I’m Carly, and for 32 years, I’ve lived in a body that people feel entitled to comment on. I’m not just curvy—I’m obese, and the world never lets me forget it. Strangers judge my grocery cart, my clothes, even my right to be in public. That’s why, whenever I fly alone, I always buy two airplane seats—not for comfort, but for peace.
On a recent work trip, I paid $176 for an extra seat to avoid the glares and discomfort. I boarded early, settled into my window and middle seats, and exhaled—until a couple arrived. He looked smug, she sparkled, and without hesitation, they took the seat I paid for.
“Sorry,” I said politely, “I paid for both seats.”
They laughed. “Seriously? You need two seats?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“It’s not a big deal,” the woman said. “You’re just being a fat jerk.”
I bit my tongue. “Fine. Keep the seat,” I said, forcing a smile.
Once airborne, I made it clear I wasn’t going to shrink. I pulled out a big bag of chips, leaned into my space, bumped elbows—reclaiming every inch I paid for. The man finally snapped and called a flight attendant. She checked the records, confirmed I had purchased both seats, and sent him back to 22C.
As he stomped away, his girlfriend hissed, “You really needed two seats just for being fat? Pathetic.”
I quietly reported her for harassment. The flight crew took it seriously and filed a report. When we landed, I followed up. Days later, I got an email: the couple had been flagged, and the airline credited me 10,000 bonus miles for the mistreatment.
That flight reminded me of something powerful: society constantly tells people like me to shrink, to take up less space. But I paid for mine—and I have every right to exist in it without shame. Next time someone tries to take that from me?
I’ll be ready.
