The day a stranger tried to interrogate me about my womb, sex life and disability while I was having lunch with a friend

Last week I had a somewhat unsettling experience. I am still trying to come to terms with it, and usually writing about it helps me to figure things out.

I had lunch with my friend Oline, and as we both had been to New York during the last few weeks (New York Crip Advisor coming soon!), we had an animated discussion about our experiences in the city.

Suddenly, a guy at the table next to us barged in, without any invitation from either of us – I hadn’t even noticed him sitting there. He was an ordinary, if slightly dishevelled looking, guy in his 60s, with an Eastern European accent.  “You from New York?” he said, and it was clearly directed at me. “No, I’m from Switzerland,” I said, slightly perplexed. The way he interrupted our conversation felt intrusive, especially as I hadn’t seen Oline for a few weeks and we had so much to discuss. “Ah, you like it better here than in Switzerland?’ he said, in the same slightly brusque manner. At this point I was wondering whether he was trying to hit on me, so I responded that I liked both, and that my husband is British.

He looked at me, assessing me, from top to bottom. “You have husband?” – “Yes.” I became perplexed and to find the situation slightly ridiculous. “You are married even though you are in a wheelchair?!” – “Yes” “Really?!” – “Yes.” I started to giggle nervously, because of the sheer ludicrousness of the moment. “It’s great that you are married even though you are in a wheelchair. I am disabled and I have no wife,” he said, pointing at his leg, which was covered by the table. So far, I hadn’t noticed that he was disabled, and my annoyance that I felt with him, for judging me, for his curiosity, for only seeing my disability, now became conflicted, because despite all of this, I felt I should feel solidarity with him as a disabled person, and empathy for his loneliness. Nevertheless, I didn’t like how he reduced me to my impairment, and how he assumed all disabled people had the same experiences as he does. Many disabled people I know are in relationships, while others are happily single out of choice, exploring their options, so I responded to him that in my experience, being disabled and being single always correlates. He bluntly responded “Oh, I think it does! Do you have children, too?” – I should have ended the conversation right there and then, but he caught me off-guard, and again, him being disabled too somehow made me feel that he deserved to be responded and to be acknowledged, even though something inside me warned me about his intrusion. I nervously giggled even more and said “not yet”, to which he responded “Ah, can you have children? Is it possible, you being in a wheelchair??” “I don’t know…” I said. He started babbling something which I couldn’t understand fully, but I think he assumed from what I told him that I never had sex before (LOL) and felt the need to comment on that. I felt confused, shocked, surprised. Why did I let a complete stranger corner me like that, why did I even answer him?! Luckily, at this moment Oline interrupted: “We are having a private conversation here, please respect that,” she told him.

That was the last time I looked at him. From that moment I focused on Oline and tried hard to shut him out, to change conversation, and shortly after he left the café, without me even noticing. I was overwhelmed and angry with myself. Why did I let that happen? Usually I don’t have a problem telling strangers to sod off when I feel they are being intrusive. However, their intrusion usually comes from a place where they are curious about disability because the know very little about it. This man, however, felt like a spectre that had come to haunt me with my deepest fears, to confront me with my own moments of loneliness, with the internalized oppression that so many disabled people struggle to shake off. The rest of the afternoon I felt spooked, and very confused.

Yet, he was also a man, a stranger, who felt he could pass judgement about me as a woman and about my womb, to interrogate me without my permission, completely uninvited. I feel that it was not okay for him to violate me like that under any circumstances. Yet I also wonder whether we, as a society, are responsible for letting things like that happen, letting people like this man to become so lonely and isolated until they find no other outlet, no other space to discuss their loneliness, than by taking advantage of unsuspecting strangers. But part of me also knows that there are safe spaces and services, even if they are rare and imperfect, where he could have taken his unhappiness, instead of imposing it on unsuspecting strangers. All I know is that I felt violated and deeply unsettled for the rest of the day, and if something like that ever happens again, I will protect myself better.

Hamburger Queen: Where fat politics and disability politics meet – and have a party!

I wrote a new blog post for Disability Arts Online about fat politics, disability politics and my experience of winning Burger Queen in 2011, a beauty pageant for fat people that is now in its fourth and final run.
Read it here: Hamburger Queen: Where fat politics and disability politics meet – and have a party! 

To learn more about Hamburger Queen and to buy tickets, go to http://hamburgerqueen.co.uk/ !

Feeling vulnerable

Two days ago, I was on my way home, crossing the street, when suddenly I felt someone pushing my wheelchair. If you are not a wheelchair user, it is probably hard to imagine what that feels like. It is startling – suddenly, someone else is governing the way you want to move around. It wasn’t a situation where I was struggling and in need of help. I didn’t ask anyone for help, not even with my eyes. Yet, this middle-aged white man feels that he can impose his charity on me and invade my personal space. You might not be surprised to hear that this happens a lot, and that it is usually middle-aged white men who I find behind me, grinning benevolently, while they fondle my wheelchair handles.

Still, I feel startled every time. Of course, there is and acute sense of danger: What if this person steers me somewhere I don’t want to go, or snatches my bag while pretending to help me? Then, it is also incredibly patronising to assume I cannot cross the street myself. It is also dangerous to violently force me to interact, while actually crossing a busy street. “I don’t like this” – I shout at him, with an angry look. He looks at me, puzzled, insulted. As I try to wheel off, he comes after me. “You didn’t need to be rude, I was just trying to help!” – “I didn’t ask for help, and you need to ask someone before you do that”. He clearly doesn’t understand, and gets angry. “You don’t have to be so bloody rude when someone is trying to help you!” – “Rude?! It is rude to touch a woman without her permission!” Now he looks even more confused, angry and aggressive. But he leaves me alone. For him, that is not what happened. To him, I am not a woman (or was I?) – maybe I am a child, a charity case, an invalid, certainly not someone who has a right to autonomy, to personal space, to move freely in my own rhythm.

