About Parcel Air

I've been doing it for years without a name for it.

The thing you hand a child before a flight that isn't a tablet, isn't a grocery-store impulse buy, and wasn't grabbed from a bin near the cashier because you ran out of time. The small, specific, genuinely good object that makes them look up at you with an expression that means: this is interesting and I don't know what to do with it yet.

My two kids — Ari and Ruby, who have been on a lot of planes and have opinions — have been my unwitting test audience for this instinct for years. So have I.

I spent fifteen years in senior roles at tech companies. The kind of career that comes with a VP title and a very good eye for the difference between a product made by someone who cared and a product made by committee. I know what considered objects look like. I know how far from them most kids' travel products are.

When a layoff in 2025 handed me some runway, I started paying attention to what I'd been doing quietly all along. The sourcing. The sequencing — holding things back, one at a time, until the wheels left the ground. The ritual of the opening as the thing, not just the contents.

Parcel Air is what that instinct looks like as a business. Curated boxes. Indie brands. Considered objects. Framed around the only ritual that still belongs entirely to your family: the moment before the flight attendant closes the door, when you hand them something new and the flight becomes something to look forward to.
Someone should make the thing I wish I had right now.

So I did.