I’m sitting in the VIP Lounge, blogging via my laptop and a wireless connection, feeling terribly connected and proud of it. I must be the envy of all of these other preferred customers… likewise taking the red-eye to Taiwan.

Attempt to sense the sarcasm.

In the early days of mass flight (not the actual early days, mind you, the 1903’s and the stunning warped-wing advancement days; more like the 1950’s when flight was still an Event, something that the wealthy only enjoyed the convenience of) people dressed up for their adventures across land and see. Passengers weren’t necessarily going to cocktail parties, but the certainly dressed like they were. Comfort mattered little, we were talking about style damnit!

Nowadays, things are different. Flight is still an adventure; but not due to novelty, rather paranoia and fear. The whole process is well-known, rather mundane, frustrating, and frankly, often tedious. People now dress in sweats, carry neck pillows and ear plugs, take their shoes off, bring UNO and GameBoys, and do everything within their power to make the ordeal as comfortable and un-memorable as possible.

There are still holdouts, though; and this baffles me.

As I look around the lounge, there are at least 85% if the assembled in attire snazzier than my jeans and T-shirt. Of the 80%, 45% of them are wearing suits.

Suits.

Judging by the newspapers they’re reading, and the conversations I’ve overheard, these are international fliers just as I am, with similar destinations. It’s a 14-hour flight, people, at least. Why, why in the name of all things holy would you wear a suit?! Going to a business meeting as soon as you get off the plane, you say? You’re allowed two carry-ons in our upper caste, bring it with you.

You have a mere 14 hours to figure out that Half-Windsor knot.

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