Satirical monologue on airport fashionfrom @professorpanache

Transcript

Of course, Rajesh. So is it wrong to wear sweatpants on a flight if you're comfortable in them? Well, gentlemen, comfort is not a crime. But advertising it so aggressively, that's where you begin to lose the plot. You see, a flight is not your living room. It's a shared metal tube filled with strangers, recycled air and at least one Rajesh removing his shoes far earlier than the Geneva Convention payments. You, man, are not a savage. Or then are you? No rank you wear your sweatpants at an airport? You see, airports are fascinating places. They're the only environments where a man can decide quite publicly what version of himself he's willing to present to the world at 06:40 in the morning. Some choose international man of better. Some choose recently escaped from bedding. Both get through security. Only one of them gets off its sparkling water without asking. Thank you, professor. Alright. You're welcome. Irrespective. Remember, no one is going to escort you off the aircraft for international crimes against tailoring. But ask yourself, are these quiet sweatpants, do they qualify you for having dressed for the possibility of being upgraded, of meeting someone interesting, of being remembered for the right reasons? None of my concerns, really. You don't really encounter any such trivialities when you fly private. But irrespective, you'll never find me in anything stretchy or anything with an elastic waistband. I'm I'm not Rocky Balboa. No am I. Wear comfort if you best, but make it look like a decision, not surrender. Cashmere, perhaps. Structured. Intentional. The sort of comfort that suggests that you have standards even at 30,000 feet. Because the good, gentlemen, is to arrive well best. As also as if there good be a welcome committee and a chauffeur and dark glasses waiting to worse you in a Rolls Royce upon landing.