Then, a day later, a similar incident happens: I am running late and decide to take a cab from Aldwych to Vauxhall. The cab driver seems friendly enough first and gets the ramp out without grumbling. But then he says: “When you’re in, I’ll turn you around and strap you in”. I am offered a bit of bondage, right there and then. Lovely! I decline and tell him that I won’t need my wheelchair to be strapped in, that I’m fine just holding onto the safety handles inside the car. He seems ok with that, but as soon as he starts driving, he begins to lecture me about how he’ll have to drive carefully because of me, and whether I am aware that there is a “correct position for wheelchair users” in cabs. I respond that I am aware but that it isn't the correct position for me, and try to change the topic. He does a little rant about another costumer, but then suddenly blurts out: “So, what’s your disability?” I feel my skin crawl.

I don’t mind it if strangers ask me what it’s like to move around in a wheelchair in a specific city, how I navigate buildings, public transport etc. But why do so many people feel the need to diagnose me? What does the name of my disability even tell about me? I have been friends with people for years without them asking about my disability. Sure, sometimes it would come up in a conversation; sometimes I bring it up myself if I feel like it somehow contributes to the conversation, to their understanding of me or my disability. It’s not that I feel uncomfortable if people know. But why does a stranger feel the need to know – why does it have to be the first thing he wants to know, before he wants to know about my job, where I live or about my husband or family? My does he feel the need to reduce me to a medical diagnosis that says nothing about the way I live my life?
“What do you mean?” I ask, pretending to be naïve. “Umm…did you have an accident?” Yes, the other day I accidentally grated my finger instead of the cheese. Do you mean something like that, dude? But the witty or assertive comebacks that I usually have ready do not come easy this time. I say “no” and then stare into my phone for the rest of the journey, while he eventually starts talking about something else.

The thing is, I need this man’s help to get out of the car. I am vulnerable, completely at his mercy. If I am acting, in his eyes, ‘rude’, it might compromise my safety or dignity. There is no one else around who I can look to for support, it is just me and him, and he is calling the shots, even though I am the paying costumer. I feel angry at myself for not telling him how incredibly rude, invasive and objectifying his behaviour is, knowing that he will probably act the same way with the next disabled person who shall be so lucky to be his passenger.

In both situations I felt violated, as a human being, as a disabled person, but also as a woman. Does my gender somehow make it easier for those men to patronise me, to disrespect my personal space? Or would they have done the same if I was a disabled man – do experiences like this feel even more humiliating to disabled men? Or just different? I have had countless similar experiences with women, where they imposed their ‘help’ on me or wanted to know ‘what’s wrong’ with me. I get just as angry, yet the power dynamic often feels somehow different. I feel more annoyed, less scared, don’t have such an acute sense that I need to protect myself.

I know that those situations usually happen because, when people see me, they are confronted with their own humanity and vulnerability. They need to know ‘what happened’ to me, so they can frame it in narratives that are familiar to them, but also tell themselves that the same thing will not happen to them. They need to help me to assert themselves of their strength, their health, their invulnerability.  Yet, it is not my impairment that makes me vulnerable, it is their invasiveness, their disrespect, their intrusion.

‘You can heal yourself with my cuddles’ – my weekend on Tinder, Part 2

This is the second part of my Tinder experiment - to read part 1, click here.
 
Saturday: When I wake up and check my phone, I have 11 new messages, one of them telling me that I got a ‘sexy look’ – just what you need to hear after a night of white wine, Kirsch and cheese fondue.

Jean-Claude*, who already started talking to me yesterday, finally has given me an answer as to whether he minds that I’m in a wheelchair: ‘Not particularly, it’s not contagious, right? ;-)’. No it’s not, Jean Claude, love your sense of humour, babes.

George, a silver fox in his 40s and quite attractive, is continuing the flirty exchange we had yesterday. He calls me ‘red’, which makes me feel like Joan from Mad Men. Meanwhile Jason, 35, just wants to make me ‘cum’ but again he doesn’t mind that I’m in a wheelchair. I politely decline.

I spend way too much time on Tinder, yet again, liking another 50 guys or so – and all of that before breakfast. After I have taken a shower and feel slightly better – that is until I see Jaric’s  (37) message: ‘Can I ask you something?’ He obviously really does want to, because he didn’t wait for answer. ‘Why are you in a wheelchair?’. I ask him why he wants to know. ‘Are you paralyzed?’ ‘Do you live alone?’ ‘Do you drive?’ I didn’t realise they are doing the ATOS assessments now via tinder. I ask him why he cares so much and is trying to assess me, and he tells me he is not, but just trying to figure out whether we can meet. ‘You can heal yourself with my cuddles!’, he promises. Better go and heal yourself, dude. I might hit you up again when I have a cold.

This would have almost put me off Tinder for good, were it not for Carl, 30 a Scotsman who recently moved to London and looks a little bit like my husband (handsome!). Via Tinder, we discuss the Scottish independence, and while we’re at it, women’s rights and abortion. Carl is one of the few guys I started talking to first. Eventually I tell him that I am on Tinder for research, and as him about his feelings about my wheelchair. He says that he didn’t notice at first when he ‘liked’ my picture, but when I started talking to him he checked my pictures out again and noticed, but, in his words, it ‘didn’t phase’ him. We now follow each other on twitter. Due to my conversation with Carl, I neglect George, the silver fox, a little bit. ‘What are you up to next weekend, Red? Would you like to meet?’ He does not mind that I’m in a wheelchair and does not stop flirting after I ask him about it, so he must have noticed from the start. They are actually decent, attractive men on Tinder who want to go on dates with me!! When I tell this excitedly to my husband over coffee, he just gives me a blank stare. ‘Why wouldn’t there be?’ For him it is normal that guys would find me attractive – he married me 2 months ago, after all. I feel a bit stupid and ungrateful after that, and go easy on the Tinder for the rest of the day.

