can you tell i like the moon :)

I meant it when I said this is a really, really a common trope, so much so that the majority of the media I've seen with amputees and characters with limb differences that released in the last decade or end up using it. Even stories where becoming an amputee is treated like a fate worse than death, ironically, aren't excluded from this. I have a few theories as to why this has happened: The pessimistic answer is that it's easy. You get to have a disabled character and claim you have disability representation, without really having to do much extra work or research because most of your audience won't notice if you aren't accurate - in fact they kind of expect it. You also, for the most part, dodge the backlash other kinds of disability representation (or really any minority representation) usually get. The more optimistic reason is that, for a long time, amputees and people with limb differences (as well as a lot of other disabled people) were predominantly shown in media as sad, depressed and unable to do anything, very much falling into the "sad disabled person" trope. As a kid, this was really the only way I saw people like me on screen or in books. And so, the limb difference community pushed back against that portrayal and were pretty successful in changing the narrative in the public's eye. A little too successful. A lot of creatives were genuinely trying to do right by our community, listen and do better, but many simply overcorrected and instead ended up creating stories where prosthetics were essentially cures instead of the mobility aids they are. I also think the public's general lack of understanding about disability plays a roll in all this. There are a lot of people who, in my experience, believe that the more visible a disability is, the worse it is. Limb differences and amputations are very visible, but prosthetics, even those that aren't trying to be discreet, make them less so. While using a prosthetic is very, very different to a biological limb, you won't necessarily see how in a casual interaction with, say a co-worker or neighbor, especially because there is a very real stigma applied to people with limb differences to keep those things hidden from the public. There are other reasons too, such as the fact that a lot of creatives don't even consider the connection to real amputees when creating characters with robotic limbs in genres like sci-fi and some fantasy, so they never stop to consider that these tropes could be impacting real people. Amputees are also very frequently used in "inspiration porn" content that uses the angle that disabilities can be "overcome" with a good attitude, downplaying the way those disabilities actually impact us. The prosthetics industry - specifically the component manufacturers, often also push the idea of prosthetics being the only way to return to a "normal" life, both to the wider public and to people with limb differences and amputations (which can add to that sense of shame I mentioned when it doesn't play out that way for them). On top of that, I also think the recent increase in popularity of concepts like trans-humanism contributes to it as well. these movements often talk about robotic or bionic body parts being enhancements and "the way of the future", and I think people get a bit too caught up on what may be potentially possible in the future with the real, current experiences of people with "robotic limbs" aka prosthetics, now. There are also inherently disabling things that come with removing and replacing parts of your body, things that will not just go away with some fancier tech.

So How do you actually avoid the trope?

So, we have some ideas about why it happens, but how do you actually avoid the "perfect prosthetic" trope from appearing in your work? The most important thing is to remember that this is still a disability. The loss of a limb, even with the best prosthetic technology or magical item in the world, will always have some inherently disabling aspects to it - and this is not a bad thing. The key is to not over-do it, lest you risk falling into the old "sad disabled person" trope. So let's go over some of the ways you can show how your character's disability impacts them. You don't have to use all of these recommendations, just choose the ones that would best fit your character, their circumstances and your setting.

The prosthetic itself is just different

Probably the most important thing to address and acknowledge for prosthetic-using characters, is the actual ways in which the prosthetic itself is different from a biological limb, and the drawbacks and changes that come with that. For the sake of simplicity, I'm mainly going to focus on modern prosthetics here, but it's worth considering how to apply this your own, more advanced/fantastical prosthetics too. One major thing that most people writing amputees fail to acknowledge is that prosthetic limbs are not fleshy-limbs with a different coat of paint. They do the same basic thing their meat-counterparts do, but how they do it is often drastically different, which changes how they are used. A really good example of this is in prosthetic feet. There are dozens of joints in a biological foot, but most prosthetic feet have no joints or moving parts at all. Instead of having dozens of artificial joints to mimic the real bone structure of a foot, which are more prone to failure, require power and make the prosthetic much, much heavier for very little gain, prosthetic feet are often constructed from flexible carbon fiber sheets inside a flexible rubber foot-shaped shell. This allows the bend and flex those bones provide, without all the drawbacks that come from trying to directly mimic it. Making the sheets into different shapes makes them more ideal for different activities. E.g. feet made for general use, like walking around the city, are simple and light, shaped to encourage the most energy-efficient steps, while still allowing their users to do things like wear normal shoes. Feet made for rough terrain often have a split down the middle of the foot to allow the carbon fiber sheets to bend better over rocks when there is no ankle, and some newer designs also include a kind of suspension using pressurized air pulled from the prosthetic socket to allow some additional padding. Running feet have large "blades" made of these carbon fiber sheets to absorb more pressure when the foot hits the ground, and redirect the force that creates to propel their user forward as quickly as possible.

