My first job as a midwife was in New Jersey. At forty years old, married to a wonderful husband and raising three children, I made the very adult and slightly terrifying decision to move there by myself.
For the past three and a half years, I have traveled by plane a lot. Enough that I have developed opinions about terminals, boarding groups, the emotional volatility of a delayed connection, and—most importantly—airplane shoes.
I got my own apartment. I bought renter’s insurance. I learned how to establish a life in a place where I knew no one, far from my support system and family. Until then, I had never truly lived on my own or been solely responsible for every little detail of my own life.
Then I immediately began a brand-new advanced-practice role in a large community hospital. The learning curve was steep—professionally, emotionally, personally. But I met each challenge as it came, and I credit that first job with shaping me into the midwife I am now. I had excellent leadership, supportive physicians, and people who guided me, challenged me, and occasionally held my hand as I learned to become a competent, resourceful, knowledgeable provider.
I also became very, very familiar with airports—the airport shoe phenomenon
Somewhere between New Jersey and home, through countless security lines and boarding gates, I began to notice something: there is always an unofficial airport shoe of the moment.
You know the ones. The shoes that silently announce, “I travel. I have TSA PreCheck. I know which terminal has the decent coffee. I own a neck pillow, but not an embarrassing one.”
In 2023, it was the Vejas. I found mine at an unusually upscale T.J. Maxx in New Jersey—the kind with racks full of high-end finds that make you question why you ever pay full price for anything. Naturally, I bought them.
Now, it seems to be white-and-black New Balances. Sometimes Reeboks make an appearance, but the New Balances are everywhere. And yes, I have them. I have the white pair. I have the black pair. I remain, apparently, extremely susceptible to airplane-shoe peer pressure.
I see a woman gliding through an airport in a pair of sleek sneakers, carrying her tote bag with purpose, and I think: “She knows what she is doing.” Then, inevitably, I decide that perhaps I, too, would know what I was doing if I had those shoes.
Comfort, but make it competent—the thing is, airports are not designed for feet.
You stand in line. You walk across miles of hard flooring. You rush when your gate changes. You walk even faster when you realize your connection is in another terminal. Minneapolis/St. Paul is enormous. Philadelphia is enormous. Detroit has terminals that seem to stretch into another time zone.
And then, after all that walking, you stand some more waiting for your boarding group to be called, pretending you are not checking the gate screen every eight seconds.
We are all searching for the perfect airport shoe: something comfortable enough for a terminal marathon, supportive enough for a delay, and cute enough to make it seem as though we are handling the whole experience gracefully.
I am not convinced the Vejas are it. They are fine, but I am not impressed. The New Balances are better, I think. Still, I have not yet found the holy grail of airplane shoes.
Ironically, the most comfortable shoes I own are the ones I wear at work: my Birkenstock clogs.
I can stand in them. I can walk in them. I can work a long shift in them. I can get through a 24-hour shift in Birkenstocks with my feet holding up far better than they have any right to.
So why do I not wear them to the airport?
Probably because they are covered in spots and have seen things.
The psychology of the right shoe:
I recognize that this is, in part, a symptom of living in a consumer culture that constantly tells us the next purchase will finally make us feel prepared, polished, or complete. I have not thrown away the Vejas or the New Balances. I just keep acquiring additional options in the ongoing search for airport perfection.
But I also think the airplane shoe is about more than footwear.
When I have on the “right” airplane shoes, I feel like someone who has her life together. Someone who travels frequently and knows her way around. Someone with TSA PreCheck, priority boarding, a reasonably organized carry-on, and a plan for where to charge her phone.
I look comfortable, but not sloppy. Put together, but not overdressed. Ready for whatever happens, whether that means an easy flight home or a sprint through Detroit with twelve minutes until boarding.
Most of my travel is solo. I travel for work, sometimes after long stretches of demanding shifts and very little sleep. I leave the house, the dogs, and the day-to-day family logistics to my husband and youngest son, then head off to work hard, sleep when I can, and occasionally feel like a complete zombie in between.
Solo travel can make you feel capable—and also a little untethered. The right airplane shoes do not actually guarantee a smooth trip, obviously. They will not prevent a delay, make a tight connection less stressful, or ensure that the person in front of you does not recline their seat directly into your knees.
But they make me feel a little more secure. A little more prepared. A little more like a person who belongs in the airport instead of someone who is merely trying to survive it.
My unofficial airport shoe report:
The shoes I have noticed most often over the past few years:
– Veja, especially during the 2023 era
– White-and-black New Balances
– Reeboks, occasionally
– A few fashionable outliers that look amazing but make me wonder how their owners’ feet are functioning by the time they reach baggage claim
And to those women navigating a giant airport in shoes that look actively hostile to the human foot: I admire you, but I also have questions. Do your feet not ache? Do you not eventually want to remove your foot at the ankle? Are you simply stronger than the rest of us?
Perhaps airplane shoes are not really about finding the objectively best shoe. Maybe they are about choosing the pair that makes you feel like you can handle the journey—security lines, terminals, delays, solo travel, work travel, and all.
I have not found my perfect pair yet.
But I am still looking.
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