This is what it's like to fly in Air France's ultra-luxury first class.

On La Première, Air France’s first-class transatlantic service, nothing is considered excessive, and each new indulgence seems more sumptuous than the last. The nonstop display of luxury that is La Première, Air France’s first-class transatlantic service, begins when a Mercedes limousine picks you up at your hotel and takes you to an exclusive entrance at Charles de Gaulle International Airport. It ends at JFK Airport, where an Air France employee personally escorts you from your seat to a special line at customs. Each new indulgence seems more sumptuous than the last. The personalized boarding lounge where you can order a three-course meal from a menu designed by Alain Ducasse. The Porsche Cayenne that drives you across the airport tarmac to the aircraft. The Times: A selection of reading you won’t find anywhere else, with tildes and accents. Get it sent to your inbox. Your compartment in the front section of the plane, spanning four windows (five on newer aircraft) and where the seat converts into a bed nearly two meters long, enjoys complete privacy thanks to a floor-to-ceiling curtain. The constant attention of a procession of people eager to assist you is a delight. Even the pilot, responsible for over 300 passengers, leaves the cockpit to speak only with the three people in first class. But luxury, as I learned during a recent trip on La Première, is measured as much by what is present as by what is absent. Specifically, other people. Throughout the entire journey, I encountered virtually no other passengers, except for those in first class. None in the terminal. None in the waiting area. None in the security line. None in the passport control line (there is no passport line; passports are processed behind the scenes while you wait in your Porsche). None during boarding. And, bien sûr, none of them on the plane, where the people in the front—two famous actors and me—were separated from the people in the back by a curtain as impenetrable as a velvet rope in a nightclub. (All this exclusive luxury is exorbitantly expensive. The New York Times doesn't accept free trips, so it paid for my round-trip ticket at a cost of $11,000: part business class and part first. Flying La Première round trip would have cost about $16,000.) "This sense of intimacy and confidentiality is a key aspect of the La Première travel experience," said Fabien Pelous, Air France's executive vice president of customer experience, in an email. "Air France allows its customers to enjoy a completely seamless and fast airport journey, with the utmost privacy." A Growing Gap Exclusivity and its close relative, privacy, have always been important to high-end travelers. The pandemic added a new dimension to the widening "us" versus "them" divide when the ultra-wealthy were able to socially distance themselves by isolating themselves in luxury enclaves far removed from the masses. That sense of separation, fueled by an ever-increasing wealth gap, has carried over into post-pandemic travel. Increasingly, wealthier travelers are paying for the privilege of being apart from others. "In the past, I think people considered privacy and exclusivity to simply mean going to a private island or chartering a yacht all to yourself," said Chelsea Martin, head of the North American office of the luxury lifestyle management company Knightsbridge Circle, where membership costs at least $50,000 a year and clients are people who can afford to pay $5,000 a night for a hotel room, $800,000 a week for a yacht, or $1 million a week for a private island. "But now we're seeing our members take it to the next level." For example, guests at a private villa on an island resort who have a private butler, private chef, and a private path leading to private lounge chairs on the beach, but who book treatments at a spa open to all guests. "Before, they would have asked for a private suite inside a spa, but now they want to privatize the spa," Martin said. "They don't want anyone else around." Getting away from the crowd is, in part, a natural function of the desire to avoid what the travel industry calls "friction": inconveniences such as being caught in the jaws of a Transportation Security Administration line, fighting for a table at a restaurant, or having to wait in a hotel lobby to be attended to by the clerk at check-in. In these cases, isolation itself isn't necessarily the primary goal, said Paul Tumpowsky, chief revenue officer of the travel advisory platform Fora Travel. “Private entrances, in-room check-in, a chef dedicated to your villa—it’s all about privacy, but much more about reducing friction points and creating a greater sense of flow,” Tumpowsky said in an email. When ultra-wealthy travelers mingle with others, it’s