Sunday: I decide the Tinder experiment has got to come to an end. I start by confronting all the guys I have been chatting to with my disability. Sunday morning is as good a time as any to ponder whether you would hook up with a lady on wheels, right?

Andre, 33, who is looking for ‘no-strings-attached fun’ has not noticed I’m in a wheelchair, even after going through all of my pictures, but he says he does not mind because I got ‘a pretty face’.  Toby, 38, who is clearly looking for a girlfriend, also didn’t notice. As soon as I tell him, though, he starts googling places with good access for dates. Bless his heart.

Simon (37) didn’t realise I was disabled, but when I ask him about my disability he openly tells him that he wouldn’t have flirted with me if he had noticed my chair and that he cannot bring disability and sexuality together. Oh well.  Chris, 30, meanwhile has a different issue. He chats me up, saying ‘I like your necklace, like your wheels, love your hair but your tag line sucks.’ What’s wrong with a Cher lyric?? A lot, apparently, and he tells me that Cher has not released a good song since ‘If I could turn back time’. Babes, please! The banter between us goes on for a while, but does not lad anywhere – as is the case with many Tinder conversations. I decide to change my tag-line from the non-descript Cher lyric to ‘She-Devil On Wheels’ – not because Cher’s ‘Woman’s World’ is not the best song I have heard all year, but because I wonder whether it changes anything if I hint at my disability in the tag-line. Apparently not. I do notice however that the guys who are interested in ‘real’ conversation, not just super speedy hook-ups, tend to notice my wheelchair (and generally do not seem to mind) more than the other guys.

A good example for this is Aaron, in his 30s: He tells me that he noticed the wheelchair after the match, before he messaged me. He says what first caught his eye and made him ‘like’ me was my red hair, my ‘geeky-artsy vibe’ (thanks, I guess?!), my skin and my cleavage. Fair enough. At first, he thought my tag-line was a reference to a B-movie or roller derby (Whip It, Aaron!). We continue talking for a while – we have a shared facebook friend who we both do not know very well, but we soon find out that we have more in common. I quickly tell him that I’m on Tinder for research, but he keeps on flirting with me in a subtle, gentle manner and still wants to meet me. I politely decline and tell him that I am married, which, like all the other guys on Tinder, he takes really easy (apart from one guy who scolds me: ‘Do not waste people’s time, Nina!’). However, we are now friends on Facebook now and had some interesting conversations about the advantages and disadvantages of Tinder. As a guy, apparently, it is not very easy to get any ‘likes’ on Tinder at all if you do not look like James Bond. Not even my advice, to choose a profile picture where he is holding a cute pet helped, apparently. Personally, I ‘liked’ every guy who posed with a puppy and even started talking to most of them – never underestimate the power of puppies! While for me, Tinder was mostly a massive ego boost, if I were a guy, it might have been the complete opposite.

never underestimate the power
of puppies!

It was very refreshing for me to be not reduced to my wheelchair – when going out, it is quite often the first thing that people notice (which, I guess, partly explains my penchant I developed in my early twenties for big skirts, glitter and sparkly handbags: Notice something else, already!!). On Tinder, if you are female and have a fairly regular looking face, you’re good and it’s a wonderful little tool to play with, to keep you entertained and get a nice little ego kick out of. It really surprised me that for the majority of guys, my disability did not play a role at all. I do wonder why some many guys did not notice I’m in a wheelchair: An assumed nondisabled identity seems to be a given in the world of online dating, just as much as when I was 15 years old. While some guys just do not seem to engage properly with the profiles of the people they talk to, some seem to actively block the wheelchair out.

My biggest surprise on Tinder, apart from its strange addiction-forming power, was that about half of the guys seemed to be interested in real conversation, a date and not just a quick hook up – it seems slightly less sex-obsessed that Grindr, although there might be regional differences with Tinder (I heard the New York Tinderers are quite dodgy). At least in theory, the basic profiles lead to objectifying, but more so of faces than of bodies.  Personally, I found it a positive experience, although slightly addictive, and I have yet to hear about a relationship that was formed via Tinder. But then, crazier things have happened and there are some really decent, handsome and smart guys on Tinder – I wish them the best of luck.

*All names of Tinder guys changed.

‘You can heal yourself with my cuddles’ – my weekend on Tinder, Part 1

A few weeks ago, the fabulous Stella Young started a discussion about Tinder on facebook. Tinder is the dating app du jour, and has been touted as the Grindr for straight people – a hook-up tool, basically. In her post, Stella, who is single, wondered what the Tinder experience would be like for herself, a wheelchair user, but could not quite bring herself to give it a go – she was too worried to attract creeps or to ‘bump’ into someone she knows on Tinder. This is possible, because Tinder matches you with people who are within a certain radius from each other, and, as you use your facebook profile to log in, also shows you mutual facebook friends or facebook likes.

As a newly-wed who isn’t that bothered anymore how many creepy guys are out there, or about guys who might reject me because of my disability, I decided to act as a guinea pig for Stella. One of my PhD chapters focuses on disabled burlesque artists, after all, so I am very interested in attitudes towards sex and disability. Way back when I was 14, I met my first boyfriend in a chat room (gosh I’m old) so I had some experience in online dating. I remember vividly how my-teenage self was in anguish every time I revealed my disability to a guy online – often after weeks of talking. Tinder is hugely different to those chat rooms: You get to flip through lots of pictures of the sex you are interested in, and press ‘like’ if you find someone attractive, and ‘nope’ if you don’t. If you want to, you can also read the person’s ‘tag line’ (quite often something very impersonal, such as ‘Don’t be shy, talk to me’ or ‘Your move’) or see additional pictures, but in reality you only engage minimally with those people at this point, and quickly move on to the next person. If you ‘like’ someone and they have ‘liked’ your picture too, you get a notification that there has been a match, and you get the option to start chatting. If someone does not ‘like’ you, you are unable to contact them and vice-versa, so in theory Tinder is very efficient and does not make you feel rejected. As all your matches live or work relatively close to you, it is then quite easy to arrange date, if you wish to do so. But how does Tinder work for people who are disabled? I was determined to figure it out, and so I spent a weekend on Tinder – with permission from my husband, of course.

