This summer, Castoff Editor Lea Whitley boarded a plane. This isn’t unusual: thousands of people board planes every day. For her, though, this experience was not so typical.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” said the flight attendant tapping on my shoulder. “One of our employees just let me know your shorts are inappropriate and distracting. Do you have a pair of pants you could put on for this flight?”

I looked down, glanced around, and then my heart dropped: I realized what was being asked of me. It was an hour-long flight with a 30-minute connection, so I let her know I did not have anything I could change into.

“You will have to buy a pair of pants during your layover,” she said. The man loading luggage that complained filed a dress code violation against you, so you will not be allowed on your next flight without finding something else to wear.” As she walked away, I felt a plethora of emotions hit me all at once: shame for being told this in front of the other passengers, confusion because I had worn this exact pair of shorts on two American Airlines flights prior, and lastly, anger. If I didn’t change out of my athletic shorts into something “less distracting,” I wouldn’t be able to get home that night.

As she walked away, I felt a plethora of emotions hit me all at once: shame for being told this in front of the other passengers, confusion because I had worn this exact pair of shorts on two American Airlines flights prior, and lastly, anger. If I didn’t change out of my athletic shorts into something “less distracting,” I wouldn’t be able to get home that night.

I wanted to yell. I wanted to find the man who complained and make sure he knew that one, I was a minor, and two, his inability to do his job was his own problem, not mine or my body’s. But I couldn’t do any of those things. If I had, my mom and I likely wouldn’t have made it back to Dallas. I felt trapped.

As our flight deboarded and I walked off the plane, I sensed the emotions seep through once more. Shame came over me as I tied my sweatshirt around my waist. I kept asking myself why I felt so wrong just for wearing shorts. I couldn’t help but cry under my mask silently as my mom tried to find the nearest store that sold pants.

Then came the anger. Being at Hockaday since pre-kindergarten, I never had to spend a second of my life worrying about following a dress code (especially dress codes that deem women’s bodies distracting in order to “save” wandering minds of men).

Was the world really trying to say it was my fault a grown man on the job couldn’t stay focused while I, a 17-year-old girl, boarded my flight in perfectly appropriate running shorts? (And yes, I checked the website afterward. My shorts were acceptable to American’s standards.)

As I sat down on my bed that night in the grey sweatpants I almost missed my connection for, I wrote a strongly-worded email to the airline’s customer service department about the experience. This was two months ago and I have yet to get a reply.

I understand the idea of dress codes in certain situations, and I also know that since airlines are private businesses, they technically have the power to enforce any restrictions they want. But in hindsight, the part of this experience that angers me the most is how utterly at fault I felt when the flight attendant told me I was in the wrong.

I want any young girl reading this to know that if you have been in a situation like the one I just explained, it is not your fault. Do not feel shameful. And most importantly, do not feel like you did something wrong by simply existing.