Working out how I disguise myself into what the public perceives as ‘normal’ in preperation for my first footsteps outside in nearly 3 years.
As someone who’s chosen to start a trial of wearing white during the same month that my nose started bleeding everytime my dog wags her tail, it’s safe to say my fashion hasn’t been well thought through for some time.
It’s no secret that I wear a lot of black. Whether severely overweight, or severely underweight, comments about my inability to wear colour have always been the running joke. I don’t even mix in white or a peppering of grey to change things up now and then – for as long as I can remember it’s been black clothes (even in the bedroom) or nothing at all.
But, in line with the upcoming challenges I face as I confront both my physical ability and my agoraphobic hold, I told myself it was time to look at my wardrobe too. Admittedly, it was a wardrobe that was hard to visualise as all I saw was a massive block of shadows, but as least the overall assessment was easy. I didn’t own enough colour.
The question seemed simple. How do I add colour in a way that makes enough of a change to help me blend in, without becoming overly anxious about a huge shift in fashion choice? Not as easy as it sounds, with the added problem of my size limiting the colours I can wear without being judged or laughed at. Yellow looks more like a stick of stodgy, melting butter than a sultry, cooling, citrus Calippo on my body. Whether I look good or not, I acknowledge there are some places that my own internal judgement just won’t allow me to go. Yellow was one of them, anything fully sheer and anything cropped was too. I’ve got too many scars, stretches, lumps and wrinkles to feel confident in any of those styles. Rules done….sort of.
I face an additional barrier to fashion that the old, confident Steph didn’t – making my clothes mobility friendly.
What are ‘mobility friendly’ clothes?
The online disabled voice is, thankfully, getting louder and the people behind the voices are, thankfully, becoming more visible. Those that I admire on social media, people who are normalising mobility equipment, disability and mental illness, people who are campaigning against the constant stigma we all face, people who voice our collective opinions on being targeted repeatedly, people who make disability equality a real conversation with compelling arguments, aren’t afraid to be present visibly. I admire that confidence too. They show up online with their hair styled and shining, make up fine tuned, skincare on point, and mobility equipment loud and proud to boot. Their clothes speak as clearly as they do, sometimes showing a side of their personality, their mood that day, their professionalism, or simply their humour. Never once have I seen someone speaking in this way about these subjects dressed all in black.
By speaking openly about the lived experience of disability, mental illness, stigma, and exclusion they are doing a massive service to the community already. But by refusing to fade into the background, by failing to match the grey monotone equipment we’re all forced to live with, by making society see us rather than allowing them to take the easy route and ignore us, they are doing something much more important. Their clothes are acting as a reminder that we shouldn’t be shoved to the side any more, that being the afterthought or inconvenience isn’t right, and that we have a right to be front and centre too.
However, being disabled and having to rely on any equipment means you have to think about your fashion choices a little more carefully. I’m a lover of wide leg trousers, but I need cycle clips if I wear them with my wheelchair and don’t want to tumble with no grace to the floor. Slingbacks, flip flops, and slip ons are just as risky if you have a problem walking. Struggling to keep them on my feet when my hip has frozen mid-stride is a problem I just don’t need. Summer dresses are so beautiful, and my love of the maxi dress has been constant since the first time I wore one to a wedding in the 90s. But when a gust of wind trundles inwards and I have to choose between balancing upright with one hand or revealing my pull-me-in undies to the unknown wedding party guests around me, I know the humiliating direction I’ll have to go. Safer not to wear a dress, or at least wear some cycling shorts underneath, I guess.
Specific clothing changes I’ve adopted
So, where do I begin? I need explosiveness without a bang, rainbows without hue, smiles without Turkey teeth. I started looking at the people I like, and the day-to-day outfits I’ve seen them in. Being springtime the clothes are becoming thinner and more revealing, which is welcome (especially being peri-menopausal). There’s a lot of green about, also a lot of the usual spring pastels, florals, checked shirts (hmmm) and smocked items.
Thankfully I have a couple of base items that can be adapted with accessories. The Snag-Ra skirt has always been a favourite for me. I’ve owned the knee-length black, red and purple colours for over a year. The weight of the fabric is perfect for wearing in my chair, but it has the added benefit of more length at the back to comfortably cover my chunky bum without making the skirt too short when I’m standing. Pockets are an added bonus for hiding medication, phone, wallet, and making it easier to leave a whole awkward handbag at home.