Friday: I carefully choose the pictures to set up my Tinder profile. They have to fulfil three requirements: a) not make me look like a troll, b) show that I’m in a wheelchair and c) not have my husband in it or show me in a wedding dress. This proves to be difficult. I want it to be obvious that I’m in a wheelchair, but at the same time I don’t want the wheelchair to be the primary focus. Eventually I find three I can use – in all of them parts of my wheelchair is visible, but they also show off my face, my hair and my, erm, cleavage.
 

My Tinder profile picture

As I am flicking through the first 20 pictures or so of guys, I am positively surprised how attractive most of them are – this clearly isn’t an App for the desperate. I make sure I ‘like’ a wide spectrum of guys: Ones I find genuinely cute or interesting looking, and also ones that seem creepy, desperate or funny, judging from their picture. Within seconds I have about 10 ‘matches’, and I find it amusing and strangely addictive to flick through dozens of pictures, but I’m a bit confused – if all those guys like me, why is no one talking to me? I decide to be bold and say ‘Hi’ to two of them. Nothing. Stella informs me that her Tinder-savvy friend ‘NEVER’ makes the first move but waits for guys to talk to her, so I flick through some more pictures, ‘like’ another 50 or so (about half of the guys who come up), and then do something else for a bit.

Tinder is set up like a game – after you have been matched with a guy, you get the option to either start chatting, or to ‘continue playing’ – and what you play with are the profiles of other people, and their pictures. Tinder is extremely objectifying, but I wonder: As it only allows someone to approach you who you have objectified too, reduced to their profile picture, does this make it somehow okay?

I have a brief moment of 'uaaaaargh' when I come across the profile of an ex-boss of mine. His profile picture is a bare-chested selfie, where he is sporting his usual smug grin. His wife and children are not in the picture, of course. With some other guys I seem to share a mutual facebook friend here and there, but it doesn't bother me. I wonder whether it would bother me more to come across aquaintances if I was on Tinder to actually get a date, not just as a social experiment. I guess the same principle applies here as does to Grindr: The people you come across on it have engaged in the same act as you have, so you should feel equally ashamed, or both not ashamed at all. I also don't see why there should be so much stigma attached to it - Tinder seems like a relatively safe way to engage in what thousands of people do in clubs and bars every night. If anything, I think the facebook connection add a false sense of security - if I can, at least in theory, easily look this person up, and if this guy even is friends on facebook with that lady I once met at a gig 3 years ago, how dangerous can he be?

After about half an hour, I have about 5 guys talking to me. One of them greets me with the words ‘you are exquisite, Nina’. So far, the tinder experience is certainly soothing for the ego. Two of the guys I am talking to seem very eager to hook-up and suggest a blind date during the weekend. Both of them are roughly my age and fairly handsome. Dan* works in the city and our talk mostly consists of sexual innuendo, disguised in a conversation about coffee. Unfortunately he does take it all a bit too far when he compares his love-making skills to an extra-shot latte. Good luck with that in the future, Dan. I initially agree to meet Dan, and also agree to meet Josh, who is roughly my age but a bit taciturn. But all of this seems a bit too easy – neither of them has mentioned y disability with a word. Has our society changed so much since I am not on the market anymore? Am I that old? Has dating turned into a level playing-field? Become crip-indifferent? When guys have approached me in real life to chat me up, in at least 50% of the cases my wheelchair or disability comes up within the first 15 minutes, and I tend to be reduced to my disability. On Tinder I get reduced to my face (which apparently is 'nice' and 'sweet', according to some generous Tinderers), and my hair, specifically my fringe, which apparently classifies me as a 'vintage bird'. Oh brave new world, where my hair and my disability are of equal interest!

 

Another picture on my Tinder profile

Unsatisfied with the results of my ‘research’, I ask both of them: ‘Do you not mind that I’m in a wheelchair?’, and for a very brief moment, I feel 14 again. This bittersweet moment is interrupted with a message from Dan, saying: ‘No I am presuming that doesn’t inhibit coffee drinking, or anything else other than walking/stairs? ‘, and a minute later Josh informs me that he hadn’t noticed, but that he still wants to meet me, and am I free tonight? I rejoice at these indifferent attitude towards my disability, and dutifully inform them that I am married, on here for research but really grateful for their time. Both of them take this, as well, incredibly easy and wish me a nice evening or good luck with my research. During the next few hours, I have a few more contenders, and a remarkable amount of guys does not seem to register that I’m in a wheelchair. One guy stops talking after I ask him whether he minds my wheelchair, while two more ask me more or less directly whether it inhibits sexual activity, and when I answer in the negative, they are as keen as ever.

A very different experience I have with Conrad, who is 52 (and certainly not in the attractive/interesting looking category): Almost straight away, he tells me how great it is that I don’t let my chair ‘cramp’ my ‘style’. When I ask him what he means, he waffles on, saying that ‘it would be easy to let it define’ me so ‘it’s great’ I don’t ‘allow it to!! Thumbs up, smiley!!’ When I tell Conrad that his view is slightly ridiculous and offensive, he doesn’t get it, just as he doesn’t get the irony of what he says. Whatevs, on to the next one – Mike, 33, who greets me with a simple ‘Wow!’. At this point I am starting to feel strangely addicted to Tinder, so much that my husband, who is usually the most patient, sweetest guy in the world, is getting angry and tells me off, so I shut off my phone for the night. Grumpy husband aside, I really like Tinder and the ego boosts it seems to offer so far.


