By Monika Kowalska
I’ve always been fascinated by air hostesses.
As a child, I watched them walk through airport terminals with an elegance I could only dream of. They moved like they belonged to a world just slightly above ours, a realm of shiny shoes, rolling suitcases and perfectly tied neck scarves. Their lipstick never smudged. Their hair obeyed gravity. And when they walked down the airplane aisle, they weren’t just serving drinks, they were commanding space. Even turbulence seemed to respect them.
Back then, I didn’t know I was transgender. I just knew I wanted to be an air hostess, whoever she was, whatever her name tag said. I didn’t want to be with the air hostess. I wanted to be the air hostess. And even though I’m now living openly as myself and have embraced so much of the femininity I longed for, there’s still something about seeing a woman in uniform gliding down the aisle of an airplane, that sends a tiny ache right through me.
My best friend, Caroline, is a flight attendant. We’ve been close for a long time, long before either of us imagined where life would take us. While I was struggling with my manhood and dreaming abstract dreams of womanhood, she was already researching airlines, learning about cabin pressure and emergency protocol and practicing her smile in the mirror.
Now, years later, I see her with her wheeled suitcase and flawless bun, her posture a masterclass in confidence. When we meet for coffee between her flights, I sometimes just sit and stare at her, amazed. There’s something inherently cinematic about her job. She’s had layovers in New York, breakfast in Dubai, sunsets in São Paulo. She speaks in airport codes and time zones, and has perfected the art of packing her entire life into a suitcase smaller than my carry-on.
But I’ve also seen the darker side of her world.
I’ve seen her stumble into our café, exhausted after 14 hours in the air, her voice hoarse from dry cabin air, her patience frayed by a passenger who thought “Please fasten your seatbelt” was a personal attack. I’ve seen the toll the irregular hours take on her sleep, the way she struggles with jet lag that doesn’t just knock you out, it disorients your very sense of where and who you are. I’ve seen her cry from missing birthdays and holidays. I’ve watched her stretch her legs because she’s been on her feet for hours, serving meals and de-escalating arguments 35,000 feet in the sky.
And there’s the glamour tax no one talks about, the unspoken, but ever-present pressure to look “presentable.” There are rules about hair, nails, makeup and body. Some airlines still expect “a certain weight range” and offer feedback that wouldn’t pass even the most lenient HR sniff test in any other industry. She once told me only half-jokingly, that you get trained in safety procedures, but hired for your smile.
So I know now that the job isn’t all first-class perks and Instagram-ready views. There are delays, canceled flights, demanding passengers, aching feet and a constant, grinding expectation to be composed. Always composed.
Still, I envy her.
Not because I think I could have handled the job, honestly, I’m not sure I could have. I get motion sickness on bumpy landings and I’m suspicious of hotels that don’t offer complimentary conditioner. And I know it’s too late for me to start down that career path. Airline recruitment isn’t exactly bursting with second chances for middle-aged transwomen who didn’t do their flying hours when they were 20.
But when I board a plane, I still watch the crew. I still notice the way they move down the aisle with quiet authority. I catch a glimpse of my younger self in the reflection of the overhead bin, wide-eyed, longing, still dreaming. And yes, sometimes I’m jealous.
Not because I want the job, but because I still want the feeling. That sense of being part of something elegant and brave, something sky-high and magical. That moment when the wheels lift off the ground and you think, “Anything is possible.”
I may never wear the uniform. I may never memorize the safety demo or do the lipstick check before takeoff. But in another lifetime, I would have walked that aisle as an air hostess.
And maybe, just maybe, I still do, in my dreams.
Monika has been interviewing trans people in her blog, The Heroines of My Life, since 2013. Click here to see who she has interviewed lately.
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Wearing BOSS Hugo Boss |
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Two 1950-era femulators in the 2006 British short Private Life. |
Monika - treat yourself. Get a uniform, if you wear it only for you, or maybe someone else. Consider it your equivalent of a man buying a baseball jersey or the like to wear watching the game. He's dreaming he is walking to the plate, you dream you are gliding down the aisle.
