Why Do Airlines Still Enforce Dress Codes for Passengers?

“I recall a time when passengers dressed up for business or first class.”

This was a comment I encountered in a travel Facebook group, where individuals casually spend tens of thousands of dollars or millions of frequent flyer miles, regarding my outfit. I was on the final leg of a five-day whirlwind journey that took me from Newark to London and then to Frankfurt. I had flown to Germany’s financial center from London City Airport solely to experience Singapore Airlines’ flagship A350 first-class service, which operates a fifth-freedom route—connecting two countries different from the airline’s origin—between Frankfurt and New York. Exhausted from travel and barely catching sleep in London, I opted for comfortable attire for the 8 a.m. flight, eager to slip into the airline’s pajamas and relax in the first-class suite’s bed.

Yet, in a first class touted as one of the finest in the world—where the cabin is located on the upper deck of a two-story aircraft, guests are greeted with a $200 bottle of Dom Perignon, and a one-way ticket on this Frankfurt–New York route costs $6,000—somehow, to internet commentators I’ve never met, I seem out of place. Perhaps my long dreads were deemed too much. The gold grill on my bottom molars might have appeared overly flashy. My Washington Nationals snapback sitting low on my forehead could be seen as unprofessional. And the Jordans on my feet too casual.

This wasn’t the first time I faced scrutiny while traveling or in a professional environment. At the airport, passengers and staff have questioned my presence in the business-class line, despite holding a business-class ticket. In the cabin, I’ve been asked if I was in the right seat at the front, receiving subtle nudges suggesting the economy section was at the back—implying I didn’t belong in that area.

I feel most alive when I’m soaring through the skies. Flying grants me a sense of freedom I seldom find on the ground: the ability to drift off to sleep in one place and awaken in another. However, I cannot escape the budding racism my very presence seems to incite in people, both online and in person. While it may not be overtly threatening, my existence often feels unwelcome at best and misguided at worst in spaces I occupy but do not completely belong to.

“I recall a time when passengers dressed elegantly for business or first class.”

As comments on my photo accumulated, people expressed nostalgia for how travel today—and the way people dress—contrasts with the so-called golden age of flying. But the reality is far more complex than that.

“The golden age” of air travel

Historians typically define the “golden age” of aviation as the period between the end of World War II and the rise of commercial jet travel in the 1960s. During that time, air travel was perceived as an elite and exclusive affair. It was common to be served lobster mid-flight, and airlines like TWA and Pan Am delivered an experience reminiscent of a five-star hotel, all while soaring at 35,000 feet in a pressurized metal tube. Air travel was such a grand event that sometimes a flight would even make the front page of the local newspaper.

“Traveling by air during that era was a true occasion—almost a social affair,” remarks Bob van der Linden, curator in the Aeronautics Department at the National Air and Space Museum. “People would visit airports just to watch planes arrive and depart.” Those who flew during the golden age of aviation, he notes, were often wealthy individuals who expected to be pampered. Another aspect of the experience? The anticipation that travelers would arrive dressed ‘appropriately.’ (Van der Linden adds: “Not exactly ‘Sunday Best,’ but close enough.”)

Back then, it was common to dress up for travel—or for any outing, really—even if airlines themselves didn’t enforce specific dress codes.

“People invested more time in how they presented themselves whenever they left their homes, and traveling was such a prestigious experience that it called for a more sophisticated wardrobe,” explains Elaine Swann, founder of the Swann School of Protocol, which began in 2003 to teach proper etiquette and social graces.

However, experts like van der Linden argue that everything changed with the Airline Deregulation Act of 1978, which lifted federal oversight on airfares, historically making tickets prohibitively expensive for the average American. This legislation empowered individual airlines to set their own prices and select their routes. Long-haul domestic or international flights, according to airline historian Shea Oakley, could cost hundreds of dollars each way. This led to fierce competition among U.S. carriers: while Southwest Airlines thrived, iconic airlines like Pan Am went out of business. Many surviving airlines competed to offer the lowest fares possible.

With deregulation, van der Linden notes, airlines gained the freedom to price tickets however they saw fit, sparking fare wars as they vied to provide the cheapest options. He asserts that deregulation “democratized air travel in the United States” by making it accessible to virtually everyone.

“The charm, elegance, and style of travel from the ‘50s and ‘60s during the jet age have vanished,” he reflects. “Now, air travel is simply a public utility—which is a positive change; that’s how it should be.”

This shift allowed air travel to be accessible to groups historically left out of flying, such as tourists and students. According to van der Linden, after deregulation, flying became more of a business transaction and less of a memorable experience: Airports became congested, and airlines crammed as many seats as they could onto their planes. The era of dressing up for flights “went out the window.” Travelers adapted, prioritizing comfort and practicality over formal attire.

Airlines also adjusted to the changing times by focusing on cost-cutting: Where they once provided silverware and tablecloths in economy class, passengers now face cramped seating and small tray tables for complimentary soda and pretzels.

Even before the COVID-19 pandemic, many domestic first-class services offered little beyond a pre-flight drink and a snack on short-haul flights. During the pandemic, many airlines eliminated premium cabin amenities altogether, with some only recently being reinstated.

Despite these transformations, misconceptions about dress codes—and whether your attire can influence your chances of an upgrade—still linger.