Check back for Part 2 of my Tinder experience in a few days! Have you been on Tinder? If so, how do you like it?

My blog has moved...

I have started doing a blog over at Disability Arts Online about disability in the media and culture.

So far I have written about:

 - The blind cook Christine Ha who won Masterchef US

- How an online magazine mistook Viktoria Modesta's prosthetic leg for a fashion faux pas

- and how Channel 4's show 'Undateables' is inspiration porn at its worst

Since I am doing all my disability related writing there, and still write regular articles at Love My Dress about my wedding preparations, this blog inactive.

See you on DAO or on Love My Dress!

Going to the chapel and we're...

This is just a quick personal post to announce that my boyfriend Bobby has asked me to be his wife, and I said yes.

I am really over the moon and very happy and excited. We will get married in about a year, which gives me just enough time to plan my big fat crip wedding.

I might need the help of Franck the wedding planner soon!

It is only when I got engaged that I became interested in weddings and wedding planning, and I was surprised to discover that there is a whole world out there of all kinds of websites and blogs about weddings, alongside with many glossy bridal magazines. However, I quickly discovered that many of those cater to a hetero-normative, non-disabled audience (just like most women's magazines do). During the first week of wedding planning I realised that there were many access-specific things I had to think about, and that planning an accessible wedding would be a huge learning-process for me.
I then got in touch (via a friend of a friend - thanks Emma and Daniella) with the lovely Annabel, who has a hugely successful wedding website called Love My Dress, and she invited me to write a series of articles, one each month, about planning a disabled wedding.

The series is called 'Confessions of a Disabled Bride', and I hope it will not only be useful for disabled brides and grooms, but also for engaged couples that have close friends or relatives that are disabled. My first post is now up on Love My Dress, and it's about my engagement and questions to ask wedding venues if you want to find out about their access.

I am really grateful to Annabel for giving me this opportunity to write about this, and I hope the blog will spark some discussion or food for thought.

I looked much more excited than this when Bobby put a ring on it!

YAYY I'M GETTING MARRIED!!

Spare Parts

The last few weeks seem like a strange fantasy dreamland in retrospective: Thanks to the Paralympics, not only sports became more diverse, inclusive and exciting, but London 2012 also gave disability culture a massive boost. For 12 days, disability was everywhere, from disabled comedians on TV and on stages to films and plays by disabled artists and exhibitions on disability.

One of those exhibitions, that was not part of the official Cultural Olympiad, was 'Spare Parts'. It is curated by a young Australian lady, Priscilla, who had the idea for the project when she found a few of her own old prosthetic legs stored away in a cupboard. Held at the 'Rag Factory', off Brick Lane, 'Spare Parts' showcased prosthetic limbs turned into artworks by a wide range of artists. In addition, it' also showed futuristic-feeling prosthetic limbs that are made with cutting-edge technology - Priscilla admits having a bit of a crush on Paralympic 'Blade Runner' Oscar Pistorius, who might have served as an inspiration for those exhibits.  There are also a few photographs displayed of amputees with special, customized prosthetic limbs. One of the glamourous ladies depicted is London's very own performance artist, model and fashionista Viktoria Modesta, who starred in the Paralympic Closing Ceremony.

The exhibition showcases that prosthetic limbs can be fun (a little girl proudly presents her artificial Barbie leg) and sexy - both the artists and the owners of the limbs have turned them into objects of desire. Upon seeing a diamond-encrusted hook, I am startled at how stunningly beautiful it is and my first reaction is 'I wish I had this!', before I can actually process the connotations of this thought.

'Spare Parts' definitely challenges preconceptions about artificial limbs and about beauty, in a similar way that Sue Austin's 'Creating the Speactacle!' creates a new dialogue and desirability around the wheelchair.

Unfortunately, 'Spare Parts' was only on during the Paralympics, but below are a few pictures of the exhibtion that Priscilla allowed me to take. Enjoy.

Zoe and her flowery leg that is now replaced by a Barbie leg

 

Viktoria Modesta and her steam-punk leg

The naughty Vagina arm

I am your private dancer... Promenade Performance at the Unlimited

I wrote a review of Fittings Multimedia Art's spooky promenade theatre production 'The Ugly Spirit' for Disability Arts Online, which you can check out here.

This experience left me deeply unsettled, which is good, but it's also not necessarily one I would like to repeat. Ever. Janice Parker's 'Private Dancer', though, is a completely different kettle of fish. By relatively simple means, Parker has achieved to create magical, individual moments in her promenade dance production.

I knew before we saw the production that it would somehow involve dancers inviting -or not inviting- people into their 'rooms'. I also knew that most dancers were disabled, most of them having learning disabilities. As we entered the Level 5 Function room, a very neat and proper middle-aged gentleman told us a bit about the history of the Southbank Centre, and of the level on which we were at, which included a 'Royal Box'. As a big fan of her majesty, I was very keen to see this.

Our majesty at the opening of the Royal Festival Hall in 1951

We were then lead into a room, which was dominated by a wooden construct, which was divided into different small rooms with closeable doors. We were then explained that in each room, there would be performers, and that they could select us, one at a time, to be intivited into the rooms. As the music started playing, a few people were taken instantly by the hand and led into one of the rooms. Sometimes, doors were left opened, and all the rooms had little holes through which the performance could be seen from the outside, but I was very keen to be invited in and became slightly disappointed when it didn't happen for a while.