Obviously, for the new items I don’t have an endless budget, and I don’t want to make a huge number of mistakes in one go, so over the course of a few months I’ve pushed the boat out (fashion wise), My first venture into colour was a few relaxed american baseball-style t-shirts with their main colours of white, green and pink. Admittedly I’ve only tested my new attire around the house, but for comfort, ease of use with mobility aids and ability to stomach what I saw in the mirror, it had been a successful trial.
I also puchased a floral shirt dress, which I intend to double as a tied up shirt with trousers, and a floral top with a bardot neckline. Again, I can wear this in several ways with my Snag skirt or loose trousers. Finally I got a black sweatshirt with a huge floral design in the middle with the words ‘I’m Fucking Radiant’ printed on top. A reminder why I’m doing this, and telling the world what I hope they think.
The biggest change came as a shock. I have a lifelong aversion to denim because I felt I’d look awful in it, but I started to wonder if I’ve been missing out. I always liked the worn, torn look that many people rock, and my spark of admiration was reignited when I saw a disability campaigner wearing a cracking pair in her chair only a few weeks ago. No, I didn’t buy jeans, but I did buy torn, denim blue, skinny fit…
Jeggings!!!
I know this word is probably a fashion faux pas, but it was the only way I could confidently do it. At least I know they won’t get caught in my wheels, and the combinations with my new tops seem pretty endless right now.
Old habits die hard; the tops are all long to cover my c-section apron, they also cover my arms because every confidence shot in the world wouldn’t make me happy to show those, and the florals have a black base – I couldn’t do both a pattern and a colour in one go. I just knew it would gather dust in the wardrobe rather than get worn and increase my self-worth.
Nonetheless, these are all big changes.
What do I hope will happen? It’s just new clothes.
If you’re asking this question then, yes, I get it. It’s just clothes.
But to me it’s more. Three years indoors is a long time. If I’d committed some crimes I’d have spent less time at His Majestys pleasure. My personal confidence, though it may not seem this way, is incredibly low. Challenging myself to try the outside world again isn’t just something I have to work on physically, it’s a huge mental adjustment as well. While I’ve been indoors the world has changed, and I don’t really understand how to fit in anymore. The most basic human interaction within a community setting is alien to me. Buying a coffee sounds like a hazard, I’ve never waited at the school gate and our daughter is about to be 8, and it’s been more than 5 years since I visited a supermarket. Think about how much your local area has changed in that time. How many times has the layout of your local Tesco been altered? How many high street stores in your area have disappeared? I’m going to be confronted with a sea of changes and anxiety, some of which I can’t imagine or prepare for. Wearing clothes that make me appear and feel normal is something I can actually manage, and therefore worth working at getting right.
Will they help me with my self-belief when it’s time to step (or wheel) outside again? I’m not sure they’ll make the process easier, but I don’t feel anxious about wearing them and I believe I’ll fit in with the real world in a bit of colour. That’s definitely a benefit.
Black was dragging me down. The best and worst periods of my life have all been spent wearing charcoal themes that are burned-out, messy and pointless.
Lets face it, if ever need to speak about my ‘specialist subjects’ publicly (for example mental illness, suicide, baby loss, death, grief, chronic pain and disabilty) no one is going to be very interested in what I have to say if I show up in my regular wardrobe. They’ll be talking about my morose, sombre fashion sense, and wishing I looked as upbeat as I try to sound.
Maybe I speak more honestly about my feelings through my clothes? Maybe it’s a way of venting my sadness without having to shout or get angry? Maybe it’s my way of showing how pained I am inside without having to constantly have conversations about it? Or maybe, MAYBE, I’ve spent 30 years being conditioned to think that curves and pain belong hidden, and depression, differences & fatness = badness.
I dunno. You can decide. Either way, when my kid started asking to wear all black outfits herself and then asked why I do it too, I was forced to ask myself the same question. The only answer – something has to change.
I hope that eventually my confidence allows me to take an updated photo for this website that shows some clothing pizazz (god I sound old). For now I’m just hoping I’m prepping enough to make life outside feel less alien to me again.
Thanks for reading.
Creative Steph 