I have to confess to a tinge of envy every time I read an account of ‘flying pretty’, in other words taking a flight in one’s feminine persona. Whilst I know the reality to be very different these days, in my mind there’s still a hint of glamour in the whole air travel thing, possibly driven by the traditionally smart uniforms worn by cabin crew. Even the idea of walking round an airport without actually going anywhere seems attractive and has been something that I’ve contemplated doing in the past.
But the truth is that flying pretty only seems to be a ‘thing’ on the western reaches of the Atlantic and beyond thanks to the ubiquity of domestic air travel stateside. On my side of the Atlantic, it just doesn’t seem to feature on bucket lists and breathless accounts of the excitement experienced breezing through security in a feminine persona just don’t appear. That’s not to say it doesn’t happen but I suspect that most, if not all, of those doing it are at some stage of transition and they’re flying under their sole persona & identity, not a CDer pushing the envelope under an occasional alias.
The thing is, in Europe, domestic air travel, is often not the fastest option. Yes, we have domestic flights from London to most airports in the UK and they’re pretty quick once you’re airborne but the faff of getting to and from the airport and going through all of the security checks means it’s far quicker to get to most places by train. So if I wanted to fly pretty, it would entail international travel and all that goes with that. I’m sure that most of the major airports are used to gender variance by now but it’d be just my luck to fly to one that still sees any divergence from the photo in the passport by its holder as a major terrorist risk. I’m also acutely aware that even if I was to be waved through the airport without incident, local opinions about TG issues in foreign countries may be different to the liberal attitudes that tend to pervade at home and if I did get into bother, would I be able to defend myself particularly given language barriers? So why go to all of the hassle just to say that I’ve flown pretty?
So when I travel with the intention of indulging my feminine side, I restrict my destinations to the UK and go by car. For starters, it’s convenient. I don’t need to consult timetables, I’m not at the mercy of cancellations and I don’t have a long walk from wherever I’m dropped off to the town centre. There’s also a lot of reassurance from having the car nearby – it provides a safe haven in problematic situations such as when the shoes which seemed such a good idea on the way out are now making their presence felt with every painful step. There really are no downsides to taking the car.
Well, that’s not entirely true about the convenience. First of all, there’s the question of parking. It’s not an issue in towns I’m familiar with but going to somewhere new is a different story. If it’s a popular place, do I really want to spend time driving around looking for somewhere to park and then trying to download whichever parking app the local council has chosen to fleece its visitors? And then there’s footwear; I can drive in heels but flats are generally safer which then means a change of shoes. If I decide that boots are the order of the day, that means pulling them on and negotiating zips without losing any stick on nails or snagging my tights in the process. And then there’s the environment. Going into the outside world means breaking free from the closet, not taking it with you and whilst the car is a safe haven, sometimes it feels just a little bit too safe.
For me, the idea of leaving the car behind and travelling on public transport was not new, in fact it’s something that’s been knocking around my mind for over a decade. And yet it always seemed like a bad idea. I guess my biggest fear was getting onto a crowded bus or train and having to endure the ‘is she or isn’t she’ stares from other nearby passengers. Worse still would be the risk of seeing someone who knew me – sitting on a bus or train, there’s nowhere to hide and an extended time for anyone who knows male me to study the odd looking blonde and put two and two together. But eventually I came to the realisation that everything I do in my feminine guise seems like a bad idea until I actually do it.
The fears I had buying women’s clothes in drab were unfounded. The terror I felt when I first stepped out of the house was without basis. The fear I had that anyone who saw me would point and laugh when I first ventured out amongst other people were without substance. The worries I had when interacting with sales assistants, baristas and waiting staff proved to have no basis. The concerns I had that someone would approach me to ask for directions and then become speechless with shock when they realised my secret were groundless. And so on. Because the fact of the matter is that 25% of the way through the 21st century, transgender people are old news and most people have other things to worry about than whether the person they see is a ‘real’ woman or a man dressed as one.
And so, as I related last time, on a recent trip away from home I resolved to take the train from my hotel to the town centre rather than drive. It was only a short trip each way – 3 minutes to be exact – but a 15-20 minute wait on the station beforehand. And it was a wonderful experience. Free from the confines of my car, I could enjoy being me from the moment I left my hotel until the moment I returned. When a young man asked me which platform his train went from and I told him, he thanked me and set off with his companion; no laughing or shouts of ‘did you see the state of that?!’. And when, on my way back at the end of the evening, another young man held out his hand to gesture ‘ladies first’, I smiled my thanks and that’s when it really sunk in. I may know that I’m a very part time CDer but the rest of humanity just sees what they want to see.