When I did finally get invited,  I felt very intrusive entering the girl's 'room'. Yes, I had been invited in by the person guarding the door, but I still felt voyeuristic, watching as the girl danced in front of a cluttered desk, and was glad when the short performance was over. However, when I left the room I almost instantly felt a light touch on my shoulder and was invited into the next room. In there was a middle-aged woman with grey hair, sat in a wheelchair. She got up from the chair for her performance, and her dancing had a fascinating frailty and strength at the same time. She had a naughty twinkle in her eyes, which reminded me of Zoe Wanamaker, while my boyfriend, who was invited into her room too, compared her to Helen Mirren.  It was a joy to watch her, and I felt incredibly lucky to be chosen to go into her room. After that, I was invited into another room, in which two girls where performing. It seemed less personal and intimate to watch two people, but almost had the feel of going to the house of a friend and having a little dance before going clubbing.

The construct of 'Private Dancer'

What I think is fascinating about Private Dancer is that the experience is different for everyone in the audience.  Even if you have seen the same people as someone else, you have not seen them at the same time and you will never know whether the performance was the same or completely different. The production makes you go through a roller-coaster of emotions: the anxiety of whether you will be invited in, possible unease as you enter someone's space, and an intimate connection with a dancer, which seems very special, as dance performances usually happen for a big audience, which always made me feel somewhat detached from performances. Before the event was over, all the dancers left their rooms and created, together with all of the audience members, a massive disco moment as Blondie's 'Atomic' came on.  It felt really relieving to celebrate and move around, and to have a moment shared with everyone in the room.

The production made me think about intimacy and privacy, things that are often not respected by your environment when you are a disabled person. For many people with a learning disability, it is very difficult to have a space where you can be intimate with someone, and for many people with physical impairments even the most private acts, like having a bath or getting dressed, require the help of a carer. From my own experience I feel that privacy and intimacy did not come easily - as a child, I needed the help of my parents for many things a lot longer than my brother did, and I spent a lot of time at hospitals where people wander in and out of your room all the time without having to ask for permission. I think the idea to give disabled people a space where they can create intimate and autonomous performances is very subversive and it felt like a big privilege to see such a performance.

Unlimited Day 2: In Water I'm Weightless and Mat Fraser's Criptease Unlimited

On Friday I saw two amazing things at the Unlimited: Kaite O'Reilly's play 'In Water I'm Weightless' and 'Criptease Unlimited', which had Mat Fraser and other disabled people undress and do burlesque performances. I was very pleased that both things had Mat Fraser in it, so I was in fangirl-mode all night.
My review for Criptease is up on Disability Arts Online, an online journal, and you can read it here. below is my review of 'In Water I'm Weightless'. 

'In Water I'm Weightless' starts off like a fashion show. Pounding music and bright lights is the backdrop as the five actors enter the stage in elaborate gowns, suits and striking headpieces. The characters take turns in shouting at the audience, shouting that we are all the same, we are all mortal. After this impressive beginning, 'In Water I'm Weightless' goes on to explore how the story of the five characters overlaps, and how it overlaps with everyone's story.
The characters go through moments when they are dancing and celebrating. But they also go through passages where they are sad, angry or struggling. Many scenes shift from one emotion into another, for example when Sophie Stone does a scene entitled 'things I have lip-read. The ablist, and often sexist quotes her character has lip-read are deeply unsettling. Her reaction to them, however, and the obvious fact that her character is not anything like the quiet, submissive deaf girl men assume her to be, create a lot of humour and laughter.

Sophie Stone in In Water I'm Weightless

 Kaite O'Reilly, who wrote 'In Water I'm Weightless', has created a piece that is fragmented and mostly consists of monologues, but also tells a captivating story. The characters are constantly frustrated with the way the medical profession and society try to govern their lives and their bodies, and manage to escape this control for short periods, in which they express themselves through music and fascinating dance performances. Some of those sections have a very sexual feel to them. This sexuality is celebrated tenderly through the performers' movements and stands in opposition to the objectification of their bodies by doctors and authorities.
The characters express the tension between the way they are seen and the way they see themselves. However, the play manages to transcend the idea that only disabled people have to deal with this tension and instead, 'In Water I'm Weightless' shows a wide rainbow of emotions that are universal and left me deeply unsettled, in a good way.

Unlimited Day 1: 'Making creative performance for Deaf and hearing audiences' and Writing Workshop with Kaite O'Reilly

Yesterday was the kick-off day at the Southbank Centre for the Unlimited Festival. The first thing I attended was a talk about how to make creative performances accessible for both Deaf and hearing audiences.

Obviously, it is fairly commom to have a BSL interpreters standing on the side during a performance. However, all the artists at the talk where passionate about their belief that making a performance accessible can be a creative element in itself that should be explored and played with.

Ramesh Meyyappan, who shows his play Skewered Snails at the Unlimited next Thursday, explained how he uses 'performance language' and a 'visual vocabulary' to transcend the boxes of spoken English and British Sign Language. He uses neither in his very physical plays and completely relies on visuals, facial expressions and movement.

Sophie Woolley, meanwhile, who starred in the brilliant TV show Cast Offs and wrote a play for Children for the Unlimited called Bee Detective, said that in earlier work she relied on captioning, and tried to make the captions look beautiful and very much as part of the set design. For Bee Detective this approach did not work, however, as the main audience are young children who might not be able to read the captions. Instead, performers speak and sign simultaneously, something that can be difficult as sometimes sentences are structured completely different in BSL than they are in spoken English, so Sophie had to play around with some of the text as the rehearsals went along.

Jenny Sealy, artistic director of Graeae and artistic co-director of the Paralympic opening ceremony, and Kaite O'Reilly, who has her play In Water I'm Weightless performed at the Unlimited, very much agreed that the play or performance should inform and influence the way a play should be made accessible.

