Southwest is clamping down on free extra seats for larger travelers. Good. Now let’s talk about the biggest unpriced item in the sky: tall people quietly taking the seat in front of them—mine—and paying nothing for it.
Southwest’s policy shake-up is getting all the attention: assigned seating on January 27, stricter rules on “customer of size” refunds, and a clear nudge that if you need more space, you should buy it at booking. Translation: the era of guaranteed free extra space is over, replaced by something the rest of us know well—pay for the footprint you actually use.
Here’s the thing no one wants to say out loud: the most common free upgrade in economy isn’t an empty middle. It’s the quiet annexation of the airspace directly in front by the long-limbed traveler behind you. Their femurs declare eminent domain on your recline; your tray table becomes a hostage; your lower back negotiates with two blunt negotiators named Left Patella and Right Patella. And somehow, you’re the jerk if you even consider reclining the 2.5 inches the airline sold you in the product photo.
If Southwest is now telling plus-size flyers to buy the room they need—and, in many cases, to cross their fingers for a refund only if the flight departs with an empty seat—then let’s apply the same market logic to the height-privileged. If your knees intrude into my paid-for recline envelope, you are functionally using my seat. Not all of it. Not forever. But enough to diminish what I bought. That’s an externality, the economist’s polite word for “you’re benefiting at my expense without paying for it.” Southwest estimates fewer than 0.25% of customers request an extra seat. Great. I’d love to see the percentage who “request” control over the seat in front with their bones.
So let’s price it.
The Airspace Lease. Airlines already sell “extra legroom” and “exit row” seats. Keep that. But add a simple toggle during booking: Will your legs extend into the forward passenger’s recline envelope? If yes, you can (a) upgrade to a seat designed for you, or (b) pay a small “airspace lease” that’s automatically credited to the passenger ahead. Don’t want to pay? Totally fine—choose a bulkhead, exit row, or standard seat where your legs fit without commandeering someone else’s recline. The point isn’t punishment; it’s alignment. If you’re going to limit the seat in front, compensate the person who lost value.
The Recline Buyout. Maybe you’re not especially tall; you just prefer a seatback that never moves. Great—there’s a price for that too. Think of it like buying a non-recline “do not disturb” from the person ahead of you for the duration of the flight. Twenty bucks on a two-hour hop is a bargain for you and a nice surprise for them. We’ve built a thriving economy around seat selection and early boarding; we can handle simple P2P etiquette with a payment rail.
Onboard Market, Offboard Drama. I can hear the objections: “I didn’t choose to be tall!” Of course not. But neither did the person assigned the misfortune of sitting in front of you. We all bring something aboard—height, width, elbows, fussy infants, chatty energy. The airline sells a cramped, imperfect product and we all tetris our bodies into it. Pricing the impact of our needs isn’t moral judgment; it’s a pragmatic way to make the discomforts we export onto others visible and fair.
“But this is the airline’s fault.” You’re right. The true villain here is seat pitch that shrank while humans didn’t. Yet we don’t get to invoice Boeing for our bad Tuesday. In the same way Southwest is telling a small subset of travelers to budget for space—and limiting refunds to flights that actually go out with empty seats—tall flyers should budget for the space they actually use, even when that space technically belongs to the stranger in front.
Etiquette Isn’t a Subsidy. We’ve tried the moral approach. “Ask nicely.” “Don’t recline on laptops.” “Be reasonable.” These are fine rules of thumb, but they depend on vibes and guilt—two currencies that collapse at 35,000 feet with a tight connection. Money is clearer than morality in a metal tube. If you want control over the surface area someone else paid for, buy it. If you want to ensure your knees can breathe, buy a seat that lets them. Southwest’s new posture is basically: If you need two seats, buy them. My pitch is simpler: If you need one seat plus some of the seat in front, buy that too.
How it would work (and not be awful):
- Airlines mark each row’s “recline envelope” in the app. If your legs breach that zone, you’ll see options: bulkhead/exit upgrade, or a small “front-seat stipend” you can pay and the passenger in front automatically receives as a travel credit.
- Passengers up front get an in-app notice: “The traveler behind you has purchased a ‘no recline’ from you for this flight. You’ll receive $X in credit.” If they decline, the system tries to reseat, or refunds the fee and restores recline rights.
- Gate agents stop playing therapist. The market settles it before Group B even lines up.
Will people game it? Sure. People already game boarding groups, carry-on limits, and gate checks. But daylight is a disinfectant. Right now the tall-person subsidy operates in the shadows of social pressure: you’re supposed to just surrender your seat function or endure a knee in the spine because “it’s not their fault.” Cool—then it’s not my fault to ask for a few bucks to make us both whole.
To be crystal clear: I love tall friends. Some of my favorite people are vertical. And yes, airlines should absolutely continue building more humane cabins and offering more reasonably priced extra-legroom options. But on a day-to-day basis, fairness is simple: if your body requires control over the space I purchased, that control shouldn’t be free.
Southwest has already made one tough, logical move by making free extra seats rarer and tying refunds to actual empty seats. Let’s finish the thought. The next honest policy is to align price with use—for everyone. If your knees are going to run my row, they can start paying the lease like the rest of us.
