Ode to the Airport Woman
You’ve seen her. The woman in the airport, dressed in the most polished yet subtly sexy professional attire, not a hair out of place. She looks like she should be flying private, but private flights don’t fly out of the main terminal. You never see her in security or waiting at the gate, only gliding through the terminal or rarely near the airport bar (but only if she chose to skip the club lounge to be amongst the people - like I said, rare).
I’ve encountered the Airport Woman many times in my life and it always elicits the same feeling - it could never be me (try as I might). Despite my best efforts, roller bag, and LV Neverfull; I am always clumsy, rushed and the Neverfull is in fact, very very full. The Airport Woman would never allow for this. Her bag is perfectly packed, everything neatly folded and somehow manages three different shoe options. Hell, she probably even has a steamer in there. Her designer purse is legitimately never full. You question if anything is even in the purse beyond a phone, wallet and lipstick. The purse fits perfectly under the seat, and assures she has plenty of leg room. Airport Woman would never be scrunched in a seat and neither would her purse.
Generally when I travel (unless I’m walking off the plane/train directly into the office) I opt for a sporty, Meredith Blake hiking inspired athleisure outfit. It is comfortable, yet not so comfortable that I look like I just rolled out of bed. Airport Woman only wears outfits that look like they could’ve come from the costume department for Suits and make you question how they won’t wrinkle and look terrible when she steps off the flight and yet they never do. Everything remains perfectly pressed, almost as if she stood for the entire flight. I wear my Stan Smiths that are comfortable to walk in and yet I will still manage to trip over my bag whilst lugging it. Airport Woman wears a minimum 3 inch heel, will never trip and glides with her roller over various terminal terrain.
The pinnacle of my Airport Woman sightings came in Paris (a shock to no one, it’s likely where they train). I was flying back to the U.S. and figured I’d grab something quick to eat beforehand. I stopped at Pret (always reliable) and grabbed a ham and cheese baguette (oui love a theme). As I was in line to check out two women were in front of me ordering coffees and buying fruit cups. They were Airport Women (a pack!). And they were the most glamorous Airport Women I’d ever seen. It should be noted that unsurprisingly everyone dresses better in France BUT these women were next level effortless Parisian chic. Neither had actual luggage, just Goyard and YSL totes (nearly empty of course). Both wore the daintiest jewelry, no loud stacks just one or two Van Cleef & Arpels bracelets. One wore an oversized men’s white button down, belted over bike shorts (I will covet this outfit for the rest of time) and Hermes sandals.
We were sat near each other with our flight snacks. As I, a poor man’s Meredith Blake, bodied my ham and cheese sandwich, the Airport Women ate grapes, with a fork. I have single-handedly never felt less sophisticated in my life and frankly have not looked at grapes the same way since. Is the epitome of class and sophistication eating grapes with a fork? Still haunts me.
There’s a part of me that thinks they didn’t even have checked bags. That everything they needed somehow fit into their empty totes. A single bikini, a tinted moisturizer, phone, wallet, lipstick, the end.
And that dear friends is the magic of the elusive Airport Woman. She carries herself with such an ease that she convinces you everything is simple, nothing has to be a production, and you can just glide (no matter the footwear choice).
Cheers to you Airport Women, both my inspiration and aspiration.