Chasing Status: My Quest For Delta's Elusive Diamond Medallion

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Last year, Delta tightened the screws on its status thresholds. Too many people had achieved high medallion status, and the days of everyman elitism were over. You may have noticed as lines at Delta Sky Clubs waited from the foot of the escalator to the PGA store some 300 yards back. 23-handicap potato-shaped men, who'd arrived four hours early for their flight to Jacksonville, could grab an extra pair of lime-colored shorts—the missing ingredient to their breaking 120 at Sawgrass—while maintaining mildly hateful conversations with their wives in line. 

Complimentary upgrades for platinum status holders—once a respectable tier of status—were few and far between, as there were so many Diamond achievers to whom the first class seats were given first dibs. Even short regional legs, from Chicago to New York, had no upgrades available. 

In short, they let too many people in da club. So the club sucked, and it was time for a purge. 

I fly a lot, and until last year, my travel plans followed a "whatever is cheapest/most convenient" method. Contrary to popular belief, I actually wasn't a first class guy. I couldn't justify paying the much higher prices and always felt pretty comfortable paying a little extra for an emergency exit seat. But one day, a frequent flyer friend sat me down and told me how he had put all his eggs in the Delta snack basket. He explained that through a more focused flying effort, and with the help of the right credit card, he'd been honored with free upgrades to first class on practically every domestic flight. And, he said, the food at the Delta Lounges wasn't bad either. 

I never stood a chance. I succumbed to the gold rush and signed up for the mother daddy of all Delta rewards credit cards: the American Express Delta Reserve, aka "King Purp." 

Quick side note: I sadly missed the opportunity this year to replace it with the limited-edition version made from reclaimed Boeing 747 metal:

Only a handful of these cards were made from the scrapped shards of black boxes found at crash sites. It's said that if you hold the card to your ear, you can actually hear the pilots saying goodbye to their wives.

Thus began my quest for Diamond status. Thanks to some card signup bonuses, I breezed through silver and gold. By August, I'd hit platinum, which was exciting. But diamond status remained a distant, hazy dream. And I wanted it more than anything. 

Let's pause to review the perks of diamond status on Delta: 

1) You get to skip the fucking line at Delta lounges. Just stroll right to the front like you're OBJ at 1 Oak in 2016. 

2) If there is a first class seat available, it's going to you. 

3) A VIP phone line. I'm told you call this number and someone just says "Hello?" on the other end. Doesn't even ring. They're waiting for you. 

4) A free checked bag for you AND EIGHT OTHER PEOPLE TRAVELING ON YOUR RESERVATION. Eight! Eight fucking people!!! You can flee your country with your entire extended family with no baggage fees. The Von Trapps could have avoided the nettle stings and blistered ankles of crossing the alps on foot. 

5) Priority, expedited luggage service. The kind of tag that gets your golf clubs off the plane as though the bag has a dog inside. No more of this bullshit:

Most people turn their phones off airplane mode to check their texts when they land. But I became so obsessed with chasing diamond status that I would refresh my Delta app as my first phone check upon landing. Still, as the year and my window for achieving Diamond came to a close, I was furious for not having attained the card earlier. You see, I got the card in May, and most people need the full year to achieve Diamond. This was how close I got:

Clearly, I'd have made it in the shade if I'd had the card from January 1. I ended with Platinum, which ain't bad. But it's no diamond. 

It felt a bit like losing the NBA finals. I walked off my last flight in December, vowing to never feel this feeling again. Next year, I would work harder. I'd stay in the gym extra hours practicing my booking strategies, never taking the train to Boston, never driving anywhere if I could fly Delta, etc.

But with so many worthless, undeserving tourists achieving status, abusing the sanctity of Delta Lounges, and generally making a mockery of elevated air travel, Delta knew they had to shove some toothpaste back in the tube. Out of nowhere, the higher-ups decided to move the goalposts:

If you're unfamiliar with Delta's status requirements, the big jump here is with Diamond going from $15k MQDs to $20k. It's a HUGE leap, and one that basically means you have to fly a few business class flights to Europe in a year to get there. Or take a bunch of cross-country flights booked in a Delta One (business class) seat. You gotta SPEND to get there. 

Look, I get it. Nobody wants screaming children reaching their chubby, grubby paws across the cushioned arm rest of a first class seat to receive their fifth apple juice less than I do. ESPECIALLY if that kid was upgraded because his dad used a complimentary companion upgrade thanks to his easily-achieved status. 

But after a year spent chasing diamond, and coming so close, I was disheartened to see the race for 2024 extended another $5,000 miles. Imagine placing second at the Masters despite hitting drives no farther than 250 yards, only to learn that Augusta planned to extend the tees for next year. A total kick in the dick. 

Still, I'm not throwing in the towel yet. It's a long year and we're on a decent pace. With any luck, next year will see me jumping lines on my way to the buffet at Delta lounges across the nation, while the eight bags of my gigantic family are lifted into the plane by the white-gloved hands of the strongest, surest handlers. 

If I don't get there, I hope Delta at least got their new status thresholds right. I hope the new walls of privilege they built are forged of impenetrable stuff. I hope they learned from the Trojans, and that nothing even resembling a horse can come through the sliding gates of our sanctuary lounges. 

Above all, I hope all those fair-weather Florida flyers will have to wait for their flights at the gate like the wretched barnacles they are.