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I have been experiencing a vague feeling of emptiness in my life in recent weeks. Only when I tuned in to Hijack, the Apple TV+ series starring Idris Elba, did I know what had been missing from my subconscious pop cultural radar: a television show with potential for deconstruction of the characters’ wardrobes. Something that could at least fill some of the void left by Succession and the seemingly limitless scope it offered armchair sartorial analysts. Best of all, this time you don’t have to be an infighting scion of a crumbling global media dynasty to be able to identify.

Hijack is an altogether different sort of entertainment. Succession seemed able to bear any amount of King Lear-for-billionaires cultural elevation. Shakespearean and Sophoclean are not the first adjectives that leap to mind when describing the latest Elba vehicle.

Hijack, which drops its last episode on Wednesday and is well-timed for those of us passing through crowded airports this August, offers a window — or should that be window seat? — on to the characters that take to the skies during the summer. It’s the period well-seasoned business travellers are outnumbered by hordes of leisure passengers, who feel it is all right to abandon any vestige of sartorial dignity and courtesy towards fellow airport users. Am I alone in thinking middle-aged male passengers should be prohibited from wearing shorts in airports?

Hijack’s premise is familiar enough. Led by a Cro-Magnon sociopath played by Neil Maskell, armed hijackers take control of a passenger jet en route from Dubai to London. But they had not planned for the presence of corporate negotiator Sam Nelson (Elba), who is flying to London to try and repair a very broken marriage with a very modest Gucci bracelet. Nelson does not lack confidence — just as he feels he will win over his wife with a piece of fashion jewellery, so he seems convinced that he can alternately overpower and outsmart the villains.

On the ground you will find plenty of recognisable tropes: a situation room in London in which the foreign and home secretaries squabble; mysterious assassins disguised as cleaners roaming Dubai and London; the perspicacious but lowly air traffic controller trying to convince her superiors something is wrong. There is even an OCG (organised crime group, if you remember your Line of Duty). Think Die Hard at 35,000 feet.

Costume designer Colleen Morris-Glennon is to be lauded for opening new vistas of wardrobe deconstruction while capturing the broad social and sartorial panorama of contemporary air travel. It is all too recognisable: the harassed parents of noisy kids being stared down by childless passengers, ubiquitous Beats headphones, the harassed out-of-condition business traveller in crumpled suit and loosened tie sweating after the dash to the departure gate, even a feisty woman from the Upper East Side in Ralph Lauren and statement Emma Barnett-sized eyewear. All life is there.

Describing the fictional Kingdom Airlines as more “Virgin Atlantic than Emirates”, Morris-Glennon explains that instead of going for the money-defined looks of Succession, “We did different tones of colours. The colours in economy were much sharper, vibrant. But so much happened in first class we wanted to keep the colours very muted. With everyone sitting on a plane for seven hours, I find it’s very difficult to be very bright, colourful and not annoying [the show purports to happen in real time].”

So, while the mid-blue Boss suit and tonal M&S button-down worn by Hugo, the marketing executive sitting next to Elba, is so unobtrusive as to be unnoticeable, brash is the only polite way to describe a striped short-sleeve polo shirt worn by the have-a-go hero nearer the back of the plane, who makes an ad hoc cudgel from a golf-ball. It looks like it might have been sourced from a Harry Enfield “Essex Man” sketch circa 1989, but Morris-Glennan assures me it is still possible buy them from golfing outfitter Stuburt.

Even the hijackers conform to this dichotomy: the leader travels first class and wears a grey hoodie, whereas economy has a hijacker in a Hawaiian shirt.

“I always like to get a synopsis of each character, of who they are, where they’re from, and design the character around that,” says Morris-Glennan. The compression of events into real time does not permit changes of wardrobe as in other serials, so Morris-Glennon had to “make sure each look told a story with just one costume . . . which can be challenging”. Not least because she had to source “many multiples of each look because we shot it over such a long period of time, and it has to look exactly the same at the end of the journey as the beginning”.

My chief moment of sartorial identification came from a retired Egyptian army officer played by Nasser Memarzia, who sports a white shirt and Ferragamo tie under a cashmere-looking Glen Urquhart check sports jacket with a subtle windowpane overcheck. It is probably the look I would feel most comfortable in. “He probably went to school in Britain,” Morris-Glennon notes. “So I wanted to make sure I brought a little bit of that. And, because it wasn’t very colourful in first class, it was a way of bringing texture.”

But from Essex golfer polo to Anglo-Middle Eastern cashmere sports jacket, these are just variations around the superbly evoked contemporary air-travel norm of Elba’s layered look. The ecru linen-blend Zegna chore jacket for airport wear is removed in flight to reveal an untucked long-sleeve olive Sunspel polo (worn over a Sunspel white tee), which, for all its apparent casualness, is perfectly fitted: sufficiently tight to give good pectoral definition, but loose enough to disguise, if necessary, a handgun stuck down the back of those slate-coloured tailored jogging bottoms from Cos.

Last summer in these pages I wrote how this type of jacket — more than an overskirt but not as formal as a blazer — now finds itself at the in-flight intersection of style and comfort. A few months ago, I was gratified to bump into Gildo Zegna in an airport lounge looking chic in exactly this sort of tailored chore jacket, elegantly charting a course between excessive formality and — shudder — the tracksuit.

Happily, the viewer of Hijack is shielded from the most egregious excesses of dress-down air travel: Juicy Couture sweatpants don’t seem overly in evidence; nor do any passengers seem to have come from the beach, via the 24-hour airside Irish tavern, in swimwear and slides. I don’t think Morris-Glennon could bring herself to replicate the worst of contemporary air travel, not least because she has a soft spot for the vanished glamour of its golden age.

“I used to love flying when I was younger,” she says. “I was born in England, but my parents took me to Jamaica for a few years and I remember that flight so well, because there was actually a fashion show on the flight. I was only about four or five. But I never forgot that.”

We have yet to reach the season finale but, somehow, I cannot see a fashion show taking place on KA29. More’s the pity.

The final episode of Hijack airs on Apple TV+ on August 2