[ID: A photo of 4 prosthetic feet. On the left, the foot is covered with a black shoe, the one to it's right consists of a small, carbon fiber blade, split down the middle, in roughly the same shape and size as the previous foot. Next to the right is an even simpler and smaller carbon fiber foot with no split, and finally is a very short foot that is vaguely rectangular in shape. /End ID]

These are some of my own prosthetic feet I've had over the years. The two on the right are designed to be used by someone who is less mobile, and the ones on the left are made for someone who is more active. As my needs changed over the years, I've used different designs and styles, and keep the old ones since my needs do tend to fluctuate.

There are also robotic feet available that are designed as a kind of "all-purpose" foot that use an electronic ankle which more closely mimics a biological foot, but they are not very popular as the mechanism adds a lot of extra weight and it requires a battery and power to work, with many amputees feeling the jointless carbon fiber feet do a better job at meeting their needs. The same goes for arms and hands. "Robotic" hands that mimic a meat hand exist, but they aren't really that popular, even in places like Australia where the prohibitively expensive price tag isn't as much of an issue due to government programs that pay for the device for you. Instead, most arm amputees who use prosthetics that I know prefer simpler devices that do specific tasks, and just swap between them as needed, rather than something that tries to do it all. A big part of this is because the all-purpose hands can be clunky. they often require manual adjustment using the other hand to do simple things like going from holding a deck of cards to putting them down and picking up a glass of water, for example. The few that don't require that, I've been told, are often temperamental and don't actually work for every person with a limb difference.

Altered Proprioception

Loosing a limb is a big deal and this is always going to have an impact on the body in some way that won't be solved with a fancy piece of tech. One such example is how limb loss effects your sense of proprioception. This is your sense of where your body parts are in space. It's how you (mostly) know where your foot is going to land when you're walking, or how you're able to do things like lift up a glass of water without needing to actually watch your hand do it. Your brain does this by creating a mental map of your body, but this map doesn't get adjusted if you loose a limb. If that map doesn't accurately reflect your real body, you're not going to have an accurate sense of proprioception. This might look like a leg amputee being a bit less stable on their feet, or like an arm amputee needing to look at their arm or hand to be able to grab something with it. Those born without their limbs who take to using prosthetics often have a lot of trouble adapting, as their brains aren't used to having that limb in the first place, whereas an amputee's brain can sometimes be tricked into using their outdated body map to help them adjust to the prosthetic (though its impossible to line it up perfectly). Prosthetics that directly integrate with the nervous system, while rare, do exist, and even this direct connection doesn't completely erase this issue for reasons doctors aren't quite sure about. This is something that does become less of a problem with time. Eventually, someone proficient with their prosthetic will learn to compensate, but their sense of proprioception will never be 100% perfect. At the end of the day, no matter how it attaches, a prosthetic is still not a natural part of the body, and that will always cause some issues. It also means if they aren't practicing it all the time, they may have to relearn how to compensate for it.

