10 clothing brands upper middle class travelers wear that read entitled at the airport

Ever notice how certain airport outfits seem to scream, “I’m more important than you”—even when the person wearing them is just standing in the same check-in line as everyone else?

Airports are fascinating microcosms of human behavior. You can tell a lot about someone by how they move through security or how they treat the barista pouring their $8 latte.

But lately, I’ve noticed another subtle giveaway of entitlement: the brands people wear.

Before I go further, let’s be real. This isn’t about shaming people for their clothes. I’ve worked in finance long enough to know that money doesn’t automatically equal arrogance.

But certain brands have become visual shortcuts for “I’m used to being treated a certain way.” And when you’re squeezed into a crowded boarding area, that attitude reads loud and clear.

So, let’s unpack ten labels that, fairly or not, tend to give off that air of airport entitlement.

1) Loro Piana

If quiet luxury had a uniform, Loro Piana would be it.

Their cashmere sweaters and travel sets look simple—minimal logos, soft colors—but anyone who’s peeked at the price tags knows those joggers cost more than most people’s monthly rent.

It’s that subtlety that makes them a status symbol. The people who wear them often aren’t trying to impress you; they’re signaling to others in their own tax bracket.

At the airport, this quiet elegance can read as, “I don’t do coach.”

I once saw a man in head-to-toe Loro Piana complain that his seat was “too close to the lavatory.” The irony? He was still flying economy plus.

Sometimes wealth whispers—other times, it sighs dramatically at the gate.

2) Canada Goose

The Canada Goose jacket is almost like a passport stamp for upper-middle-class travelers. Sure, it’s warm.

But does anyone really need arctic-grade insulation while standing in a temperature-controlled terminal?

The huge red and blue logo patch practically announces, “I paid $1,500 to look cold and important.”

I’ve noticed that travelers wearing these tend to have an aura of impatience—like the world should move a little faster for them.

Maybe it’s the parka’s bulk or maybe it’s psychological armor, but there’s often a vibe of, “Do you not see my coat?”

3) Moncler

Moncler is like Canada Goose’s glossier cousin—the kind of brand people wear when they want to look rich and European.

The shiny puffers, the tailored cuts—it’s all very “VIP ski chalet.”

At the airport, that sheen can easily slide from chic to smug. Especially when paired with noise-canceling headphones and an expression that says, “I’m only here until my jet’s ready.”

I once overheard a woman in a Moncler vest say, “It’s so unfair that first-class passengers have to walk past everyone else to board.” I almost told her, “That’s kind of the point.”

4) Louis Vuitton

Louis Vuitton luggage is the ultimate airport cliché.

There’s something about those monogrammed duffels that brings out the inner diva in even the most grounded traveler.

It’s not the brand itself—it’s how people wield it. The folks who casually plop their LV weekender onto the TSA belt like it’s an heirloom artifact?

They’re often the same ones who roll their eyes when asked to remove their shoes.

I used to think I wanted a Louis Vuitton carry-on, but then I watched a guy argue with a gate agent because he didn’t want it placed in overhead storage.

That was the moment I realized: sometimes, the bag carries the ego.

5) Gucci

Gucci has mastered the art of making people feel like main characters.

Bold logos, maximalist patterns, flashy sneakers—it’s all attention-grabbing. But at the airport, that energy can feel…a bit much.

It’s the traveler in head-to-toe Gucci, adjusting their silk scarf while cutting the security line with a sigh.

You can’t help but wonder: if they’re this impatient here, what are they like at baggage claim?

I get it—fashion is self-expression. But airports are already chaotic. Maybe leave the statement runway look for somewhere that isn’t filled with crying toddlers and TSA bins.

6) Rimowa

Now, I love good luggage design. And Rimowa makes incredible suitcases—lightweight, durable, beautiful. But there’s a certain way people pull a Rimowa that feels performative.

You know the type: the effortless glide through the concourse, the tiny glance around to make sure people see the grooved aluminum case. It’s travel as theater.

What fascinates me most is how attached people become to these items. I once saw a man practically hyperventilate when a gate agent tagged his Rimowa for gate check.

It’s just a bag, but to him, it was a symbol of control in a space where everything—delays, turbulence, missing luggage—is unpredictable.

7) Alo Yoga

Alo started as a luxury activewear brand for yoga enthusiasts but has evolved into a lifestyle statement. Think sleek airport fits: crop top, flared leggings, oversized hoodie, Stanley cup in hand.

It’s less about working out and more about looking like someone who could be meditating in Bali right now.

The problem? That curated nonchalance sometimes reads as, “I’m spiritually superior to all you caffeine-dependent mortals.”

I’ve been there myself—wearing my nicest leggings and thinking I’d hacked travel comfort.

But somewhere between the gate and baggage claim, I realized: I wasn’t relaxed; I was performing relaxation.

8) Burberry

That signature check pattern is timeless—but it’s also loud in a way that can border on pretentious.

A Burberry trench or scarf used to whisper old-world elegance; now, it sometimes shouts, “I still care what my ex’s parents think.”

I once watched a woman in a Burberry poncho complain about the “lack of proper tea options” in a Midwestern airport café. It was almost poetic in its predictability.

There’s nothing wrong with luxury heritage, but it can tip into entitlement when someone seems to believe that class (in the social sense) should come with special treatment.

9) Prada

Prada travelers often embody what I call the minimalist elitist archetype. They’re understated—black turtleneck, leather loafers, tote bag that probably costs more than my car.

They don’t shout their wealth, but the aura is unmistakable.

I actually admire Prada’s aesthetic. But there’s a fine line between “confidently refined” and “too good for this crowd.”

The latter shows up in small ways: ignoring flight attendants, rolling eyes at boarding delays, or looking personally offended when the Wi-Fi doesn’t connect fast enough.

It’s not the clothes; it’s the energy. Entitlement isn’t always loud—it can be quietly dismissive too.

10) Hermes

Ah, Hermes. The final boss of luxury entitlement. The silk scarves, the Birkin bags, the belt buckles that gleam like they have their own lighting designer.

To be fair, these items are beautiful works of craftsmanship. But when you wear a Birkin on a flight, you’re sending a very specific message: I am not like the rest of you.

I once sat next to a woman with a pristine orange Hermes tote who spent ten minutes rearranging her bag so it wouldn’t touch the floor.

I get it—it’s a $12,000 investment—but the drama of it all was almost cinematic.

At a certain point, the accessories stop accessorizing you, and you start accessorizing them.

The psychology behind it

So, why do these brands trigger such strong perceptions of entitlement?

Part of it comes down to context. Airports strip away privacy and control. Everyone, no matter how wealthy, stands barefoot in line at TSA.

For some, wearing status symbols restores a sense of hierarchy in a place that temporarily erases it.

But there’s also something deeper at play. These clothes act as psychological armor—a way to maintain self-image in uncertain environments.

If you’re used to being in control, being treated like everyone else can feel threatening. Luxury becomes a way to reclaim identity.

The irony? The most self-assured travelers I’ve met often dress the simplest. They know who they are without needing the visual proof.

A final thought

There’s nothing wrong with loving fashion or investing in quality. I own a few nice things myself, and they bring me joy. The key difference is why we wear them.

Are we expressing ourselves—or signaling superiority? Are we choosing comfort—or trying to look “above it all”?

Next time you’re at the airport, take a look around. Notice the small performances playing out at the gate—the subtle choreography of status.

Then check in with yourself: What story are your own clothes telling?

Maybe it’s time we all stop dressing for the performance and start dressing for the journey. After all, entitlement doesn’t travel well—but humility? That always flies first class.