New Orleans Pelicans Bag Policy

Let’s talk about the New Orleans Pelicans bag policy. Yes, the bag policy. It’s not the sexiest topic, but trust me—it’s a survival guide for Smoothie King Center.

You’re there for Zion Williamson’s dunks. You’re there for the beignets. You are not there to argue with a security guard about your fanny pack.

So, what’s the deal? It’s simpler than you think. But ignore it, and you’ll be that person awkwardly jogging back to your car.

Clear bags are your new best friend

The Pelicans are team clear. Think stadium rules, but with a Louisiana twist. Your bag must be completely transparent.

Size matters. Maximum dimensions? Twelve inches by six inches by twelve inches. That’s roughly the size of a big box of Zapp’s chips.

Don’t have a clear bag? No problem. You can carry a small clutch. But it must be no larger than 4.5 inches by 6.5 inches. That’s about the size of a king cake baby.

Diaper bags and medical bags get a pass

If you’re hauling a diaper bag, you’re golden. Just be ready for an inspection. Medical bags are also welcome, but they’ll check them like they’re looking for Mardi Gras beads.

Pro tip: Don’t try to sneak in a full-sized purse. You’ll end up in a comedy routine with the security team. They’ve seen it all.

Why does this matter? Because security is fast.

New Orleans runs on chaos—parades, jazz, hurricanes. The Pelicans don’t want you stuck in a bag-check line while the game starts. A clear bag means you glide through.

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You get to your seat faster. You get that $15 beer faster. You see Zion’s monster jam in real time.

It’s not a rule to annoy you. It’s a rule to save you. Think of it as a VIP shortcut for people who read the fine print.

What about the stuff inside?

Pack like you’re going to a beach, but with less sand. Phones, wallets, keys—all fine. No laptops, no tablets, no inflatable pelicans (yes, that’s a thing).

Cameras? Only if they’re a simple point-and-shoot. No detachable lenses. This isn’t the Super Bowl press box.

And please—please—leave the Mardi Gras beads at home unless they’re on your neck. A bag full of beads looks suspicious. Like you’re smuggling moon pies.

The weirdest thing you can bring

You can bring a sign. Yes, a sign. But it has to be handheld and not block anyone’s view. No poles, no cardboard that says “Trade Zion.”

You can also bring a soft-sided cooler? Wait—nope. That’s for the parking lot. Inside? Clear bag only. But you can bring an empty water bottle. Fill it at a fountain.

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Fun fact: You can’t bring a selfie stick. The Pelicans are pro-fun, anti-trip-hazard. They know you’ll drop it during a free throw.

The worst-case scenario (and how to avoid it)

Show up with a giant leather tote? You’ll be directed to a bag check tent. It’s not free. It’s $10, cash only, and it’s outside.

You’ll stand there, fumbling for a $10 bill while a brass band marches past. Your friends are already inside. You can hear the tip-off horn.

Don’t be that person. Be the person who walks up with a tiny clear purse, winks at security, and sails through like a Pelican over the Mississippi.

Why this policy is actually fun

Think of it as a game. How minimalist can you be? What’s the lightest way to experience a night of basketball, beer, and beignets?

You’ll feel like a spy. Your phone, a credit card, a lip balm. That’s it. You’re ready for the game and a walk through the Quarter after.

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Plus, clear bags are weirdly stylish now. They’re like a fashion statement for people who hate waiting in lines. You’ll see the whole crowd’s snacks—gum, hot sauce packets, little Mardi Gras doubloons.

Final check before you leave your hotel

Empty your pockets of anything metal. Keys, change, a tiny lucky alligator. The metal detector is sensitive.

Wear shoes you can walk in. You’ll be on your feet, cheering, maybe dancing to “When the Saints.” Heels are a crime against fun.

And remember: No outside food or drink. That includes your po’boy from Domilise’s. Eat it in the parking lot. It’s a sacred ritual.

So, here’s the big takeaway. The Pelicans bag policy is not a drag. It’s a hack. Follow it, and you’ll spend less time arguing and more time watching Herb Jones steal the ball.

You’ll laugh at the tourists who show up with backpacks. You’ll pat your clear bag like a good luck charm. And when the Pelicans win—they will, right?—you’ll remember that the best part of the night started with a simple, smart, clear rule.

Now go. Pack your bag. Get ready to scream. Geaux Pelicans.