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Sean Duffy is not a man I would normally dwell on for long.
The former reality TV star-turned-father of nine caused a stir when he first became Donald Trump’s transport secretary this year, and promptly told his department to prioritise funding for regions with higher birth rates.
This week, he was doing pull-ups in an airport to promote the idea of putting workout equipment, play spaces and other family-friendly features in air hubs. But the Duffy idea that has captured my attention is his campaign to “restore courtesy and class to air travel” by, among other things, “dressing with respect”.
“Let’s try not to wear slippers and pyjamas as we come to the airport,” he told travellers the other week. Jeans and “a decent shirt” were preferable.
This has inspired ridicule and mild protest from flyers who have arrived at the airport in their pyjamas to mock Duffy’s efforts.
They have a point. A transport secretary who tackled soul-sapping flight delays, knee-crunching seat space, and all the other cattle-pen indignities of modern flights — as opposed to slovenly attire — is one I could get behind.
Personally, I would never wear pyjamas to the airport. But I would, and do, wear the next best thing: the most roomy, soft, elastic-waisted clobber I can find. I am not talking actual tracksuits, but upmarket versions of black yoga pants with vaguely matching tops, and footwear that slips off easily in security lines and errs towards the capacious rather than the classy.
As someone who regularly spends more than 22 hours flying from London to Melbourne in economy, I assumed all frequent flyers I knew took a similar approach and would therefore find the idea of dressing à la Duffy inane. I was, however, wrong.
It turns out I am surrounded by people who head to the airport decked out in tailored trousers, button-up shirts, jackets and laced leather shoes — for reasons I had failed to consider before.
Martin Wolf, the FT’s chief economics commentator, is one of them. He draws the line at a tie, but otherwise goes for the full day-in-the-office look, on grounds of self-interest and time management.
“It makes sense to look respectable,” he told me. “Human beings are very hierarchical. They work out very quickly if you matter or not.” In other words, looking smart bolsters one’s chances of being treated well by border control guards, airline workers and other potential obstacles to airborne progress.
This logic is hard to fault. It is related to the reason I used to wear heels to check-in: everyone said it was vital to get a free upgrade. These days I’m not so sure. Soaring demand for a seat in business has driven prices up by an average 18 per cent from last year, says the Swiss bank Julius Baer, the biggest increase for any item in its latest lifestyle index. Price rises of fancy watches and private schools don’t even come close, so airlines have few reasons to delight the denizens of economy.
This reminds me of another reason an unmarried friend who regularly flies in business always goes to the airport in full hair, make-up and designer gear. You want to look your best in the company of possibly single, high-net-worth individuals. Saying that, one man I know who married a woman he met on a flight was captivated not by anything she wore but by her wit and general charm. Whether he would have felt the same had she boarded in a tracksuit will forever be unknown.
There are, however, other reasons for classy air wear. “Pockets,” another colleague told me, were the reason he always wore a jacket.
There is indeed much to be said for being able to carry a passport, phone and glasses on one’s person, rather than faffing about with a bag that takes up valuable footspace beneath the seat in front.
On a less practical but entirely prudent note, if there is any chance of running into someone from your own office or a rival’s en route, it is sensible to steer clear of anything approaching the pyjama.
Ultimately, there are many reasons to look smart aloft but none have anything to do with Sean Duffy’s belief that it will help to civilise air travel. Most travellers will no sooner dress up for a flight than they would to catch a bus or go on an assault course, which is what most modern flying feels like. Change that, Mr Duffy, and we will treat you with all the courtesy we can muster.
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