Why I Appreciate Global Entry as a Gender Non-Binary Traveler

“What’s that?” a TSA officer snapped, reaching for my shirt near the shoulder.

“My chest,” I retorted.

I identify as queer and gender expansive, which means I don’t see myself as strictly female (my assigned gender) or male, but rather as gender-free. This has led to being misgendered and subjected to pat downs at airports from JFK to Seattle. At Newark Airport, I had to disclose my identity to a TSA officer who questioned why my wife and I approached him simultaneously, despite our passports showing different last names.

Until 2022, airport body scanners categorized travelers based on binary gender. Every time I traveled, the TSA screener operating the body scanner (formally known as Advanced Imaging Technology) had a 50-50 chance of misidentifying my gender, resulting in an automatic flag for a physical pat down and the risk of being outed in front of other travelers.

The anxiety of wondering if I would “pass” through the scanners creates immense stress for me—and for many LGBTQ travelers. I felt trapped in a dysphoric and humiliating system with no escape. A software update and AI assistance in 2023 claimed to make the scanning process gender-neutral for travelers. However, it was not flawless; trans and nonbinary individuals—or anyone whose body doesn’t conform to a strict “male” or “female” appearance—still face challenges with body scans.

In 2023, I applied for Global Entry, one of the TSA’s Trusted Traveler Programs. If accepted, I’d also automatically qualify for TSA PreCheck, being classified as a “known traveler.” This decision was bold given my fears of airport security; my screening interview was scheduled at JFK. The impetus for my application was a too-short layover at Miami International Airport while heading to Costa Rica with my family. Having endured too many stressful Florida vacations; I didn’t want to risk missing our connecting flight and being stranded in Miami—especially with the state’s “Don’t Say Gay” law in place.

In the days leading up to my Global Entry interview, I combed through Reddit for tips. What questions would the officer approving my application ask? What if they misgendered me, or questioned my 1099 income, or probed about my travel history to catch me in a fib? Could my application be rejected?

Surprisingly, the most challenging aspect of obtaining Global Entry was dealing with construction detours at JFK. I followed a confusing array of signs that claimed to lead to the Terminal 4 Parking Lot but instead diverted me onto the Van Wyck Expressway. With our interview time looming, I parked in an alternate lot. My wife and I dashed through the terminals and checked in just in time.

We were called back one by one. The agent asked me to verify my home address. He instructed me to look into the camera and took a photograph. Then, he handed me a document sleeve containing information about Global Entry and said, “Have a nice day.”

I thought paying $20 a year was a reasonable fee to join the fast VIP line every time I reentered the States—and as a bonus, with PreCheck, I could keep my shoes on and liquids in my luggage. I never anticipated the profound effect being a Trusted Traveler would have on my experience.

While traveling to Costa Rica, we were directed through metal detectors instead of the dreaded scanners (a TSA spokesperson confirmed that travelers with PreCheck are more likely to encounter metal detectors than Advanced Imaging Technology). Upon landing in Miami on our return trip, I approached Passport Control with my passport and Global Entry card ready. I scanned my passport, placed my fingertips on the sensors, and looked into the kiosk’s camera. The machine beeped, confirming my identity.

“Lindsey?” an officer called as I walked away. I turned, my body tense. I was used to unpleasant encounters with airport officials and bracing myself for another one.

He visually verified my identity, smiled, and said, “Welcome home.”

I used to be a relaxed traveler. The intrusive body scanners transformed me into a nervous wreck by continuously flagging my body as a potential threat. A system designed to protect air travelers left me relying on naturopathic stress relief tablets and decompressing post-scan with an overpriced airport beer. TSA screeners’ blunt inquiries made me feel ashamed and critical of my gender expansive identity; why wouldn’t I just “dress like a girl” to avoid harassment, as gender-conforming individuals had advised me throughout my life?

Global Entry offered me a gift that far exceeded its cost. It enabled me to travel on my own terms, free from the need to conceal my identity from the screeners or engage in overly accommodating behavior, like smiling at officers to seem feminine and non-threatening.

It seems paradoxical to place trust in agencies that scrutinize us for simply being ourselves, yet so far, it has been effective. Since that trip to Costa Rica, I’ve taken three domestic flights. Each time, I faced no body scanners, no pat downs, and no intrusive questions. In short, my journeys were wonderfully uneventful.