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I overheard a flight attendant behind me arranging to meet her colleague. “We’re on Rodeo Drive,” she boomed into her phone, “in front of Cartier.” I turned from the window to see her. I didn’t recognise her uniform, but I took her for cabin crew on a national flag carrier: Swiss International Air Lines AG, maybe. In her pencil skirt and full beat, she stood as an avatar for what now must be only a nostalgia for the glamour of air travel, a reminder of what you could have had, had you been born a generation or two earlier. I imagined her lighting my cigarette and handing me my folded newspaper with a courteous smile. Behind her, the contemporary air traveller gathered; sliders with socks, hooded leisurewear, velour tracksuits. The reality of the moment did little to take the shine off the vision of a better past that the older, prestige airlines still sell. I wondered whether I really wanted that past.
Turning back to the window of Cartier…
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I overheard a flight attendant behind me arranging to meet her colleague. “We’re on Rodeo Drive,” she boomed into her phone, “in front of Cartier.” I turned from the window to see her. I didn’t recognise her uniform, but I took her for cabin crew on a national flag carrier: Swiss International Air Lines AG, maybe. In her pencil skirt and full beat, she stood as an avatar for what now must be only a nostalgia for the glamour of air travel, a reminder of what you could have had, had you been born a generation or two earlier. I imagined her lighting my cigarette and handing me my folded newspaper with a courteous smile. Behind her, the contemporary air traveller gathered; sliders with socks, hooded leisurewear, velour tracksuits. The reality of the moment did little to take the shine off the vision of a better past that the older, prestige airlines still sell. I wondered whether I really wanted that past.
Turning back to the window of Cartier…
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