usually with people of their own ilk, or at least of their same socioeconomic status. Luxury hotels and resorts that cost thousands of dollars a night naturally exclude those who can’t afford them. But, like the character on the TV show The Good Place who believes he deserves to be in “the best place,” travelers at the most expensive hotels are finding ways to achieve even greater exclusivity than the rest of the elite guests. Take, for example, the luxurious Four Seasons Resort Maui at Wailea, where the cheapest and smallest rooms cost around $1,615 a night during peak season. For about $1,000 more per night, you can get the cheapest room on the newly renovated Club Floor, billed as "a hotel within a hotel" that offers "superior levels of service, amenities, and privacy," including a dedicated concierge team and dining and meeting spaces that are closed to regular Four Seasons guests. For those who want to stay in a hotel that allows them to do without other guests altogether, there are private hotels. And private islands: Richard Branson's Necker Island, for example, can accommodate up to 70 guests and can be booked in its entirety for about $160,000 a night. For skiers, private ski clubs are proliferating, offering the amenities of a resort without the stress of mingling with outsiders. A new addition to this category of resorts is the Hoback Club, an "ultra-luxury private members' club" in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, with direct ski-in/ski-out access. Among its most attractive features are ski valets who pre-heat your equipment, an underground wellness center, an "elite Euro Spa team" capable of administering treatments in private residences, and a "personalized wine program" managed by a "European-trained maître sommelier." Furthermore, there's no annoying chatter with other guests upon arrival. According to its promotional materials, the concept "eliminates the hustle and bustle of a traditional resort and replaces it with personalized, fine-tuned service at all times, without a reception desk, unexpected visitors, or lobby chatter." Affluent travelers can extend their bubble of privacy to luxury shopping, with personalized attention in elaborate, multi-room salons reserved for high-end clients—a step beyond the classic concept of private shopping. “The feeling now is that only regular people shop on the regular floor of the store,” said Jack Ezon, CEO of the bespoke travel and luxury lifestyle company Embark Beyond, which just opened something called The Man Suite in the Samaritaine department store in Paris. This special area offers men luxurious recreational activities—mini-golf, a PlayStation, alcohol—while (presumably) their wives or girlfriends try on and buy clothes. The Rich and the Very Rich Everything is relative, of course. Unless you’re, say, Lauren Sanchez, there’s always something more upscale than you can afford. So there are even more exclusive things than flying on La Première and being treated like royalty for a day in its VIP lounge. Booking an even more private lounge (the only occupant: you) with Extime, in a completely private terminal at Charles de Gaulle. Traveling by private jet, with your own staff. Or living on your yacht, surrounded by staff whose job it is to shield you from the world's inconveniences. Let's forget that. I loved the La Première VIP lounge, where sometimes I was alone, just me and a dozen dedicated attendants. I loved not having to carry a single suitcase all day. I loved having a box of chocolates on my airplane seat, and champagne whenever I wanted it. I loved having my bed made with high-quality sheets and a cashmere blanket. I loved having plenty of storage space instead of just enough. The downside of being an ordinary person disguised as super-rich is that eventually you have to come back down to earth. I'd been warned about this painful jolt from the system, like taking a single, blissful dose of the best drug and then being told you can't take it again. But who would you rather be, someone who lives apart from the world or someone who lives in it? It’s one thing to enjoy luxury, and quite another to slip into the dangerous conviction that the normal rules of human society no longer apply to you. Honestly, it was a relief to be back at a normal airport taxi stand, filled with ordinary, slightly annoyed New Yorkers, even if I had to wait my turn for a cab that looked a bit like a pumpkin. Sarah Lyall is a staff writer for The Times, where she writes news, articles, and analysis for a variety of sections. Follow New York Times Travel on Instagram and sign up for our Travel Dispatch newsletter for expert tips on smarter travel and inspiration for your next vacation. Dreaming of a future getaway or just traveling from your couch? Check out our 52 places to go in 2026.