Leggings are not pants, and other hard plane etiquette truths
I’ve been traveling a lot for work recently and spoiled rotten by Virgin, the only airline who seems to consistently get it right. However, I can’t say the same for its passengers; specifically the female ones. Ladies, let’s review some simple flying etiquette, shall we?
LEGGINGS ARE NOT PANTS
They never were, they never will be. Say it with me! LEGGINGS ARE NOT PANTS. I can see your vagina through them and so can the thousands of people trotting through LAX on any given day. Do you want thousands of people judging your vagina? Because we totally are.
MOMMIES, THIS ROUND’S ON YOU
Mothers always get the raw end of the deal in life and flying is no exception. While their husbands try to reenact Vera Farmiga’s life in UP IN THE AIR, their wives are stuck schlepping the kids to Grandma’s house in Chicago for Thanksgiving on some overbooked Delta Flight connecting in Minneapolis. (Did you know Minneapolis is a Delta hub? I didn’t because I try to avoid that POS airline, but I want you to know I did RESEARCH.)
I understand that Moms are too busy begging their red-faced, sobbing kids to stop crying to whip out a credit card and buy a round of drinks for those of us within earshot who left our miniature scream-machines at home. I GET IT. Sometimes flying with your child is unavoidable.
But a little Dramamine or thimble full of whiskey goes a long way. So does buying a round for rows 25, 26 and 27. Mouthing I’M SORRY at me several times does not.
HAND ME THAT US WEEKLY AND WE’LL ALL BE OKAY
Non-moms, you are more in my crosshairs than the moms who stare at us with longing eyes like we are full-fat fro-yo on a cheat day. It’s you who buys a SHIT TON of magazines to speed-read, vowing to remember that new makeup trick or sex position, and dresses - oooh pretty, why can’t I be that skinny…nap time! (That’s my written impersonation of every woman reading a magazine. If it’s not relatable to you, it’s because you’re the type of person who buys Town & Country at an airport kiosk and we’d have nothing to talk about if we ever had to stand together huddled on an airplane wing in the middle of the Hudson.
Don’t put your magazine in the seat back pocket when you finish it, you’re never going to look at it again. Offer me your god damn magazine; I’m sitting right next to you! I’ll eventually ask for it anyway because there is no room for pride in an unused People magazine situation. Plus, if you offer it without me asking, I’ll stop passive-aggressively hogging the armrest or getting up to use the bathroom when I don’t even need to just when you start to fall asleep. If I have a magazine I’ll do the same, in fact, I always share. But if I hit the airport bar instead of the newsstand before my flight, don’t punish me! Life is not 50/50, pass me that People dammit!
YOU’RE NOT AS DUMB AS YOUR OUTFIT LOOKS
Next on my shit list are Suzanne Somers enthusiasts, aka the over 50s. You know how boarding groups work by now, you were there when they were invented, knock it off with the chat and cut. It’s always you, the Oldie Goldies, who try to sneak in with Group 1, which you know is always premiere members of an airline who travel in suits and $400 dollar shoes. Do you think you’re going to blend in Mrs. Pajama Jeans? Back in line! Your ticket clearly says Group 4. At least try to sneak in with the 3’s! Trying with the 1’s doesn’t make you look brazen; it makes you look like a total ass-hat.
Oh and the acting! When the flight crew catches you and you get bug eyed and bewilderedly look down at your boarding pass, then up at some lighted screen that reads GROUP 1 in size 76 font. It’s totally unflattering and your outfit undoubtedly already has that covered.
You see, I don’t think plane etiquette has anything to do with friendly banter with those around you, but more in your silent actions that affect those same people. In fact, I find it easier to avoid unwanted chitchat by exaggerating my all-out sour demeanor. My go-to plane body language is wearing headphones and holding an open book or magazine at all times, but at least when I’m done with it I pass it to any woman within arms reach.