This video shows a team of designers rebuilding clothing mannequins to resemble differently-abled bodies. It’s a moving story, well-worth the few minutes it will take to watch it.
For me, this video highlighted the oddness that I sometimes feel when techs are building the “cosmesis” of my prosthetic leg–the sculpted form that creates the structure to give my metal innards a symmetrical form. They trace my organic leg and then shape firm foam into a matching shape, shaving it down a bit here and there to make it look proportional, and then we test it under clothing to ensure that the fabric flows smoothly and doesn’t bunch up around the knee or gather in odd ways at the hip or crotch. In this process they build me a cosmetic leg with all of the requisite properties of leg-ness, despite it being a completely function-less addition to my body.
Due to still being in a phase where my new prothesis is being adjusted often (like today, it’s just started making a clanking noise as I walk around corners–time to go back in and figure out what’s going wrong), I’m not wearing any cosmesis at all. The asymmetry between my legs makes most clothing looks a bit strange, such as when the right pantleg of my wool trousers flaps back and forth in the wind as I walk across campus, or when I am sitting in a meeting and my right knee comes to an obvious narrow point instead of being neatly rounded like my organic leg.
And while I think my bionic parts are uber-cool looking, at work I rarely wear short skirts or other clothing that shows my metal innards. Because it’s so much easier to “pass” than to have my body be a spectacle to passersby (or colleagues or students). I’m not at all embarrassed of being cyborg, but it adds a layer of inconvenience to my interactions that I prefer not to introduce in my professional setting.
But on the weekends, it’s a different story. Then I wear short skirts and sandals and enjoy letting my robot hang out there for anyone to see.
shadow, at the beach
