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Delta One at LAX: A Taste of Luxury (With a Side of Porsche Envy)

Ah, LAX—a magical land where dreams are made, hearts are broken, and every other person looks like they might be an Instagram influencer.

Stepping into the Delta One experience at LAX airport is like entering a parallel universe where everyone acts like they’re more important than they are (and honestly, some of them might be). I have to say though it’s infectious, similar to the “business class” strut that all those who turn left when boarding seem to develop down the air bridge.

I’m whisked through a special security line that feels more like a VIP entrance to a club. Instead of a bouncer, there’s a TSA agent who, for once, doesn’t make me feel like I’m auditioning for a prison drama. Even better, I’m offered a choice of wine, beer and some nibbles while my passport is sorted. There ain’t no shoe-removal shame here; I strut through with my dignity intact and straight up to the the Delta Sky Club, a slice of airport nirvana.

Walking in, I feel like a low-budget James Bond—if James Bond traveled with mismatched luggage and an LA hangover. The lounge itself is swanky, with sleek decor, comfy seating, and the kind of ambient lighting that makes you question if you’re about to board a flight or attend an underground art exhibit. I choose a plush low couch in the outside bar with a glass of Argentinian Malbec and a freshly made taco.

I keep an eye out for celebs. I once drank with Usain Bolt in an Etihad business class lounge in Melbourne. But this is LA baby, and surely I’ll find myself at the bar chatting to Ryan Reynolds and Hugh Jackman as they fly to a film festival somewhere. Sadly, the closest I get is a scruffy looking dude who looks like Corey Feldman. It might actually have been him, you know.

I’ll admit to loving a bit of VIP – who doesn’t – but the last thing I expect when one of the attendants tells me my flight is boarding, is to be whisked out a back door and onto the tarmac to a waiting Porsche. Seriously, my strut by this point is offensive.

The Porsche ride is short but sweet, just long enough to make me contemplate a career change to “mysterious rich person.” As we approached the plane, I see the economy passengers boarding through a different door and feel a twinge of guilt.

Just a twinge. The flight itself is everything you’d expect from Delta One: plush seats, gourmet meals, and legroom able to accommodate my 200 cm frame.

The bed was so comfortable that I briefly considered asking if I could live there. And the service? Impeccable. I’m tempted to ask the flight attendants if they are really like this every day, but I didn’t want to blow my cover as a seasoned first-class traveler.

As we land and I disembark, reality hits like a turbulence warning. The Porsche is gone, the fancy lounge just a memory, and it’s back to normal life in a taxi that smells like the inside of a Burger Ring packet. But for those few magical hours, I lived the high life at LAX, complete with a Porsche joyride.

If you ever get the chance to experience Delta One at LAX, take it. Just don’t expect them to let you keep the Porsche.