In the Aukland airport, the suited businessman in front of me in the security queue drops his laptop bag straight on the conveyor belt and unhesitatingly walks through the metal detector fully clothed. For a moment I am disoriented.

The uneasy realization dawns on me: How am I supposed to fly in a plane with these people when I don’t know the basic details of their wardrobe? What do these people look like underneath their suit jackets? They could be hiding all sorts of flab and gut. What color are their socks? Is anyone else on this flight carrying a Macintosh laptop? I miss the equalizing ritual of travellers disrobing for the guards. Before them, everyone is stripped of ther artifice: their high heels, their well-tailored outerwear, their pretense.