Extra weight

You also have to remember that a prosthetic is not a natural part of the body, like we already talked about, and so no matter how good it is, your brain will most likely always interpret the weight of the prosthetic as something attached to you, not part of you. This means that, even though prosthetics are actually a lot lighter than biological limbs, they feel so much heavier. This is because, while a meat limb is heavier, a lot of that weight is from muscles which are actively contributing to the limb working, so it doesn't really feel like its that heavy. When you have less of your meat-limb though, you have even less muscle to work with to move this big thing strapped to it, so it feels heavier. The more of the limb you've lost, or just didn't have, the heavier the prosthetic has to be, and the less muscle you have left to move it. It's for this reason that a lot of amputees and people with limb differences get tired faster when using prosthetics. Some of us are fit enough where you almost wouldn't notice the extra effort they need to put in, but once again, just because you can't see it from the outside, doesn't mean it's not an issue.

Avoiding Water

Most prosthetics also aren't waterproof, and so prosthetic users have to be very careful about when and how they come into contact with it. For amputees with electric components, contact with water at all will likely damage the device. This can even include especially heavy rain, something I was told to avoid when I got my electronic knee prosthetic and something I assume would also apply to arm amputees with complex, electronic hands. For those with non-electronic prosthetics, water can be hazardous for different reasons. If the prosthetic has metal components, water may cause them to rust, especially if it's salty water. Other prosthetics have foam covers to give the illusion of a limb with the general shape of muscles and fat, but these covers do not come off, and if they get wet enough that water seeps all the way through, it is very hard to dry it and they may become moldy. Finally, cheaper modern prosthetics may also float. Many are made of very light-weight materials and some have pockets of air trapped inside them. For leg prosthetics in particular, this means a user might, at best, struggle to swim with them on, but at worst, may get flipped upside down and become trapped underwater - something that happened to me as a very young child. On the flip-side, older prosthetics were usually made of heavy materials like wood or steel, and so had the opposite problem, acting like a weight and pulling a person down if they were to wear them in the water. Water-safe prosthetics do exist, I had a pair of prosthetic legs as a teenager that were hollow, and designed especially for me to swim with fins on when swimming in the ocean, and Nadya Vessey, a double leg amputee in New Zealand even got a mermaid-tail prosthetic made especially for use in the water. Most amputees though just swim without any prosthetics at all, and in 99% of cases, this is the easiest and safest way to go.

Prosthetic-Related Pressure Sores and Pain

Many people with limb differences also experience pressure sores from their prosthetics. Modern prosthetics typically attach to the body using a socket made of carbon fiber or fiberglass, held on either by pressure, using a vacuum seal or through a mechanical locking system built into the socket. No matter the specifics though, the socket has to be very tight in order to stay on, and this means that extended periods of use can lead to rub-spots, blisters and pressure sores. Many socket prosthetics also use silicone liners to add extra padding, but this means wounds caused by the pressure can't breathe, and bacteria in sweat has nowhere to go, meaning if the person doesn't rest when one of these wounds occur, it can very easily and quickly turn into a serious infection. In a properly fitting prosthetic, used by someone who has fully adjusted to them, this doesn't happen often, but it is something most amputees and people with limb differences have to at least be mindful of. Some new prosthetics use a different method of attachment, called Osteointegration - where the prosthetic attaches to a clip, surgically implanted into the person's bones. While Osteointegration avoids many of the issues like pressure sores that come from a socket, they have their own issues: mainly that they are incredibly expensive, and as of right now, have a pretty high failure rate due to the implant getting infected. Because the implants are directly connected to the bone, these infections become very serious very quickly. Many people with Osteointegration limbs have to be on very strong medication to keep these infections at bay, and they are generally considered unsuitable for anyone who is going to regularly come into contact with "unclean" environments.

