losingmylegandfindingmyfooting michellezacarias

I lost my leg when I was 9-years-old, which is honestly a terrible age to become an amputee.

Not that there is necessarily an “ideal” moment to lose a fourth of your body, but at 9years-old I was still learning so much about my “brand” and identity. Was I an alternative chick? Was I a tomboy or was I defying gender norms because I was very gay? Was I the artsy nerd who took down her ponytail and took off her glasses to then become an overnight prom queen? Could I be the beloved “hot Cheeto” girl who rocked oversized hoops and Cookie Monster pajama pants - successfully setting the bar for peak 2000’s middle school aesthetics?

I was none of that. I was an awkward pre-pubescent Latina girl who was one leg short of having a shot at being popular.

I never considered myself “fashionable” growing up. Partly because I had no sense of “style” but mostly because my disability made it impossible to find comfortable, cute and accessible brands. Nobody ever tells you that when you become disabled your clothing and shoe options become severely limited which is also the case for fat folks, trans/nonbinary folks and pretty much anyone who falls outside of fashion brand’s target demographics.

I, on the other hand, never even got to even establish how I wanted to be perceived before I was shoved into oversized jeans and black slip-on orthopedic shoes. Good shoes are imperative for lower-limb amputees; your shoes must support the entire weight of your shifting and wobbling body as you’re re-learning to walk. Shoes must withstand the wearand-tear of the impact that the prosthetic foot has on the ground. Shoes should make it easier to navigate an already ableist society.

I was always stuck with ugly brown or black Velcro sneakers that clashed with practically everything I wore. This was my abled-bodied mother’s way of dealing with the difficulty of working my prosthetic foot into shoes. I don’t particularly blame her sensible cute shoes were expensive. Orthopedic shoes are also necessary for various types of people, but we are hardly presented with a variety of options. I wish we were allowed to take up visual space, even if it means less money for corporations.

That’s the thing nobody talks about, although we make up about 27% of the U.S. population, disabled people are not seen as “profitable.” Instead, we are conditioned to shrink ourselves and hide our disabilities… or otherwise “pass” in society. After all, we are already “inconveniencing” people with our ACCESS NEEDS, God forbid we demand comfortable shoes that are reasonablypriced and look amazing with our various bodies.

I dressed in camouflage for many years, figuratively speaking. I wore whatever it was that made me disappear into the background. It was either blend in or get relentlessly bullied. In 7th grade I had a middle-school bully named Kyle who made my life a living hell. He wasn’t the only one, but he was definitely the ringleader of the group and I was his favorite target.

The first time that I recall having normal conversation with Kyle was when I showed up to school in Timberland boots. I asked my mom to buy me a pair because they were durable and easy to slip on my prosthetic foot. Unbeknownst to me, they also happened to be one of the most popular shoe brands out at the time (I was very sheltered lol). Timberlands had the structural makings of a combat boot but with a cool suede exterior and were being frequently worn by rappers like Jay Z, DMX, and members of the Wu-Tang Clan. Cam'Ron famously owned customized pink Timberlands and R&B singer Aaliyah (RIP) always wore the traditional beige ones.

I distinctly remember arriving at school that morning, putting my backpack down on my desk and hearing Kyle from behind me ask, “Are those Timberlands?”

I was too flustered by the lack of hostility and genuineness of the question to answer right away, “Um…yeah I think so.”

He looked me up and down, calculating how to respond. Meanwhile, I held my breath.

“They’re cold.”

That was probably the first and last time we ever had a conversation that didn’t involve him berating me (although honestly fuck that kid, I hope he ended up becoming a better more empathetic adult lol). The interaction left an impression on me though it allowed me to feel seen in a world that typically made me feel so invisible. At 33-years-old I still don’t consider myself “fashionable,” but I do feel confident and affirmed in my body. I don’t shrink myself anymore.

Who knew fashion could bring out the humanity in people? ￭