Scanning the cranial horizon is fun when flying. It beats getting to know your seat-mate, which might be fun, too; except you can never be sure.
I like to look at the little domes of heads atop the bodies of those sitting ahead of me: fluffy white, brillo-pad black, lamely brown, once in a while a spikey yellow one. These ethnic igloos are cute, I think. I have no opinion whatsoever about who they belong to, where they hail from, what they are worrying about.
I’ve tried doing the same with feet, watching them when I walk around the streets of Chicago but this gets old pretty fast. Chicagoans, generally speaking, all wear the same shoes.