Towards the end of the talk, an audience member asked the four creatives how they market their plays. Ramesh, Sophie and Jenny all said they try not to emphasize that it's a 'deaf play', as this might scare off non-disabled audiences. Kaite, meanwhile, gave a very passionate shout out to 'crip pride' and says that she fully embraces her disabled identity and the disabled identity of people she works with.

This sentiment left me with a lot of excitement for Kaite O'Reilly's writing workshop, which I attended next, and those were indeed extremely versatile, fun, educational and encouraging two hours.  During the workshop we talked about the way disabled characters are usually portrayed and how the basic structures of a play, or of storytelling, may be partly responsible for the widely metaphoric use of disability - the protagonist has to overcome obstacles - and hey, who isn't better at that than disabled people? The first part of the workshop gave everyone a lot of food for thought and was absolutely inspiring in the best sense of the word.

In the second half, we talked about audio description in theatre and how this might be used creatively, especially in combination with making a play accessible for deaf audiences. I loved how Kaite embraces not only own disability, but truly believes that including everyone both on stage and in the audience makes for better, more exciting theatre and leads to new experiences and insights, which is a sentiment I share wholeheartedly.

Pushing beyond what's expected?

Since the Kardashians seem now to have spin-off shows for every combination of family members possible, the market for new reality TV shows seems rather saturated. But apparently, American TV channel Sundance thought otherwise and found a new twist on the genre: At the moment, it is airing the first season of a show called Push Girls. 

Push Girls

It centres around 5 sexy ladies living in California, but what sets them apart from Krazy Kim & co. is not only that they are not related, but also that they are all - wait for it - in wheelchairs, which is definitely a far cry from other reality TV episodes that include disabled people.

The Kardashians keep up with disability inclusion.. or something.

Intrigued, I started watching Push Girls, and so far I have mixed feelings about it, but I like it well enough to keep watching.
While the show definitely uses the supercrip trope and aims to portray those disabled women in a 'positive' light, it also addresses some social or political issues. Some of those are clearly linked to disability, for example when Push Girl Mia has difficulties finding accessible housing. Other issues, however, are relatable for everyone, and this is Push Girls' strong point. Auti, one of the main ladies, has difficulties getting pregnant, but the main reason for this is not her disability, but that she is 42 years old.
The advantage of using 5 disabled women as the main cast is that there is no token disability girl whose storyline is built only around her wheelchair.  The producers have to find other storylines that set the girls apart from each other, and for some parts of the show the wheelchairs fade into the background, and we might as well watch the Sex and the City girls. Those moments definitely make Push Girls interesting for me, as they provide a much needed example that disabled people, can be interesting and funny on TV even when the disability is not on focus. For a light-hearted genre like a reality show, this is definitely a step in the right direction, especially because I think disabled women who are not portrayed as damsels in distress or as de-feminized are still underrepresented in the media.
And those Push Girls are modern, feminine, girl power ladies: They all date, have careers, work out and always sport perfectly blow-dried hair and glossy lips. Indeed, they positively remind me of the Becky Barbie doll, who was released in the 90's and created a small scandal when her wheelchair could not access Barbie's dream house and thus was a bit too realistic for over-protective parents.

Push Girl Tiphany

Barbie's friend Becky
 

The main flaw of Push Girls are its narrow standards of both female beauty and disability. All five women were born non-disabled, and four of them had car accidents during their 'wild' youth that left them disabled. They all have bodies that look, at least in clothes, non-disabled and respond to the narrow Hollywood standard of female beauty.  It's not a show about disability, it's not even a show about women in wheelchairs. It's a show about women who look like models, had a car accident and are now paraplegic. Is this really the only way disability can be shown on TV in a sexy manner? I won't go on about Hollywood beauty standards, as I find it a tiresome and frustrating subject, but I do wish non-disabled viewers of Push Girls were not left under the impression that all wheelchair users had car accidents, and I think the show could stick closer to reality by showing someone with a body that looks different from a non-disabled body, as I think right now they leave out to represent a huge part of wheelchair users.

Push Girl Chelsie

The 'car accident' back stories, which are brought up in almost every episode, are there, I think, so that a non-disabled audience can relate to the women, thinking 'oh, they were just like me'. But because they are brought up so often, they do amount to a giant snooze-fest and are frustrating for the disabled audience, because such a narrow disabled identity is portrayed. It is interesting to see how different the women deal with their disability, butif the producers would add one person to the cast who was born disabled, it would bring much needed variety to the show and provide a different view-point, so the show would be much more representative of wheelchair users than it is right now.
It is good to see that a TV show portrays disability in a stylish, light-hearted and sexy manner and shows real disabled women. But Push Girls could be much more representative, interesting and less repetitive if the cast was a bit more diverse.

The Dean Rodney Singers are on tonight.. Interview time!

Welcome to the magical world of The Dean Rodney Singers. It's a magical music project that involves 7 dimensions, 7 countries, 72 musicians and is inspired by dreams, bright colours and superheroes. Sounds wicked, doesn't it?

Dean Rodney, front man of the punk/funk/hip hop group The Fish Police, created this project together with Heart'n'Soul, an arts organisation that provides artistic opportunities to learning disabled people.

Seven countries are part of the Dean Rodney Singers, and each country represents another dimension of Dean Rodney's vision.

During the Unlimited, The Dean Rodney Singers' project will take over a space at the Southbank Centre, and will also present dance videos and remixes that people have uploaded through youtube. Unfortunately I missed the deadline to do something, but you can watch their call out here:

In anticipation of their Unlimited project, Heart'n'Soul granted me a little interview, talking about the ideas behind the project, about the Unlimited and about how the Dean Rodney Singers have been received by the media so far. You can read it below. Enjoy!!

