Somewhere between Los Angeles and New York, I rose from my seat — 4F. Praying that my too-high Prada boots could master the light bumpiness, I strutted toward the bathroom at the back of the plane. Amidst the shagg-alicious purple and rose lighting that gives Virgin’s main cabin an air of a James Bond movie (circa 1968) I neared the last ten rows of seats. It was then that my peripheral vision detected a few heads bobbing up and curious eyes shooting my way. I wondered who was “ace” in 20D, and “hef” in 24D, or if “elbubble” had logged off before she learned I was walking to the back. And what did the person who had bought me the drink look like?
I should tell you that this attention has nothing top do with my looks, per se. This silent, though awkward, introduction was a direct result of a seat-to-seat chat group chat that I had initiated. It is Virgin’s latest bid to fully secure the attention of that coveted demographic — young, monied, tech-friendly, hipsters. And, let me tell you, it’s kinda cool.