I used to fly constantly for work. If you fly enough, you realize: aircraft cabins don't just segregate classes; they segregate people.

Whenever I was fortunate enough to sit in Business Class, I couldn't help but put on a bit of an act. I’d pick up a copy of the [Financial Review] or pull out a thick, hardcover English book. On the surface, I was reading; in reality, I was labeling myself: 'Don’t mistake me for who you "think" I am.'

Equality is a loud slogan, but in the realm of aviation, prejudice is raw and palpable. Some forms of discrimination are impossible to hide. It’s not in the tone of voice, but in that split-second judgment reflected in an eye-roll or a glance.

Flight attendants are masters of categorization. It’s not overt; it’s a form of "restraint" you read the moment you meet their eyes. They are polite, yes, but in their minds, you’ve already been filed away.

I dread that artificiality. I truly do. Because that smile isn’t a smile, it’s a leak of professional disdain. You feel yourself placed in a zone that says: "I will serve you, but I’d rather not." So, I started my own counter-play. I don’t do it to show off; I do it for comfort. It’s not about "Versailles" (flexing); it’s about putting on armor. If I don't, their "preconceived" script will be forced upon me.

I don’t want to be misunderstood. I don’t want to be patronized with that "Oh, hello there 🙂 (but I can't be bothered)" tone.

Thus, not all pretension is narcissism. Sometimes, it is forced. It’s knowing the world will touch you with prejudice, so you use a shell to parry the blow. Who hasn't played a character they never wanted to be, just to be looked at with a shred of respect? The tragedy is that some people play the part for so long they eventually become the role.

I’ve always admired Pamela Anderson and Sola Aoi. Not because of their pasts, but because they survived adversity, endured the labels and the sneers, struggled, transformed, and grew strong enough to "put their clothes back on," piece by piece. What they put back on wasn't just fabric; it wasn't a cover-up. It was decency. It was dignity. It was the audacity of "I’m awarding myself the F*ing damn trophy" the kind of backbone that says, 'I don't need your understanding, but you sure as hell won't look down on me.'



—— 🎐 XC Scribbles · 壹佰參拾陸 CXXXVI 🪖