There I am, standing at the boarding gate, the only person wearing a mask in a sea of bare faces. It’s a curious experience, being the lone masker in 2025. Some passengers inch away as if I’m patient zero, others look at me like I’m a relic of the pandemic, and a few smile at me with a mix of pity and admiration, assuming I must be “vulnerable.” (Well, they’re not wrong.)
Travelling with a mask post-COVID feels like stepping into a live social experiment. The reactions you get range from baffled stares to knowing nods, and occasionally, outright confusion. And the irony? I’m not coughing, sneezing, or even remotely unwell, but the guy three rows down is, and somehow I’m the one people think might be contagious. Let’s explore the hilarity and awkwardness of masked travel in a mask-free world, and why masking might actually be the smartest choice you can make on holiday.
“Are You Sick?”
The most common assumption, of course, is that I’m wearing a mask because I’m ill. I can see the mental maths people do when they notice me:
• She’s wearing a mask, she must have COVID.
• But wait, COVID is over, isn’t it?
• Maybe it’s a new disease. Monkeypox? Swine flu? Plague 2.0?
I’ve even had someone sidle up to me, cautiously asking, “Should I be worried? Is there an outbreak I don’t know about?” As much as I’d love to be the bearer of breaking public health news, the answer is usually, “I’m just protecting myself.”
Cue visible relief… followed by a few suspicious glances, just in case I’m lying.
The “COVID Is Over” Crowd
Then there are the people who seem personally offended by my mask. It’s as though I’ve resurrected 2020 just by covering my face.
I’ve had strangers mutter “COVID’s over” under their breath as they brush past me, which is ironic considering half the airport seems to be coughing into the air like it’s a communal space freshener. COVID may not be the headline act anymore, but as someone with Long COVID, I can tell you it’s far from over for many of us.
And it’s not just COVID. Winter is a viral roulette: flu, RSV, colds, norovirus, you name it, it’s going around. Crowded, enclosed spaces like airports are a breeding ground for germs. Masking significantly reduces your chances of catching these illnesses. According to studies, high-quality masks like N95s (or FFP2/FFP3 in Europe) can reduce exposure to airborne particles by up to 95%, even in busy, poorly ventilated spaces.
Still, explaining this to the guy loudly announcing “We don’t need masks anymore!” feels like a losing battle. I just nod politely and focus on adjusting my mask—a subtle way of saying, I’m good, thanks.
The “Oh, You’re Vulnerable” Brigade
On the flip side, some people assume I must be extremely vulnerable. And to be fair, they’re not wrong. But the assumptions can get a little… creative.
• One elderly woman whispered sympathetically, “It’s your immune system, isn’t it?” before handing me a Werther’s Original as if it were a magical cure.
• A flight attendant, convinced I was one sneeze away from disaster, discreetly offered to seat me “somewhere safer,” which turned out to be next to the loudest snorer on the plane.
• And my personal favourite: a man who, after observing me sanitising my tray table, asked, “Do you have to live in one of those plastic bubbles?”
The Coughing Conundrum
But here’s the real kicker: the people coughing and sneezing freely? They never seem to wear a mask. And somehow, I’m the one everyone avoids.
There was one memorable flight where the man across the aisle coughed so violently that even the in-flight magazine trembled. I glanced over, and he immediately looked at me as if to say, Why are you staring? You’re the one wearing the mask!
The irony isn’t lost on me. Studies show that masking is particularly effective in stopping the spread of respiratory droplets. So while I’m sitting there, trying to avoid any air-sharing, the people hacking away into the void are doing their best impression of a germ sprinkler.
The Silent Supporters
Not everyone’s confused or critical, though. Occasionally, I’ll spot another masked traveller in the wild. There’s an unspoken camaraderie, a nod of solidarity as if to say, I see you. I, too, don’t trust this air.
And sometimes, I even inspire others to join me. On one flight, a young woman in the seat ahead rummaged in her bag and pulled out a crumpled surgical mask after seeing me. She turned around, smiled, and said, “Good idea.” It felt like a tiny victory for Team Mask.
Why I Still Mask Up
At the end of the day, I’m not wearing a mask because I’m sick or paranoid or stuck in 2020. I’m wearing it because I live with Long COVID, and I can’t afford to risk getting reinfected—or catching any of the other delightful bugs circulating through crowded spaces.
Yes, wearing a mask can be uncomfortable. It’s hot, it fogs up my glasses, and I’d rather not have my face covered for hours on end. But I’d rather deal with a bit of discomfort than risk derailing my recovery. Long COVID is already a full-time job, and the last thing I need is another illness slowing me down.
Masks are more than just a barrier—they’re a small but mighty tool to protect myself and give my body the best chance to recover. Better safe than sorry, as the saying goes.
Final Thoughts: Laughing Through the Awkwardness
Being the lone masker in a post-pandemic world can feel awkward, but it also comes with its fair share of funny moments. Whether it’s the unsolicited advice, the confused glances, or the secret solidarity of spotting another masked traveller, I’ve learned to embrace the humour in these interactions.
And with holidays around the corner, airports will only get busier—and germier. If there was ever a time to mask up, it’s now. Whether you’re protecting yourself from flu, RSV, or that suspicious cough from seat 22C, masking is a smart move in crowded, enclosed spaces.
So, the next time you see someone wearing a mask in an airport, spare them the side-eye or whispered commentary. Chances are, they’re not trying to make a statement—they’re just trying to stay healthy.
And if you’re also a masked traveller? Give me a nod of solidarity from across the terminal. We’ve got this.
Disclaimer: I’m not a medical professional. This article is based on personal experience. For health concerns, consult your doctor.
Long Covid Journey 