SW: The Dean Rodney singers project sounds amazing, all those different Countries and even dimensions that are involved! I also love how people could do their own videos or remixes to be involved (unfortunately, I missed the deadline myself to do something). What was the initial inspiration, or idea, behind the project? 

The initial idea came from a dream that lead artist Dean Rodney had in 2008. In the dream he saw a band with 72 different performers and they were called ‘DRS’. The band wasn’t sure what ‘DRS’ stood for, so Dean named them the ‘Dean Rodney Singers’.

 

SW: In what respect, do you think, is the Unlimited different to other disability arts events?

What makes Unlimited different to other disability arts events is the scale and ambition of the project.  It’s not putting disability arts into a box, it’s about recognizing that there are deaf and disabled artists in the UK whose work is suitable for the global platform that the Paralympic brings. Unlimited is putting their work on a par with all the other artists commissioned for the Cultural Olympiad.  

SW: Do you think the Unlimited will create a legacy for the disability arts?

I think that Unlimitedwill definitely create a legacy. However, perhaps one of the best legacies would be for the term ‘disability arts’ to become less important and for people to think more about the individual artists involved in the programme and their creative opportunities. 

SW: How was the response of the media so far regarding this project?

4. The media response to Unlimited has been very positive so far. Our experience has been one of genuine interest in the creative product rather than the traditional focus on the artist’s disability. 

SW: Thank you very much for the interview, Heart'n'Soul. Can't wait to bust some moves to the Dean Rodney Singers!

Unlimited Under the Sea

What makes London 2012 special is that there seems to be a strong focus on promoting and showcasing the arts alongside the sports.
The most exciting series of cultural events this summer for me are the Unlimited commissions, which are projects by disabled and deaf artists in the UK.
Some of the commissions are being shown right now around the country: comedian Laurence Clark and dancer Caroline Bowditch have taken their shows to Edinburgh, and 'In Water I'm Weightless, written by the welsh playwright Kaite O'Reilly and starring, amongst others, Mat Fraser, is on at the National Theatre Wales.
During the time the Paralympic games are on, all the commissions will be shown in London, and most of them at the Southbank Centre.
In the next few weeks, I hope to post many reviews or articles about the Unlimited, as I am very excited about it. Most projects seem absolutely amazing, and there should be something for everyone, regardless your interests.

The most stunning image I have seen so far of the Unlimited, and its main marketing image, is a Little Mermaid-esque performance with a self-propelled underwater wheelchair by Sue Austin.
When I was a little girl, I used to be obsessed with Disney's Little Mermaid, and to be honest, I still am - Ariel is the main reason I dyed my hair red. But I always thought that if only Ariel had gotten herself a wheelchair to go around on land, instead of those legs sponsored by the sea witch, she could have saved herself a lot of trouble. For that reason, Sue Austin's project resonates with me, and I can't wait to see more of it. Her 'Creating the Spectacle!' project will be shown in the Southbank Centre from the 1st of September until the 9th.
You can see Sue's, and many other projects, for free, but some events require tickets. More information on the Unlimited Festival at the Southbank Centre can be found here.

What about the Superhumans?

Yesterday, I had an interesting discussion with my friend, and fellow Disability Studies academic, Louise Hickman about the Paralympics in general and about Channel 4's 'Meet the Superhumans' advert for the Paralympics, which you can watch here.

 It has inspired (no pun intended) me to write down my thoughts about the advert.

First of all, I like the ad, for the simple reason that I think it does what it should do, without grossly offending anyone.
It does make the Paralympics seem cool, fresh and interesting. The two main attributes of the video that make this happen are the music, and the scene with the pregnant mother, the car crash and the war scene.

The music is by Public Enemy. Now, if you are really into disability activism, you might shout out: 'Why didn't they let someone who is disabled themselves provide the music? The Dean Rodney Singers, for example?'
Because the music works. It is exciting and energetic, and provides a great rhythm for the video. It makes you move and it makes you want to be involved with what's on the telly. Also, I think the main goal of the video was to make non-disabled people buy a ticket for the Paralympics.  In a day and age, when Blogger still highlights the word 'Paralympics' for me, because apparently it is not a real word, and maybe I meant 'Paralytics' instead, that's a reasonable goal, in my book.
It is a shame that disabled musicians are vastly underrepresented in the charts, and I do hope Channel 4 will do their bit to include Disability Arts alongside their Paralympics coverage, but for this video, the track works perfectly. It seems like they wanted to use a well-known artist that is liked by many people and Stevie Wonder probably wasn't available to do a song.

So we have some sporty people with amazing bodies, and some good music. A nice video, but not enough to make it all that memorable. Enter the pregnant lady, the war scene and the car crash scene.

 
In the audience that is not aware of most of the discourse around disability, this triggers probably some uncomfortable feelings, which are quickly resolved when the scene is over and the video goes back to showing the athletes, full of energy and life. It can suggest, but only very subtly, the context of disabled people overcoming struggles, being inspiring and all that. It can also suggest that most of those athletes have a human-interest story to tell. Both those things are problematic from a disabled activist point of view, but again, it might be just what it needs to fill those stadium seats.
Also, those scenes show disabled people everywhere that while they might not have the gorgeous bodies of the athletes, or their energy, we all have this story in common, and we all have in common that people want to know about it, whether we like it or not. Because the scene does not clearly mark those events - the car crash, the bomb' as horrible or tragic, but just acknowledges that they are part of the story, in my point of view the the video works, with a little bit of goodwill, both for a disabled and a non-disabled audience.

At no point the athletes seem to be struggling with their bodies - or at least, not more than any athlete would. Sports on this level always includes a struggle with one's body - the idea, that one has to push their body beyond its limits to achieve things that maybe it was not built for. It doesn't imply that ALL disabled people are superhumans, but that the paralympic athletes are - just like all athletes you've met before you met those superhumans.