My Moment as a Disability Influencer at the Disney Springs Uniqlo
and other surprises in Orlando
The Disney Springs mall in Orlando is truly a place to be: it’s startlingly perfect for people-watching, cultural analysis, and, of course, the most conspicuous of consumption. Its Uniqlo has two floors, and its proximity to the truly-its-own-planet Disney World means you don’t even have to venture into the park to get the experience: half the customers are wearing mouse ears, which, I was surprised to find, have morphed into legitimate fashion accessories, now offered in an array of colors, styles, and sparkle-amounts to render them sought-after headbands. But what I’ll remember most about my visit to the Disney Springs Uniqlo is, even more enduringly than the bright t-shirt dresses I bought, this moment:
I’m looking through their casual dresses and I hear an awed male voice ask me: “Are those Sidestix?” He can’t believe it. And yes, these carbon-fiber beauties customized to fit my measurements from some true visionaries in Canada that have transformed my relationship to walking are, indeed, Sidestix. I ask how he knows. He tells me he works for a company that’s basically their competitor, so he thinks about them all the time, but he’s never seen them in person.
My relationship to being looked at is so weird. I generally hate having my picture taken, but of course I love being on stage, and when he said that I instinctively went, “oh! well,” and demonstrated a sort of catwalk down the Uniqlo aisle so he could see them in action. We talked about the specific measurements they took and I let him hold one to see how light they were, and I told him about how the makers initially wanted measurements from my old crutches as well as the specifics of my hand-to-handle, legs, etc. and when I sent both sets of measurements the call from Canada said, “Are these correct? Because there’s a huge discrepancy between the measurements of your old crutches and the ones you gave me of yourself.”
I sighed and informed this person that, in America, literally no one expects crutches to “fit,” you’re considered lucky to have them at all for the purpose of leaving your house. But contrary to the rage of that statement, I was floating in this moment, and, even though it was the Sidestix garnering the fame, I felt like a celebrity myself. After all, I was walking with something this guy had been thinking about, a lot, but had never seen in real life, and isn’t that basically the definition of fame?
In Orlando, people asked me about accommodations without making any assumptions of their own first. I was walking around in awe of how normal my body seemed to be there. I saw more disabled people of all ages out walking around than I have ever seen anywhere in my life. When I brought this up to an adorable barista at a cafe I became attached to, she said, “Oh, yeah. I mean, I work with kids who have cerebral palsy.”
I was thinking Wait you DO?!! People around here just DO that? I haven’t met anyone who specifically worked with kids with cerebral palsy since I was the kid with cerebral palsy that people were working with. But in my day it was no one as cool as this barista, with her nose piercings and long dyed red hair and bright eyes and glowing skin. “I would’ve loved you at any age,” I told her, and since we’d both established that we were queer I honestly can’t tell you if I was hitting on her or not. Sort of? Maybe? Do such things even matter anymore?
The reason why we were talking about queerness is because someone got ON me in private for talking positively about Florida’s lack of ablism. Which is bullshit, frankly: I’m talking about my experience, not its laws to do with the LGBTQ+ community of which I’m a part, or anything to do with immigration, which this detractor didn’t even bring up, but I want to establish that, too. I was still kinda reeling from the unfortunate experience of being jumped on for talking about feeling accepted, and I assured this barista that, having lived in Texas, I’m well aware that an asshole anti-human govorner is not representitive of its people.
She informed me that, after the Pulse shooting, Orlando really came together in visible solidarity with LGBTQ+ people, and that’s why I saw more Pride and specifically-trans flags unfurled there — as well as painted onto Uniqlo’s windows — than I’ve truly ever seen anywhere. They celebrate Pride in October in Orlando, not June. And so, when my birthday rolls around this year, I’ll have something else to think about.
I didn’t expect to love Orlando. I didn’t expect to want to go back. I’m not saying I recommend a drive through Florida: Callahan was — and keep in mind that I’ve crossed the entire country 3 times now and lived in every region of it — the creepiest fucking town I have EVER been to. I can’t even describe the single image that haunts me because I have to use it in something, but suffice to say I felt firmly ensconced in a Shirley Jackson story and could not get out fast enough. “You’ve gotten sweeter since we left Florida,” Ian informed me while driving.
No doubt. But I’ll always have my soft spot for Orlando. And one of these days I’ll get out to Miami to walk the beaches and eat Cuban food with a friend I have there. Oh, I should definitely mention that the upshot of Disney owning Marvel and Orlando actually being Disney Planet, Ian bought the Black Panther version of his usual Every Man Jack Body Wash, scented as Wakanda Herbs. “It’s shameless!” he declared. Isn’t it though.
There was also a Spiderman body wash from the same brand, said to be scented like “Fresh air.”
Oh, apologies to the boy behind the counter at the Disney-themed bakery in the same miraculous mall who earnestly did his job to sell me on some desserts, thinking I was there to purchase something. O sweet hardworking young man, I only came in here so that I could see this advertised Little Mermaid cake for myself, and stare at it. Secretly, I was hoping to find a spun-sugar glass slipper, but that didn’t exist.
In the land of candied capitalism, my anti-capitalist body is more openly accepted than anywhere. I was asked if it being such a tourist hub and having to comply with regulations might have anything to do with it, but I said, “No, it’s a vibe thing. You can’t teach people to be comfortable around disabled bodies.”
You really can’t. I’ve tried! But it would appear that in Orlando, no one had to learn.