Maybe, when I go out, I pass the ‘duck test’ – if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it probably is a duck – although I am realistic enough to realise that whilst I may look like a woman from several feet away, I most definitely do not quack, or sound, like one! To some who see me, maybe I do look like the real deal, to others I’m undoubtedly not but I like to think that I do enough to at least have an air of ambiguity about me – or to put it another way ‘is she or isn’t she?’ rather than ‘he definitely is!’! But whatever the truth is, nobody I’ve ever encountered seemed to care.
Taking the train was, to misquote Neil Armstrong, one small step for a man, one giant leap for A man da. But it was like every other thing I’ve ever done on my feminine journey – no big deal. And, in fact, those incidents along the way made it an exhilarating experience despite its brevity. And that raises an interesting question. Why should something that is so normal feel so exhilarating?
I thought long and hard about that and, on a whim, decided to put the question to ChatGPT which responded with the following reasons:
– Authentic self-expression (often called gender euphoria): when your outside matches something true on the inside, the nervous system can light up with relief and joy.
– Novelty and courage: doing something new and meaningful releases dopamine. Stepping outside your comfort zone can feel electrifying.
– A hint of risk/rebellion: breaking old rules or expectations can create an adrenaline “thrill.”
– Anonymity of travel: trains are liminal spaces—lots of strangers, few lasting judgments—which can feel freeing.
– Sensory and embodied experience: clothes, movement, voice, makeup—engaging your body in a new way can feel alive and present.
– Social feedback (or the lack of it): being treated normally or kindly can feel validating.
– Life-stage freedom: at 64, there can be a powerful sense of “I get to be me now,” with fewer roles to perform for others.
That’s quite a list and one that encapsulates much of how I felt before the experience as I was planning it, during the outing and afterwards as I was reflecting on the whole thing. The idea of stepping out of my comfort zone to do something new was a powerful driver. The anonymity gave me both the reassurance to do it and the feeling that I could just be another woman in the crowd. The sensory feedback from the clothes (I was wearing a midi dress and heels) was a constant reminder that I was presenting in a way that gave me a profound sense of joy. And perhaps the icing on the cake was the social feedback – being treated normally by the guy who asked for directions and with kindness by the ‘ladies first’ guy.
There’s clearly something profound going on here and the fact that ChatGPT seemed to sum up the whole thing so well suggests that many others have experienced the same highs that I did – after all, it’s not just plucking random concepts from the air but its training draws on the recorded experiences of others and this follows through into its responses. What’s particularly significant is that I’m not a woman trapped in a man’s body and I have neither the intention nor the desire to relinquish my male side to live the rest of my life solely in my feminine persona. And yet everything I do in that persona feels utterly right and I experience feelings of calm and euphoria that just do not feature in my normal life. I do feel lucky that, as ChatGPT asserted, I do ‘get to be me now’ and particularly lucky that feminine me can at least scrub up to the point where situations like this feel affirming and confidence building.
And that brings me full circle. It goes without saying that walking onto a station, waiting 15 minutes for a 3 minute train ride hardly compares with either the rigmarole of flying or the sense of achievement that flying pretty delivers. Flying requires interaction with officialdom, travelling on a train generally doesn’t and even if the train manager had come to check tickets, all they would be worried about is whether the correct fare for the journey had been paid, not the identity of its holder.
But there are similarities too. It’s not so much a step out of the comfort zone but an expansion of it. It’s relinquishing the ability to have second thoughts, once we set off, we have no option but to follow through. There’s no safe haven and if the situation takes a bad turn, we have to suck it up and move on. But we are rewarded with euphoria whether it’s a three minute trip on a train or several hours on a plane. A smile is a smile, whether from a security agent, cabin crew member or a train manager. A simple gesture from another passenger is wonderful whatever mode of transport we happen to be sitting on. And just making that journey whilst being who we want to be makes it all worthwhile regardless of how we happen to be travelling and while I may never get the opportunity to fly pretty, I can’t wait for the next time that I can travel pretty. Who knows what adventures await?
