Now I’m The Weird One

I found myself cheering for this article on Slate about dressing for flights. In it, the writer contends that Americans need to stop dressing like slobs while flying.

“Among the cavalcade of pajama pants, tracksuits, nightgowns, painting rags, and ill-fitting sweatshirts that one encounters in the world’s terminals and stations these days, the competently dressed individual stands apart as a beacon of civilized life, an island of class amid a swamp of schlumps.”

I was back home last year and flew between my parents’ and my sister’s house for her wedding. On the return flight, as it so happens at small airports, I was departing at the same time as a number of wedding attendees.

After living outside of the US for so long, wearing adult clothing to the airport is second nature. I had on boots, jeans, a nice blouse and a fitted jacket. My parents, thankfully, we’re equally dressed.

When we arrived at the terminal, I was actually shocked to find grown up human beings traveling in yoga pants and hoodies, wearing, no joke, those neck sleeping pillows. I was actually dumbfoundead.

How did it become accepted to dress like this? It makes me glad that Americans don’t travel much abroad.

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