, it becomes an elegant business satchel, a refined everyday city bag, a sophisticated cabin companion or a complete forty-eight-hour travel bag, without ever feeling as though it has changed its identity.

Finding the right proportions became almost an obsession. I reduced the height, extended the length, adjusted the depth and repeated the exercise countless times, often modifying dimensions by only a few millimeters before producing another prototype. What I was searching for was something the French describe beautifully as a trompe-l’œil, an illusion that gently deceives the eye. I wanted the Lungo to appear slimmer than it really was, more architectural than bulky, more elegant than utilitarian, while quietly concealing a remarkably generous capacity inside.

Eventually the proportions reached an equilibrium where the eye perceived a refined satchel while the traveller discovered a genuine forty-eight-hour companion. It remains surprisingly discreet for its volume, and I often smile at the thought that few airline employees would ever imagine how much it can actually contain simply because it looks so composed and slender.

Its name followed naturally.

In Italian, a lungo is an espresso prepared with more water than a traditional coffee. It remains fundamentally the same coffee, yet it has been elegantly elongated. That image immediately appealed to me because it perfectly described the philosophy of the bag itself. The Lungo remains compact in spirit. It has simply been stretched into something more capable without ever losing its essential character.

Of course, drawings are only the beginning of the journey. Some of the most important decisions were not made in my studio in Paris but during the many visits I made to our workshop in Italy, where every prototype became the beginning of another conversation. Together with the artisans, we would examine every seam, every handle, every pocket and every construction detail, discussing not only how the bag looked but how it would feel after years of travelling.

Those conversations are among the most rewarding parts of the entire process because craftsmanship is not simply about execution. The artisans bring decades of experience that no drawing can replace. Sometimes they confirm an intuition I already had. At other times they propose a subtle modification that immediately makes the object better. A handle moves a few millimetres. A pocket opens more naturally. A construction becomes stronger while remaining lighter. These are often invisible improvements, yet they are precisely the details that transform a beautiful prototype into a finished object.

The functionality of the Lungo received exactly the same attention.

Outside, a generous zipped pocket keeps a passport, wallet or sunglasses immediately accessible, while a large flat pocket welcomes newspapers, books or travel documents. A discreet pass-through sleeve allows the bag either to carry a folded sweater or to slide securely over the telescopic handle of a suitcase.

Inside, everything has its place. A padded compartment protects a laptop up to sixteen inches, while dedicated pockets organise a compact camera, charger, tablet, e-reader, keys, business cards, SIM cards and the small objects that so often disappear inside ordinary travel bags. There is still enough space for a complete change of clothing, including a shirt, underwear, socks, a cardigan, a toiletry case and another pair of shoes.

The objective was never to create the largest bag.

It was to create the most intelligent one.

To travel with everything, while carrying something that still felt refined enough to accompany you into a hotel lobby, a meeting, a gallery or a restaurant.

Perhaps that is why Art Deco became such an important part of the story. Not because I wanted to reproduce a historical style, but because I have always admired the way Art Deco reconciled ideas that many people considered incompatible. Geometry became elegant. Architecture became decorative. Function became beautiful. Paris gave the world that extraordinary movement, and I wanted the Lungo to inherit something of that spirit. Not as decoration, but as a language. Without it, the bag would simply be another beautifully crafted leather object. With it, it acquires its identity, its character and, ultimately, its soul.

When someone asks me what the Lungo really is, I find it difficult to answer in a single sentence. It is not simply a briefcase. It is not simply a travel bag. It is certainly not a fashion accessory.

It is, I hope, a companion for people who find pleasure in travelling well, who appreciate thoughtful design, who enjoy carrying something that very few others own, and who understand that true luxury is not only about looking elegant but also about feeling completely at ease because everything is exactly where it should be.

In the end, every luxury house can source remarkable leather and every skilled workshop can produce exceptional craftsmanship. What is infinitely more difficult is creating an object that people continue to enjoy ten years after they first bought it, not because it has become fashionable again, but because it has quietly accompanied them through countless journeys, gradually collecting memories as naturally as it acquires its patina.

For me, that is when a bag finally becomes more than a bag.

That is when it acquires a soul.

And that, perhaps more than anything else, has always been the true ambition of Maison Philippe Montagne.

The Pursuit of Beauty.