Maintenance

[ID: A screenshot of Winrey, from Full Metal alchemist Brotherhood, a white woman with blond hair hanging out the sides of a green hat. She is measuring a piece of metal from a prosthetic she is making while Ed, the prosthetic's owner, gives her a thumbs up in the background. /End ID]

Finally, prosthetics also require maintenance from a specialist called a prosthetist, and they don't last forever. Some parts, like a foot or hand, can be reused over an over, but the sockets of a prosthetic need to be completely remade any time your body changes shape, including if you gain/loose weight, you start experiencing swelling, or you're just a child who is growing. Children in particular need new prosthetics every few months because they grow so fast, and as such, their prosthetics have to be made with this growth in mind. If they go too long without adjustment or an entirely new prosthetic, it can seriously impact the child and their growth but even small adjustments can be costly, depending on where you live. While prosthetics are built to be sturdy and reliable, they need a lot of work to stay that way. The more complex the prosthetic, the more work is needed. Complicated electronic components may need to have regular maintenance done by your prosthetist or even the specific component's manufacturer, and depending on where you live, this might mean having to send your prosthetic limb away for this to be done. While my prosthetist technically has the skills and knowledge to do the maintenance on my electronic knee, for example, the manufacturer forbids anyone not from their company to provide this service, meaning my leg needs to be shipped off to Germany once every few years if I want to keep the warranty. This has the unfortunate side effect of sometimes your limbs getting lost in postage (shout-out to Australia Post, who lost mine twice), meaning it can be months before you get it back or get a replacement. Usually, you'll be given a replacement in the meantime if you need it, but walking on a leg that isn't yours, even when its correctly fitted, always feels a bit weird (maybe that's just me though).

Not every difference is Inherently Negative

We've talked about some of the negatives that come from having a prosthetic, but not every difference is negative or even really that big of a deal. In fact, often times, it's these little moments in the depiction of a disability that go the furthest and make it feel the most genuine. My amputations effect me from the moment I wake up, to the moment I go to bed, but that doesn't mean every single way it impacts me is always inherently bad or negative. For example, back when I was working a normal job and going to university, I would often come home, throw my legs off at the door with the shoes still attached and get into my wheelchair, the same way you might throw your shoes off after work and replace them with comfy socks and other comfy clothing. This is something I've only ever seen on screen once, with Eda from the Owl House (and she wasn't even an amputee yet, her limbs were just detachable)

[ID: an screenshot of Eda from the owl house, a very pale woman, laying on the couch in a bathrobe, her hair in a towel. She has taken her actual legs off, throwing them to the other side of the seat. /End ID]

After that, my day mostly looked the same as most other people working a 9 to 5, I'd make myself dinner, watch some TV or play some games, maybe do some extra work at my desk or chat with friends. The only difference is that it would all be from a wheelchair, mainly because my prosthetics were heavy and it was just easier to use the chair around the house. The fact my afternoon and evening routine was done from a wheelchair wasn't a bad thing, it was just different. Likewise, I also don't sleep or shower with my prosthetics on, for the same reasons most other people wouldn't take a shower or sleep in thigh-high, steel-capped boots. In your own stories, this might look like giving your characters similar alterations to how they go about their day. Let them take their arm or leg off when they're resting or relaxing, show them taking a few minutes longer to get ready because they have to put it back on, show them doing some things without it. Arm amputees in particular tend to get very good at going about their days without their arm prosthetics, and leg amputees often either learn to get around more relaxed spaces like their homes using a different mobility aids like wheelchairs or crutches, or just through hopping if that's something they're physically able to do. Even when everything is going well and working as intended, your limb-different character won't wear their prosthetic 24/7, no matter how much they love it. There doesn't have to be something wrong with it or painful about it to not want it glued to them at all times, just like you can love a pair of big heavy boots but not want them on when you're trying to sleep. For more action-focused stories, being an amputee, also changes things like how you fight. The specifics will vary from person to person, but for example, when I did Hap Ki Do, a Korean Martial art, my instructor heavily modified when I learned what techniques. Beginner-level kicks and most leg attacks were impractical for me, as the force from the kicking motion would usually cause one of my legs to fly off. I also couldn't jump very well, due to some complications with my original amputation that made my stumps too sensitive to withstand the force of landing again. So I ended up learning a lot more upper-body attacks much earlier than it is typically taught. By the time I got my green belt, I was practicing upper-body techniques usually saved for black belts - including weapons training that I could use my secondary mobility aids for, like crutches and my cane in a bad situation. Many holds that rely on creating tension in your target are also less effective on amputees, because either the anatomy that causes those holds to be painful just simply isn't there, or the body part in question can just be removed to escape. Whether we're talking about the negative things, or just neutral differences that come with using prosthetics, you don't want to go too far with any one example. The key is to strike a balance. Of course, the old writing advice of "show don't tell" also applies here. It's one thing to tell us all of this stuff, but unless we actually see it play out, it won't mean much.

