The picture is nearly too flawless. While a flight attendant named Kristine Tiley takes the type of selfie typically taken by off-duty pilots and minor celebrities, a smiling Scott Kirby, leaning slightly into the frame, sits in an American Airlines first-class cabin. After posting it on Facebook with the upbeat caption, “LOOK WHO I HAD IN my first class today from sfo,” the internet quickly concluded that the photo had significance. since it did. Kirby is United Airlines’ CEO. He didn’t own the plane.
It’s the kind of moment that would hardly register on its own. Executives take trips. They travel on their own. Their families live in awkward locations. However, as usual, context is what lends significance to a little thing. A few weeks prior, Kirby had acknowledged that he had discreetly approached American Airlines about a merger, which he described as a “big, bold vision,” a combined airline intended to compete with international behemoths. Robert Isom, the CEO of American, described the concept as “a nonstarter from the get-go.” In public, President Trump expressed his disapproval of it. Kirby then boarded a competitor’s flight to Dallas while the rejection was still fresh, allowing someone to post the proof.
This has a backstory that clarifies the benefits but not the optics. Kirby presided over American Airlines from 2013 to 2016. His exit package included about $13 million and, more intriguingly, lifetime unlimited personal travel for himself and his immediate family when he was fired for clearing the runway for Isom. For the remainder of his life, he could fly American as frequently as he pleased, in any class. As it is, the catch is limited to business travel. Personal travel is acceptable. It’s important to take a plane back to Dallas, where his family resides.
For years, people in the aviation industry have been trying to make sense of this. View from the Wing and other people following the story claim that the reasoning is nearly unremarkable: In order to avoid burning a first-class seat that United might sell to a paying customer, Kirby flies American for personal travel. In a sense, it’s economical. Unquestionably, it’s also a little odd. Imagine the Coca-Cola CEO carrying a Pepsi into a meeting. The product functions in the same way. The signal doesn’t.
The tone Kirby has established over the years is what makes the moment land. He hasn’t been a subdued competitor. He has cheerfully asserted that United is winning while American is faltering during earnings calls, interviews, and in front of investors. He has been direct and occasionally arrogant. Thus, the photo of Kirby grinning in seat 2A on a plane whose CEO recently publicly rejected his merger proposal reads almost like a little joke directed at him. It’s anyone’s guess as to whether he intended it that way.
Even though the merger discussion is officially dead, it isn’t truly over. In his statement from April 27, Kirby carefully phrased the rejection, stating that “something this big simply can’t get done without a willing partner.” That wording is important. A door is left open. Kirby’s pitch was never really about the numbers, but regulators would not have approved of the combination because the antitrust obstacles alone would have taken years. It was about scale, consolidation, and the notion that the U.S. carrier market is too disjointed to compete with the world’s Emirates and Singapores. It’s really unclear if he is correct. Reasonable analysts don’t agree.
The cultural context of all of this is more difficult to dispute. Two CEOs who used to collaborate. A severance agreement signed before either of them could have predicted the ensuing rivalry. A flight attendant pulled out her phone, recalling her former employer. Kirby “misses us lol,” Tiley wrote, almost as an aside. It is the story’s tiniest line. It may also be the most authentic.
