“I find it a little less charming, those sneakers,” says someone in the Galley.

Eyebrow up.

Such a comment that sounds just friendly enough to make you doubt.

As if style and comfort naturally exclude each other.

You sometimes see them: the heels.

Tight under the uniform, with that little bit of shine.

They move from the parking lot to the gate (always the latter).

And then the real work is yet to start.

Twelve thousand steps.

The smile tight, the sole thin.

Invincible

On heels you are just a little further away from yourself. Exactly the intention.

The higher, the better.

They give your height, attitude, authority.

And an ingrown toenail.

Anyway. You feel invincible. Posh Spice in blue.

What nobody sees: that moment in the hotel, after your flight.

The lift doors that slide shut.

Heels in hand. Feet on tights.

You shuffle the last meters to room 1022.

Still so elegant?

Uniform from 1997

And then it is there: the sneak.

He does his job.

For the tenth time you get an extra coffee for chair 18A without curse your back.

And nobody looks at or around.

Except that one person with homesickness to the 1997 uniform.

Perhaps style is normal nowadays: working without paracetamol in your hand luggage.

We laugh at this in ten years.

Do you remember when sneaks were ‘new’?

By that time we wear Birkenstocks with steel noses.

Or office crocs at Schiphol.

And somewhere, in a corner of the crew center, it sounds again:

“I find it a little less charming.”

And you? You shrug your shoulders.

Style is not in your heel.

But in how you approach people.

More wife

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