How NOT to avoid the trope

Before we move on, let's focus for a moment on some common things I've seen that you SHOULDN'T do as a way to get away from the trope.

The Enhanced Prosthetic

A lot of sci-fi in particular will take prosthetic limbs, make them function exactly the same as a biological limb, but add something extra to it. This does change the way the prosthetic functions and is used, but it usually still ignores the actual disabling parts of having a prosthetic. A really good example of this can be seen in pretty much any futuristic setting, but personally, I think Fizzeroli, from Helluva Boss is the best one to demonstrate what I mean. Fizz is a quadrilateral, above knee/above elbow amputee with highly advanced prosthetics that function, more or less exactly like the limbs he lost, but with the added benefit of being super-stretchy. Fizz is an acrobat and a clown in service, at least initially, to Mammon, one of the Seven Deadly Sins. These prosthetics help him perform and we even do see how they change little things like how he walks and just goes about his day, but the show still treats them like natural arms and legs, but better. 

[ID: A screenshot of Fizzeroli from Helluva Boss, a white-skinned imp with 4 black, prosthetic limbs, dressed in teal a nightgown as he lays in bed, reading from a list /End ID]

We see that he never takes them off, even when sleeping, and when he needs to use them as regular arms and legs, they do everything he needs, perfectly fine - at least when they're working correctly. The only time he ever even takes them off or has any issues with them, is when they break in season 2. The word amputee is never used to describe him, as far as I remember, and the fact he is one never really comes up at all, except for when they break or when the story focuses on how he lost them. Which brings me to my next point.

The Glitchy/Broken Prosthetic

One way I see people try to avoid the perfect prosthetic trope, is to take the prosthetic and break it or otherwise make it unreliable by having it malfunction, but not really changing anything else. This approach is heading in the right direction but still kind of misses the point of the criticism a lot of limb different folks have with the depictions of prosthetics in the media. Yeah, prosthetics do break down and some do require extra maintenance, but if your character's prosthetic is still exactly the same as a biological limb (or even better, in the case of the "enhanced prosthetic") when it's not broken, and the only time their disability is treated like a disability, is when it breaks, you're not really addressing the issue. Real prosthetics, like we discussed, even when functioning at 100%, exactly as the manufacturer intended, don't function the same as a meat-limb. They are fundamentally different, and the glitchy/unreliable prosthetic completely ignores all of that. Once again, Fizz is a really good example of this - the only time his prosthetics are not perfect, is when they break or are malfunctioning (despite the criticism, I do genuinely love Fizz as a character, but he unfortunately does fall into a lot of disability tropes).

[ID: Another screenshot of Fizzeroli, this time in a torn up jester outfit, looking down, panicked, at his prosthetic arms which are fully extended and laying motionless on the ground, with his left arm visibly short-circuiting with electricity around it. /End ID]

Now this isn't to say you can't have your character's prosthetics break down or malfunction at all. just that this shouldn't be the only way you differentiate the prosthetic from a biological limb. You should also be mindful of how or why they're breaking. A typical prosthetic isn't going to break down randomly from normal use unless something is very, very wrong or your character just has a terrible prosthetist (which unfortunately, does happen). You might experience issues if you try to make the prosthetic do something it just wasn't designed to do, or expose it to something it wasn't designed to deal with though (e.g. submerging an electronic prosthetic in water and trying to use it to swim).