ReplyDeleteHi Fiona, what a fabulous idea! Your analogy with the sportsball jersey is spot on. Wearing a French maid uniform while cleaning the house is also a treat...or so I've heard;)
DeleteThis was my first thought, too.
DeleteMonica has a fine writing style. That was almost poetic! I can't but agree: the wonderful air hostess look is to be envied, the life itself less so. Sue x
ReplyDeleteIt just seems that flight attendants have their act together making it an ideal role for femulators to enjoy. They typically are beautiful women who understand shoe changes while in flight, wear runless pantyhose, make up is always spot on and travel the world. You are right Monica they always roll towards the gate with confidence and purpose and I too dream of “working the aisle”. I found a real outfit at the thrift shop but many sizes too small for me ……Hugs Brenda. If you demand all day comfort the search for Airline stewardess shoes will reward you
ReplyDeleteHi Brenda, I've been tempted to ask a flight attendant what brand of sheer hose they wear that never ever seem to have a run. Oh, I know I could probably Google that info, but it would be more fun to have the discussion.
DeleteThis phrase could describe my journey: "I didn’t want to be with her. I wanted to be her."
ReplyDeleteI too have also envied the flight attendent: confident, well-dressed, well-traveled. On the surface it seems like such a glamorous life! Thank you for sharing your friend's reality. It has given me a new-found appreciation for the career, and challenges to consider as I dream of my own career as an air stewardess.
I have thought a lot about how I'm not so much attracted to women, but rather to their clothing. I'm way more attracted to a woman in an attractive dress than a naked woman. My first realization of transgender ID was after I saw the movie "The Five Pennies". I left the auditorium wishing I could be like the girl in the movie.
DeleteI can identify, Sweetie. As a crossdresser, I am careful about who I share my feminine side with, but I couldn't resist the opportunity this past Halloween. I took first prize at our office Costume Competition by dressing as a flight attendant/air hostess/stewardess (pick the name you like best). Our receptionist was a stewardess in the 80's, so I came as her! She thought it was wonderful (thankfully - that could have gone SO bad) and I got 34 out of 35 votes for first place. (for photos, you can check my blog - https://juliemshaw.blogspot.com/2024/11/happy-halloween-or-come-fly-with-me.html)
ReplyDeleteMonica I am an airline customer service representative,,meet and greet flights at the gate, deal with passengers at the counter, and have admired many of the flight attendants, or air hostesses,, I deal with...dreamed about being one in my teens, but now, with the passengers we see,,,just give them all the help and support after a long day with rude, crude and mean pax.......Trina
ReplyDeleteI feel that way about the women's light green army dress uniform from the 60's-70's. I'd see those girls cool in their green cords while I was sweating in my khaki uniform. I was so jealous. You're right "I didn't want to be with them, I wanted to be them." I recently tracked down a size 20 uniform, but a size 20 then is now where near a size 20 now. Wouldn't fit, not even close. I can dream though. Love your stories. Randi
ReplyDeleteAs gender-gifted girls, I think part of our journey now consists of a kind of wistful nostalgia for a time when women (and men) actually dressed up, even if it was just an average day. And, to modify a common aphorism, "There's just something about a person in uniform". If you add that to how an Air hostess confidently moves through an airport, it's a potent potion for dreaming that we could be that composed (and admired).
ReplyDeleteAgreed about "I didn’t want to be with her. I wanted to be her."
If I had truly known as a young person how much longing to be a woman would be involved as I got older, perhaps I would have found a way to transition, society/peer/family-pressure be damned.
The neckline on that floral dress the “gentleman” is wearing at the top of the page is dreamy. I’d alter the pattern a bit but otherwise would buy that dress!
ReplyDeleteI have a number of floral dresses I wear on a regular basis, but all of them have dark backgrounds. I need to find a floral dress with a white background. Angela, you're right. That dress is dreamy
DeleteJohn
I wonder where you can buy the dress..?
DeleteThanks for sharing this Monika! Flight attendants have a right difficult job for sure, and it is so nice to acknowledge their hard work and patience behind the glamorous fascade.
ReplyDeleteNorah