Why I Don’t Dress Up to Fly
I have a confession to make: I don’t dress well when I fly.
I may lack a sense of decorum, according to New York-based designer Misha Nonoo, who was asked by Condé Nast Traveler if airport dress codes should be “slob or snob.’’ She said snob, of course.
“I like to dress for the occasion,’’ Nonoo said. “And while comfort is important, so is a sense of decorum.’’
I definitely do not dress “snob’’ when I travel. So does that make me a slob?
Writer Chris Muther, in the Boston Globe piece “What happened to the glamour of air travel?,’’ paints today’s airport scene like this: “Airports are crowded with women sporting bed head and donut pillows permanently affixed to their necks. Men in shorts and tank tops lifelessly pull carry-ons behind them, belabored expressions on their faces.’’
Let me just say I draw the line at bed head. Never have I done that.
But when exactly does comfort give way to slobdom? And have I crossed that line?
Sure, I’ve been known to roll into an airport in a sweatshirt, jeans, and ponytail. Sometimes it’s a time thing. I lived outside of Birmingham, Ala. for four years and would typically book flights home to New York at 6 a.m. (there was always a connection involved, so it made the most sense timewise). We lived a solid hour from the airport. You do the math. I was lucky to be dressed at all, let alone put together nicely.
And now I’ll play the parent card.
I flew to North Carolina with my husband and kids about a month ago, on a late summer morning. There is always an unforseen snag when getting kids out the door for travel. Always. This time, it was Beanie Boos. My 5- and 7-year-old kids are obsessed with the little stuffed animals and decided they had to have no less than four of them tucked strategically under the straps of their rollaboards for optimal travel viewing. Have you ever tried to tuck a pudgy Beanie Boo under a rollaboard strap? It doesn’t happen quickly. I could have squashed their idea entirely and traded that problem for the tears and tantrums that would follow. But I wasn’t in the mood for that kind of setback. So, Beanie Boos. My resulting outfit? Shorts and a tank top.
But I can’t blame it all on 6 a.m. flights and my kids. I just don’t want to dress up to fly. Period.
Quite honestly, my thought process goes something like this: I don’t know these people. I don’t care what they think of me. I just need to get safely to my destination, where a hot shower and a carefully folded new dress are waiting on the other side.
Is that so bad?
Muther’s article refers to the glamorous travel of the ‘50s and ‘60s, known as the golden age of commercial aviation.
“There were dress codes, but people would have dressed well even without the rules,’’ Thor Johnson, a former Pan Am vice president who worked for the airline during that era, told Muther.
That’s back when travel was less harried, when travelers had more space. For me, comfort just wins out when I am staring down a long day of security lines, layovers, and cramped spaces. I’m more worried about defending my knees than wearing Jimmy Choos.
Do you dress up to fly? Why or why not?
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