Let’s just say it: airplane seats were not designed with big bodies in mind. Or long legs. Or hips wider than a salad plate. Or, frankly, basic human dignity. They’re tiny. They’re rigid. They’re often suspiciously damp from the previous flight. And if you, like me, have a body that takes up extra space, you’ve probably had that moment boarding a plane.
You know the one.
You’re walking down the narrow aisle, carry-on grazing elbows, making eye contact with strangers who are silently praying, please don’t sit next to me, please don’t sit next to me. And then you reach your row, wedge yourself in with all the grace of a forklift, and begin the complex art of strategic squish — elbows tucked, thighs clenched, armrest diplomacy in full swing.
And that’s when it hits you: Maybe I should’ve just bought two seats.
Because you’re “too much.” But because… space is real. And so is courtesy. And sometimes, buying two airplane seats isn’t about self-punishment — it’s about peace and comfort. Yours and the stranger beside you who just wants to enjoy their pretzels in a bubble of personal space.
There’s a strange freedom in thinking about it that way. Like, what if we flipped the narrative? Instead of viewing it as a tax on our bodies, we treat it as an upgrade. Two seats = double tray tables. Double elbow room. The ability to cross your legs without accidentally committing a federal offense. It’s not “I’m too big for one seat.” It’s “one seat is too small for anyone, and I have the receipts to prove it.”
Of course, not everyone can afford two seats. Airlines aren’t exactly handing out coupons for being a human in a fat body. And the policies are confusing — some carriers let you request a second seat at a discount or refund it if the flight isn’t full, but most leave you guessing until the moment you’re being handed a seat belt extender and a side-eye.
Still, there’s something empowering about making that call for yourself. Choosing comfort over contortion. Buying a second seat doesn’t make you less worthy. It makes you practical. And thoughtful. And maybe even a little luxurious.
Because let’s face it — if the choice is between hours of anxious shrinking or stretching out with your Kindle and some peace of mind, I know which one I’m picking. (Hint: it has two seat belts and a little tray just for my snacks.)
In the end, flying while fat isn’t a moral issue. It’s a logistics issue. And sometimes, the kindest thing you can do — for yourself and for the stranger next to you — is to just claim the space you need. Without guilt. Without apology. Maybe even with a little extra legroom.
