Who died and made total strangers the fashion police? When you make snarkey comments about someone’s hair or dress or make up have you ever stopped for just one second to ask yourself how you would feel? Whether that person needed that outfit today to lift their emotions?
In my case I have despite being permanently disabled and a wheelchair user for almost a decade, have also had an extremely painful injury that completely brought my life to a halt since September. My weight, something I was proud of having lost over 200lbs in two years was once again ballooning because my injury brought any chance of exercise to a screaming halt.
Most days since September with as I was to discover an almost completely torn left rotator cuff (97%) and small fractures of the top of the humerus where it connects to the shoulder, showering, dressing cooking or even making coffee was out of the question and pushing my wheelchair was impossible, most days my hair if I was lucky got a rudimentary brush.
February 4th this year I underwent surgery to correct it, and if I thought my life came to a screeching halt before, the pain I was feeling after was blindingly intense so most days to quote my sainted grandma I “looked like the wreck of the Hesperus”
So yesterday was my first chance to go out, I had my first physical therapy appointment so I had new sports leggings my favorite red kicks my beloved east Torrens Payenham lacrosse hoody and my beautiful Ella after washing and shampooing my hair brushed and braided my hair into perfect pigtails! Yes pigtails and last week out of sheer boredom my hair had been dyed burgundy so I felt beautiful and off we went.
Physical therapy was a total fuckup but as we left we decided to go to the union square markets to shop organic, one of Ella’s and my favorite things to do as a couple as we crossed Broadway smiling me in my power chair Ella walking Zeus the day seemed wonderful then suddenly two hipsters dressed all in labels walked past and the woman laughing in a sarcastic tone said “ooh love the braids” the air went out of my day, I wanted my hair changed I didn’t want to roll around my favorite place chatting in Tibetan for practice with the stall holders I just wanted to go home.
We were in union sq. another hour at least and I went back and forth between asking Ella how I really looked and why she let me leave the house like that and she spent the hour telling me the sarcastic bitch should have shut her mouth my hair was wonderful.
We got home by 7pm and I must have checked my hair in the mirror a dozen times.
I have always embraced what’s different when it comes to what I wear, normally she wouldn’t have worried me but on a bad day when bad shit had happened she chose that moment to act like she was the fashion police and destroy what little was left good about my day.
To the hipster bitch in union sq. wearing more labels than a steamer trunk fuck you and your sarcasm I love my braids, I love me and how dare you assume the right to judge, to all my friends out there with pink hair or blue dreads and tattoos and piercings or to the stall manager who always wears rabbit ears you fucking rock, we rock and viva la difference a friend of mine always tells her kids when they don’t like a food that someone else does” DON’T YUK ON THEIR YUM”
Yes I’m a gimp with wheels under my ass forever I’m fat I’m Trans and I shake but fuck you I matter