The myth of the “upgrade”

For many years, travelers have circulated tales that flight attendants or gate agents might randomly decide to upgrade passengers, often favoring those in dress shoes over flip-flops. (Some have even confessed to this practice.) Passengers often position themselves near the gate, hoping an agent will notice them in a business suit rather than sweatpants, or that a flight attendant might take note of their blouse instead of a T-shirt.

Swann, a former flight attendant for Continental Airlines, which merged with United in 2010, shared that she would look for neatly dressed individuals when there was space in a premium cabin after the doors had closed.

“If you present yourself nicely and appear polished and put together, we would be more inclined to offer you an upgrade,” said Swann, who worked for Continental from the mid-1990s until 2007.

“This phenomenon isn’t unique to travel,” Swann points out, emphasizing that people can be judged in any setting, not just on airplanes. “Individuals are treated differently based on how they present themselves. That’s simply human nature.”

The process of getting an upgrade has become far more complicated today, with computers now playing a significant role in determining who gets upgraded. Dave, a former flight attendant for a major U.S. airline who currently works with the operations team, explains that upgrades from economy to business or first class are primarily based on status rather than appearance. (For privacy reasons, we’re only using his first name.)

Dave notes that it’s highly unlikely for any premium seats to be available for upgrades at the airport. This is due to an increase in customers willing to pay for premium cabins, either through cash purchases or by using frequent flier miles and credit card rewards to enhance their travel experiences.

For instance, Delta Airlines has four elite status tiers, each of which includes complimentary first-class upgrades. However, the likelihood of receiving one depends on your status level. The lowest-tier members may get a complimentary upgrade up to 24 hours before departure, while the highest-tier members on the same flight usually have their upgrades cleared five days in advance. This pattern is consistent across other major U.S. airlines: the higher your elite status, the better your chances of securing a seat in the front.

Although the specific percentage of premium seats sold by other U.S. airlines like United or Delta isn’t clear, top-tier members of both airlines’ loyalty programs have expressed frustration in recent years about the challenges of obtaining upgrades, even as high-spending loyalists.

Dave mentions a common saying among airline staff: as you approach the aircraft, the cost of an upgrade increases. Elite members typically receive complimentary upgrades, while non-elite members are offered discounted rates at check-in. However, the highest fees are charged if you try to upgrade at the check-in counter. In summary, it’s highly unlikely for travelers without elite status to receive an upgrade, and attire alone is virtually never the deciding factor for upgrades on flights to San Francisco.

“While the saying goes ‘dress for the job you want,’ that doesn’t apply in the cabin if you’re hoping for an upgrade after boarding,” he explains. “Flight attendants are unlikely to grant upgrades based on your attire, and they simply aren’t permitted to do so.”

The issue with arbitrary dress codes

Despite the many myths surrounding upgrades, airlines do maintain dress codes of a sort, regardless of your seating class. As private entities, airlines have significant leeway in enforcing standards for appropriate clothing. When you purchase a ticket, you essentially agree to these dress codes, which are embedded in the airline’s terms and conditions, often referred to as conditions of carriage.

Consider Hawaiian Airlines, which asserts it reserves the right to “refuse transportation or remove from the aircraft” any passenger who doesn’t meet its attire standards. Attire must adequately cover both the upper and lower body, and shoes must be worn unless the passenger has a disability or health issue preventing it. United Airlines’ terms state it can deny boarding to those who are “barefoot, not properly clothed, or whose clothing is lewd, obscene or offensive”; similarly, Delta Air Lines can refuse boarding to barefoot passengers or those whose attire poses an unreasonable risk of offense to others. Southwest Airlines expects its customers to “present a clean, well-groomed, and tasteful appearance.” Airlines often cite safety and the comfort of fellow passengers as reasons for enforcing these dress codes.

For some airlines, in-flight dress codes reflect what travelers and locals should observe on the ground. Passengers on Saudia, Saudi Arabia’s national carrier, are required to follow a dress code that aligns with public taste and is not offensive to others. The Kingdom enforces one of the most stringent dress codes worldwide: women (including foreign visitors) must cover their shoulders and knees, and tight clothing is discouraged.

These arbitrary rules—often disproportionately impacting women travelers—have recently put several airlines in a difficult position. In July 2019, Tisha Rowe, a physician flying from Jamaica to Miami with American Airlines, was asked to cover herself with a blanket because her romper was considered “too revealing.” Rowe reportedly told the flight attendant, “If I were a white woman, you wouldn’t have asked me to leave the plane.” Later, in December 2019, a woman wearing a “Hail Satan” T-shirt on an American flight was told to change or exit the plane; she was eventually allowed to stay after covering her shirt with her husband’s. In August 2021, a video of police escorting Ray Lin Howard off an Alaska Airlines flight—while wearing black leggings and a pink crop top—went viral.

Of course, issues surrounding perceived dress code violations aren't confined to 38,000 feet: Schoolgirls, especially those of color, frequently find their clothing (and by extension, their bodies) overpoliced. Although airline staff determine what is deemed “appropriate” attire, many travelers also engage in gatekeeping, commenting on what does—and doesn’t—meet the standard. Who gets to define what “dressing up” really means? Why does it matter what others are wearing if they’re not bothering you? Why even voice an opinion? I don’t have the answers, but I do believe that clothing should not be a barrier to travel.