Picture of Brooklyn Hortenstine

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Halloween is just around the corner, and despite the CoronaVirus pandemic, many people are still planning their costumes for a variety of activities. Personally, I’ve never been much for the Halloween festivities anyway. Growing up as a wheelchair user, it just wasn’t accessible. Still, I love a good costume as much as the next person. 

Recently, I was scrolling through costume ideas when I came across people using wheelchairs and walkers as part of their costume, and some stores even selling inflatable mobility aids to help. I want to be clear here  – this was not an attempt at accessible costumes for those of us who already use mobility aids. It was marketing towards non-disabled people to buy fake mobility aids to serve as a prop in their costumes. 

When I first saw these costumes, I was confused. I’d seen and heard members of the Disability community talk about their disabilities being turned into costumes before (most notably the Blind community and The Three Blind Mice costumes), but it was never something I gave a ton of thought, and I’d never seen anyone mirror my disability in their costumes before, but that seems to have changed this year. Personally, I am not someone who becomes enraged by the idea, and I’m sure there are probably plenty of you out there thinking, “So what if they want to use a wheelchair or a walker for their costume? Maybe they’re using it for a character.” and I get where you’re coming from, I really do.

But I can’t shake the feeling I had as a little kid as my parents would drive around the neighborhood and have my siblings get my candy for me because trick or treating just wasn’t accessible. I remember thinking how badly I wanted someone to see my costume. I think about how my siblings would be yelled at and accused of lying to get more candy for themselves until my parents either told my siblings to leave it or helped me out of the car as we all struggled to get me up the stairs to prove that we were telling the truth. A feat that wasn’t just difficult because I’m unable to walk up anything without a railing, but also because Halloween nights are cold, and my muscles are spastic. It wasn’t just hard to do, it was painful. Making a costume out of our experiences disregards the impact ableism has on Disabled people and our loved ones, including our friends and caregivers

Even more, as a kid I felt utterly alone in my disability, especially when it came to big activities I couldn’t fully participate in in the same manner as everyone else. While I definitely didn’t understand representation at the time, I knew that seeing other people who were disabled and using mobility aids did wonders for my confidence and helped me feel more “normal.” While I no longer support the idea that disabilities aren’t a normal part of human life, I acknowledge kids are conditioned to think that. Now I couldn’t imagine the feeling I would’ve had to see someone like me while trick-or-treating, only to see them stop using the mobility aid when it became inconvenient. 

Put simply, inaccessibility and ableism are real problems, and they’re something Disabled people face constantly. Disability has evolved into an identity for many of us, but it is not one that comes easily. It’s a constant battle that most of us face for years. To make a costume out of us and our mobility aids and disregard them when they become inconvenient is ignoring our struggles and the real issues faced by Disabled people every single day, while turning us into an anomaly for your own entertainment. To exist as a Disabled person in this world without apology is already an act of radical resistance. 

Our experiences are not your entertainment, and our identity is not your costume.

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