Airports
I took 18 trips in the year 2019: including two to Mexico and one to Amsterdam.
There is nowhere class becomes more strikingly evident than in the airport and on an airplane, where people are literally divided spatially by the amount of money they paid for a ticket.
In July of 2019, I was walking down the long corridor of Terminal D in DFW two hours before our nonstop flight to Cancún. We were (for the second time that year) visiting our favorite all-inclusive resort, a Hyatt property with an unholy redemption value – 25,000 points per night for a $500 room rate with food and drinks included. The first time we went, we felt we had stumbled into paradise, and we were determined to go again.
But I was now a proud cardholder of the American Express Platinum, a credit card that opens a whole new façade of luxury to your life – a guest pass to the lifestyles of people who can actually afford the things that you’ve rented with a high annual fee.
The titanium card is thick and heavy, signifying its importance and, by extension, the supposed importance of the person whose name is engraved dramatically across the front.
And on that day in July 2019, it was our ticket into the iconic Centurion Lounge – a high-end alcove tucked away in the second floor of the airport with an abundance of free premium liquor and quality restaurant food that comes complimentary with your price of entry, a swipe of the Platinum card and a valid same-day boarding pass.
Taking the elevator from the Auntie Ann’s-scented chaos of the general terminal area up into the faux greenery-shrouded privacy of the Centurion Lounge front desk reception area is like quickly ducking into a different dimension.
Upon walking out, you’re greeted by well-groomed, well-dressed concierges who address you courteously and leisurely – quite the departure from the frenetic demeanor of everyone else you would’ve encountered up until that point.
Offering you a free cookie and massage upon granted entry, it’s clear you’re not in Terminal D anymore. You’ve clicked your Platinum-slippered heels three times and stepped through the curtain to find a different echelon of society: the people who, through frequent flier expense accounts or the same loophole you’ve discovered, prioritized comfort over frugality and have the hardware to show for it.
Even the outfits and luggage of the people in the Centurion Lounge are reminiscent of a different era of air travel. You will find no sweatpants and 6 a.m. Budlight drinkers in the Centurion Lounge. Instead, it’s blue blazers over white, lazily buttoned Brooks Brothers shirts and leather loafers. It’s women in white jeans and tasseled mules with silver jewelry and blowouts. You can’t throw a complimentary cookie in the Centurion Lounge without hitting a Louis Vuitton carry-all.
It was this scene that Thomas and I intruded upon, clad in disheveled leggings and t-shirts — the uniform agreed upon by the rest of the airport community.
Even within a space like this one, class exists: It’s fairly obvious who lives the Centurion Lounge lifestyle outside the Centurion Lounge too, and who bit the bullet for a credit card that just enabled the brief glimpse of affluence as a book-end experience to a vacation (i.e., me).
You know it’s the white jeans and Brooks Brothers button-downs who will be leaving the lounge to find their seats in First Class so their luxury travel experience (and luxury life experience) can continue, while the rest of us find our way to Coach and pay $5 per Bloody Mary like the rest of the cabin.
The Centurion Lounge is a taste of the way the other half lives all the time, and I find it tantalizing – as it’s really the only time my lifestyle intersects with theirs.
When you assemble your plate of food at the complimentary buffet and take a seat by the windows in the Centurion Lounge, you literally look down upon the scene unfolding in the rest of the airport. Stressed parents of young children wrangling excess luggage and tiny hands in the security line, solo travelers affixed with backpacks navigating the crowds, people waiting in line for overpriced fast food… the experience of those not in the lounge is the spectacle that the lounge-goers enjoy as they sip their complimentary mimosas and use the free Wifi to catch up on news before boarding their flight.
After one trip to the Centurion Lounge, I was hooked. I remember vowing to travel in jeans next time I flew and run a brush through my hair. I went home and bought a nicer suitcase. If I was going to hang out in airport lounges, I wanted to look the part.
There’s something akin to “fake it ‘till you make it” mentality that accompanies a savvy traveler. A well-versed travel rewards credit cardholder can hit up all the expensive lounges, fly First Class, and stay in nice accommodations for close to free – but still, I couldn’t help myself from glancing around at the people in the lounge and those I passed in First Class while walking to the back of the cabin, “What do you do for a living? And are they hiring? Are you hiring?”
I wanted the lounge experience outside the lounge. I wanted to approach my day of travel as leisurely and comfortably as the woman who looked almost bored by her complimentary omelet. That was the strangest part about “the haves” in the Centurion Lounge: Most of them didn’t even look excited to be there.
Meanwhile, I was bouncing between bar and café, scoping out the conference rooms, and pressure-testing the lush cushioned chairs, shouting variations of, “Thomas, look at this!” across the slender pathways, all while Brooks Brothers guy and his tasseled shoes wife scrolled through their phones and picked at croissants.
Do luxury and comfort become blasé over time? Do you eventually become so accustomed to your every need being met and every whim being catered to that a truly exceptional experience becomes the standard default? I didn’t know, but experiencing life in the Centurion Lounge made me determined to find out.
