Comments on: A Guide To Wearing Men’s Bracelets (Tastefully) & The Bes

What It’s Like To Be The Only Business Class Passenger On A Covid Era Flight

Once you trade the jammed knees and sticky elbows of cattle class for the bright lights of business, you never go back.

That’s the stereotype.

However, one Australian passenger is unlikely to upgrade again any time soon, after his first business class experience left him wishing “I had my $7,000 back.”

Lewis Nathaniel, the man in question, was studying in Barcelona when Covid unfurled. By the time he had finished his thesis (in July), passenger caps introduced by the Australian government had sparked chaos among those returning from overseas.

Airlines were bumping economy passengers left, right and centre, in some cases only taking 30 passengers per flight, and advising ticket holders to upgrade to business if they wanted to secure their spot.

Lewis found himself in September squatting in someone’s spare room, with the flimsy promise of a make-up flight in November.

“My flight had been cancelled twice already. I got the message. So I steeled myself, drained my savings, and spent A$7,000 on an upgrade,” Lewis wrote in an article for The Guardian.

Lewis was then mortified at the gate, when he realised he was the only business class passenger on the flight.

“Too embarrassed to stand alone in the queue next to the long rows of impatient travellers, I settled for loitering nearby with the silver (really more of a grey) trimmed edge of my ticket exposed.”

“With my hand angled just right, I hoped the stewards might notice, and save me the humiliation of asking to board the plane before anyone else.”

Alas, “In the end, a bell chimed, some muffled words rang out, and I was spirited forward – completely alone – towards the gate. ‘[My name]’ was murmured exactly eight times before I was lowered into a soft, almost comically large seat.”

DMARGE got in touch with Lewis to get further insights on the experience.

Lewis told DMARGE his dilemma continued beyond the gate: “the entire plane parades past you while you wonder if it’s appropriate to sip your champagne.”

“The most intoxicating moment was probably when my first meal arrived on a white cloth and I was asked for my coffee and digestif order.”

Lewis also noted, despite the “mundane frustrations” of life having been stripped away, he felt isolated “in a niceness so total it is almost oppressive, although not as oppressive as being unable to afford the privilege of coming home at all,” (The Guardian).

“Luxury like business class sells a kind of separation… It differentiates you, while also affirming you as especially deserving; not only is life effortless, but it deserves to be (for you). It is incredibly seductive, both fulfilling and validating our desires.”

“For 24 hours, I was indulged in that primordial, incorrect, intuition we all have: the world, and everyone occupying it, exists primarily in relation to me,” (The Guardian).

DMARGE quizzed Lewis on how long this ‘in the clouds’ feeling lasted. Until the plane touched down? Duty free? Baggage claim?

His answer?

“When I applied for Centrelink and my entry into the ‘existing savings’ box was three digits.”

As for hedonism – a topic close to DMARGE’s heart (and hip pocket) – Lewis told us, “I am not a puritanical anti-aesthete, so am not in principle opposed to luxury. A hand-baked loaf of bread is a luxury; one could reasonably add literature or fine art to the category too.”

“One benefit of industrial society is its steady expansion of luxury goods to wider and wider audiences.”

However, the real question for Lewis, is “who gets luxury, to what degree, and how much the allocation of luxury is linked to social values which privilege certain people or groups over others.”

That’s some serious prosecco to ponder.

Prim – Czech Republic

Prim’s story is quite unlikely. Founded in 1949 in the Czechoslovak Socialist Republic, a satellite state of the Soviet Union, Prim is based in Nové Město nad Metují in the north of what is now the Czech Republic, a few miles from the Polish border.

At the start of the Cold War, only seven countries were capable of producing watches in any significant quantity: Switzerland (of course), Germany (then split into East and West), France, Japan, the US, the UK and the Soviet Union. The Czechoslovaks wanted to join that club, despite having no real experience making watches. But after only five years of work, the Czechoslovaks had developed their own watchmaking capacity out of nothing, releasing Prim’s first watch: the famous Spartak, which has since become an iconic design.

Since the Velvet Revolution, the split of Czechoslovakia and the arrival of the 21st century, a lot has changed in the Czech Republic, which is now both a NATO and EU member. But one constant has been Prim, which still makes cool watches. With a focus on unfussy, minimalist design and small production runs, Prim has attracted a cult following.

Tianjin Seagull – China

China’s known as the home of fake watches, but there’s plenty of good Chinese timepieces to be found if you know what you’re looking for. Generally speaking, when the Chinese want to do something properly, they do it right – think Moutai liquor, Hongqi limousines or Li-Ning sneakers. The same goes for watches, and their most well-known precision watch brand, Tianjin Seagull.

Tianjin Seagull is the world’s largest manufacturer of mechanical watch movements, responsible for one-quarter of total global production. Indeed, many cheap watch brands probably have a Seagull movement (although they don’t like to broadcast that – they’re not bad movements but ‘made in China’ doesn’t fill people with confidence). Yet despite this, they also produce some incredibly refined timepieces and are capable of producing complications that other manufacturers in other parts of the world struggle to master – like flying tourbillons or minute repeaters.

Perhaps their most striking timepiece is the Seagull 1963, a re-release of the Project 304 pilot’s chronograph developed for the People’s Liberation Army Air Force. Stylish, with boatloads of historical flair, it won’t set the bank balance back either, retailing for around 4,000 CNY (about 836 AUD or 597 USD).

Raketa – Russia

Manufactured since 1961 by the Petrodvorets Watch Factory in Saint Petersburg (Russia’s oldest factory, founded by Peter the Great in 1721), Raketa makes fantastic, modern watches that easily hold their own against anything from the other side of the Iron Curtain. During Soviet times it became one of the most successful watch brands in the world, with Raketa producing around five million mechanical watches per year at its peak in the 1970s.

Named in honour of Yuri Gagarin’s groundbreaking first manned flight in outer space in 1961, Raketa – Russian for ‘rocket’ – makes a wide variety of pilot’s, diver’s and other military watches. Their most popular collection is the minimalist ‘Big Zero’ line, which references the brand’s most distinctive feature: all their watches start at 0 as opposed to 12.

Their other designs lean heavily into their communist past, playing on the motifs of Soviet art and science in their designs. Playful yet stylish, and unabashedly proud of their Russian origin, Raketa watches are sporty, well-made and fun.