Recently, someone got turfed out of the Qantas lounge in Melbourne. Not for being drunk, obnoxious, for gluttonous plate stacking, food smuggling or overstaying their welcome, but for wearing ugg boots.
Cassidy Gaiter, a singer and theatre performer, said she’d worn the same slippers into five lounges in the past month without a blink from staff. This time, apparently, she didn’t look “business” enough, so someone made a beeline for her at the door.
Cue the outrage cycle. “Make it make sense,” she said. Except it does make sense; it’s just not the sense she wanted it to make. Face it: their house, their rules.
Here’s the thing nobody wants to hear: airport style has been in freefall for years, and the ugg boot bouncer moment isn’t some kooky overreach. It’s one of the last places still enforcing the idea that how you show up in public matters even slightly. And I’m absolutely here for it.
While Cassidy – who seems a nice human – has since deleted her initial lounge banishment beef from TikTok, it got me thinking. Once upon a time, flying was an event. Not a ballgown moment but it at least involved presentable humans in public spaces. These days, somewhere between boarding-group chaos, delayed flights and neck-pillow couture, we’ve collectively decided the plane – and now, apparently, the airline lounge – is just an extension of the couch.
Nobody’s asking for three-piece suits or cocktail attire at 35,000 feet – we’re not resurrecting Mad Men energy – but there’s a wide, comfortable middle ground between “airport chic” and “I rolled out of bed and emotionally gave up”. And lots of fliers, whether frequent or not, have set up camp firmly at the second address.
And even though we try to sleep on a plane (whether you turn left or right on boarding) you should no more arrive in PJs for the flight than you would walk into a restaurant with an apron and a baking dish expecting to make some noise in the kitchen.
Athleisure did some of this damage. Leggings, hoodies, slides, sock-and-sandal hybrids are all technically functional but at times worn with the enthusiasm of someone who has accepted defeat before gate allocation.
Sure, comfort is king when you fly but it doesn’t mean a bit of spit and polish should get walked out via the emergency exit.
The “wellness comfort” movement of soft fabrics, oversized everything, breathable nothing-in-particular is brilliant and something we all love, but while long-haul flights are hard on circulation, spines and peace of mind, comfort doesn’t have to mean visual and sensory chaos.
Tailored track pants exist. Clean sneakers exist. So do clipped toenails, underarm deodorant and pumice stones. Uggs, famously, were designed for the walk from the shower to the couch and are a winter-wardrobe staple at my place but they’re not for an airport lounge with a buffet, a bar and a view of the tarmac.
Interestingly, this isn’t the first time uggs have caused an airport lounge brouhaha. Nearly a decade ago a Human League singer was also denied entry to a lounge for wearing the sheepskin beauties.
Social media hasn’t helped with our haute flying attire either. Airport dressing aspiration – the oversized sunglasses, chic trench, effortless “I travel well” vibe – has split into two lanes. There’s hyper-styled influencer theatre or unbothered realism and, somewhere in between, some travellers decided opting out entirely was the easiest lane of all. And it’s Qantas and all airline lounge staff who are left holding the dress code (and yes, there is one!) nobody wants to read before they board.
The idea that airports are still shared, public spaces where a baseline of effort is a form of respect should be common sense, and before you come at me for being an absolute sartorial tosser, no, you do not have to spend big money on a special airport ensemble. You don’t need couture, just clothes that are clean and look like they were meant to be worn out of the house.
There is no question that when you dress slightly better, you feel slightly better. You move differently. You carry yourself differently. An airline lounge dress code is one of the few remaining nudges telling us that leaving the house, even to sit in an airport eating free cheese and pikelets, is still, in some small way, an occasion.
So no, we’re not bringing back hats and gloves, but maybe, just maybe, if an airline has to spell out “no sleepwear” for adults boarding flights, that’s less a “little-known rule” and more a referendum on how far the bar has dropped.
None of this requires a trust fund or a stylist. Looking pulled together is still free. The lounge, it turns out, is just one of the places brave enough to say so out loud.
