My seat on a plane was next to a sassy girl: duck lips, Dior handbag, latest smartphone, long painted nails. When they started serving food, they asked her, “Chicken or fish?” And she’s like, “Don’t you have oysters?” And the flight attendant replies, “We’re fresh out. The caviar went fast too.”
The girl rolled her eyes, gave a dramatic sigh, and said, “Fine. Whatever’s less dry.” The flight attendant smiled politely and moved on. I was trying hard not to laugh, mostly because her attitude reminded me of a few people I went to school with—the ones who wouldn’t be caught dead with a lunch tray that wasn’t curated.
She turned toward me, gave me a once-over, and said, “At least you’re not a mouth-breather. The last guy I sat next to kept asking me if I knew about crypto.” I chuckled, unsure whether to be flattered or scared. She introduced herself as “Lani. Just Lani. Like Cher, but hotter.”
I nodded and told her my name—Kevin. I was flying home after a work trip. Nothing glamorous. I had a few emails to catch up on, a neck pillow that had already deflated, and a bag of trail mix I’d been saving in case the food was inedible.
She tapped at her phone with nails that looked like they could slice through metal, and then she asked, “You got TikTok?”
“Uh, no. Not really my thing.”
She scoffed. “Everyone says that until they end up viral for sneezing like a goose. Trust me, you’ll cave.”
I smiled. Despite her flashy appearance and sharp words, there was something oddly honest about her. She wasn’t trying to impress me. She was just… herself. And that, honestly, was kind of refreshing.
As the flight continued, we chatted more. She told me she was an influencer—makeup, fashion, travel, the usual. She had over 200,000 followers, brand deals, and spent more time in airports than in her apartment. She didn’t even pretend to love it.
“I know it looks fun,” she said. “But sometimes I wish I could just eat Pringles on the couch without wondering if someone’s gonna screen grab it.”
I admitted that sounded exhausting. I worked in logistics, which wasn’t exactly flashy, but I liked it. Things had order, made sense. Unlike most of what she was telling me.
Then the first twist of the flight happened.
A guy from first class came back, frantic, asking if anyone was a doctor. A woman had collapsed in the aisle. There was chaos for a moment. Lani froze. She looked at me and whispered, “Oh my God. That’s my mom.”
She unbuckled faster than I thought humanly possible in acrylic nails and sprinted down the aisle. I followed, confused. Her mom? She didn’t mention anyone else on the plane.
When we got there, I recognized the woman. She’d been sitting two rows behind us earlier. Quiet. Reading a book, sipping tea. Looked nothing like Lani.
Paramedics on board were helping, and soon she came around. They said it was likely a combination of low blood sugar and anxiety. Not dangerous, but scary. Once things calmed down, Lani sat beside her, holding her hand, whispering things I couldn’t hear.
Later, back in her seat, I asked her, “That’s your mom?”
She looked embarrassed. “Yeah. I didn’t want to say anything earlier. I bought her a ticket in economy, two rows back. Didn’t want anyone online thinking I fly my mom coach while I sit in business.”
I blinked. “You care what they think that much?”
She nodded. “Too much. Honestly. She’s the only reason I got into this whole thing. When I was younger, she worked three jobs just so I could take dance lessons. I told myself that one day, I’d take care of her. And I have, mostly. But it’s hard when your whole life is… curated.”
Her voice cracked a little. And just like that, the glam and sass faded. She looked like a regular 20-something who was just trying to do right by the people who raised her.
I didn’t say much. Just listened.
The next twist happened during landing.
There was a delay. Something about weather and traffic at the airport. We circled for almost an hour. People were getting fidgety. Lani was quiet, scrolling through her phone, then suddenly gasped.
“Oh no,” she muttered. “No no no.”
“What’s wrong?”
She turned the phone so I could see. Someone had taken a picture of her on the plane and posted it with the caption: “Influencers pretending to slum it in economy while their moms pass out in row 32. Classy.”
The post was getting traction. Comments piling up. People judging her, mocking her. She looked devastated.
“I swear I didn’t know someone took that. I was just trying to—”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
“I know. It’s just—this stuff spirals. One post, and suddenly brands start pulling deals, people cancel you, and everyone’s got an opinion.”
That’s when something unexpected happened.
An older woman across the aisle, who had overheard our conversation, leaned over and said, “I just wanted to tell you… the way you rushed to your mom like that? That was beautiful. Don’t let internet nobodies tell you different.”
Lani’s eyes welled up. She smiled and whispered thank you.
We landed safely. As we gathered our bags, I asked her what she was going to do next.
“Honestly?” she said. “Take my mom out for pancakes. Her favorite.”
I smiled. “Sounds like a better post than oysters on a plane.”
She laughed.
A few days later, I got a DM from a new account. “Hey, it’s Lani. Just wanted to say thanks for being normal when I needed it.” Attached was a link to a video she posted.
It wasn’t filtered. No makeup. No music. Just her, talking directly to the camera.
She explained what happened on the plane. The picture. Her mom. And then she said something that stuck with me.
“I got caught up in trying to look perfect for strangers. Forgot that the realest moments aren’t always photogenic. But they matter more.”
The video blew up. Not for drama. But for honesty.
She gained thousands of followers—not because she was flawless, but because she was finally real.
The story didn’t end there.
A week later, she and her mom started a small YouTube channel called “Pancakes & Perspective.” It was just the two of them—eating breakfast in random diners, talking about life, love, family, and what really matters.
It took off in a way she never expected. People were tired of perfection. They wanted connection.
As for me, I kept living my regular life. Still not on TikTok. Still allergic to neck pillows. But every now and then, I’d check in and see their latest episode.
In one of them, she mentioned me.
She didn’t say my name, but said, “I sat next to a guy on a plane who reminded me that not everyone’s looking at your nails or your handbag. Some people just care if you’re okay. That’s the kind of audience I want now.”
That meant a lot.
Months passed. She scaled back on brand deals. Focused more on projects that made her happy. Her mom, too, seemed lighter. More relaxed. Like she was finally breathing for the first time in years.
Then came the full-circle twist.
One of her old sponsors, a major travel company, reached out again. They offered her a new campaign—but this time, they wanted both her and her mom to be the faces of a “Real Journeys” campaign. No filters. No acting. Just truth.
They accepted. Shot everything in small towns across the country. The ads were a hit.
But here’s the real moral:
In trying so hard to look perfect, Lani almost missed what was perfect all along—her mom’s smile over pancakes, her own laughter without a script, the kind of connection that doesn’t need a caption.
Sometimes, the best version of yourself is the one you stop hiding when no one’s watching.
If you’ve ever felt pressure to perform, to appear, to impress people who don’t know your heart—maybe today’s the day to take a breath.
Ask yourself: Who am I when I’m not posing?
And if you like this story, maybe share it with someone who’s forgotten that being real is always more powerful than being perfect.
Thanks for reading. Like, comment, or tag a friend who needs a reminder that authenticity always wins.
