We’re seeing them everywhere. Business class suites with actual doors. Most travelers seem fine with the change. Obviously. People differ. Some prefer the old layouts. Maybe they fly as couples. Or families. One size fits nobody.
This piece looks at the door trend. I like it. I really do. But I hear the complaints too. Some arguments hold water. Others make no sense.
The weird backlash
It’s reasonable to say “I don’t care. Don’t put doors. Spend the money elsewhere.” That’s fair.
Then you see this take:
I don’t get the door obsession. If you need privacy that badly… rent a private jet? Why fly commercial??
Does it just escalate that quickly?
The argument implies that liking a door means you have some secret, shameful reason to hide. Or that you’re deluded. If you want that level of separation, go private. Apparently enjoying incremental product improvements is now a character flaw.
You could swap “doors” with direct aisle access in that sentence. Does it make any more sense?
“I’m obsessed with flat beds! If I didn’t need them so much, why aren’t I flying charter?”
It doesn’t work. Yet the anti-door crowd insists people are obsessed. There’s no such obsession. Just comfort.
Why doors work for me
Am I obsessed? No.
Do I book an airline solely because they have doors? Also no.
There’s a correlation, though. When a cabin has doors, the product is usually modern. Full flat seats. Direct aisle access. It’s rarely a budget afterthought.
To me, business class offers two main things: space and privacy.
Space has limits. Airlines maximize pitch. They pack seats tighter. Real estate is expensive.
That leaves privacy.
And privacy doesn’t mean you’re hiding contraband. Or joining the mile-high club. It means reducing disturbances.
Sleep habits vary. I sleep better in a cocoon. I don’t want to look at strangers. Or feel like strangers are looking at me.
Doors block lights. Other screens. The glare.
Annoying seatmates disappear behind the partition. They can’t peer at your laptop. They can’t lecture you on noise-canceling headphones.
If you’re in a staggered row, you know the bump risk. Elbows. Trays. Legs. Doors solve that.
Sickness happens too. Even mild congestion is less intimate when you can’t see each other.
Crucially? You can keep it open. The side shield still offers visual break. No claustrophobia.
Why does everyone think the door must be shut? It doesn’t.
Most passengers use them. That should tell you something. If it was unbearable, the doors would stay open. Or people would complain louder. They don’t.
High-speed Wi-Fi works the same way. It’s there. If you hate it, don’t use it. Why hate the feature because someone else benefits from it?
The takeaway
Not everyone cares. Good.
My dad hates reclining seats. He sits upright. Sleeps vertical.
It drives me nuts. “Pay first class and sit like a tourist,” I think.
Preferences exist. Doors are mine. I like the cocoon.
Most people seem to agree. They close them. Every time.
Why resist comfort that costs you nothing but the effort of pressing a button?
Maybe it’s control. Maybe it’s just quiet.
Does it matter?
Or is the real question why we judge others for wanting a little wall?