Just add Phantom Pain

Another common pitfall I see when people are trying to avoid the perfect prosthetic trope, is to just give the character in question phantom pain - which is a side-effect of amputation where your brain's mental map of the body doesn't acknowledged you lost a limb. Your brain tries to fill in the gaps, since there is no signals coming from that part of the body anymore, and assumes either something must be wrong and so you should be in pain, even when you actually aren't. Alternatively, it can also happen when your brain was so used to feeling pain from that area before, in the case of people who had chronic conditions before they lost their limb, that it just keeps remaking those old signals itself. Like the broken/glitchy prosthetic approach, this also doesn't really address the issue with the perfect prosthetic trope, because it has nothing to do with the prosthetic itself. Phantom pain doesn't come from the prosthetic, nor does it effect how they're used, and so including it doesn't really address the issue of the prosthetic being functionally the same as the original, biological limb. This isn't to say that you shouldn't include phantom limb sensation or pain as something your character experiences, but just keep in mind that, when used on it's own, it doesn't counter the trope. Also, just be sure to do your research, everyone's experience with phantom pain is different and it's not something everyone with a limb difference even experiences.

Why is this trope even a problem?

Alright, so we know what the trope is, we know why it became so prevalent, ways to avoid it and also how not to avoid it. All good information, but why is this trope even bad? Why should you try to avoid it? Outside of just wanting to portray a real disability that effects real people more accurately in your creations, the prevalence of this trope actually contributes to a lot of real-world issues, especially when it's as overused as it currently is. I've talked before about "the jaws effect" - where the depiction of something in the media, especially something that the public is widely uneducated on, influences how people see it in real life. The Jaws effect specifically referred to how the popularity of creature-feature movies featuring sharks, like Jaws, caused the belief that sharks were monstrous killing machines to become much more wide-spread, even going so far as to influence decisions about laws and policy surrounding real-life shark preservation and culling in some parts of the world. But sharks aren't the only thing this has happened to.

Disabled people are so thoroughly misunderstood by wider society, that when tropes like this one become popular, people can and often do start to believe the misinformation they spread - in this case, believing that our prosthetics are a perfect replacement for a biological limb, and that getting a prosthetic means you're not disabled any more. While this can be annoying and cause small scale issues for some of us, like people giving us a hard time for using disability accommodations we very much need, it can also impact us in systemic ways too. If the wrong people believe these tropes, it can and does have a very real impact on the lives of disabled people through things like changes to policies to make it harder for amputees and people with limb differences to access financial assistance for other things outside of our prosthetics we may need assistance with.

Conclusion

Part 1: What does it mean to be a disabled...object?

Before we get started here, I would like to be very clear that this is a literary discussion and not an essay informed by personal experience: I don't have a limb difference or mobility disability. Disability's abysmal portrayal in media, though, has been on my mind, in my writing, and on my bookshelf for years now. I've read personal memoirs, manifestos, stories, and critical theory from disabled folks, as well as literature on the representation of physical disability in media, so while I feel relatively well-informed about the theoretical aspects of disability (in)justice and representation, this secondary knowledge is the limit of my expertise. So, I suggest that you, if you are nondisabled especially, do the same: seek out the voices of disabled folks, however you might go about it. Your local library is a great start, and at the end of this series I'll provide recommendations that may help you as they helped me. While the voices of lived experience are critical in understanding disability (and the only ones to listen to with respect to policy change), I am writing this for two main reasons. Many disabilities portrayed poorly in media are rarer in real life than they may seem, making it incredibly difficult for people with those disabilities to counteract all the bigotry that's thrown their way. For example, upper limb differences, which are the focus of this discussion, are immensely rare, even moreso if they are congenital. As such, if abled folks do not play a supporting role in breaking down misconceptions and biases, it's so much harder to make a dent in society-wide, deeply entrenched ableism. It shouldn't be that way, of course, but hopefully that will change with progress. Furthermore, it shouldn't be the responsibility of disabled people to tell nondisabled people when we are being bad allies, nor should we expect them to act as our personal search engines or do our emotional labour. It's on everyone to think more carefully about the ideas we propagate and a big part of this is holding each other accountable for ableism whenever and wherever it props up.

Anyways, this is all to make sure you know that this is a media study. Let's start from the basics, though. I promise you'll see the objects soon.

There are solid resources available to learn about what "disability" means, because it's important to ask who is defining it and what is the purpose of defining it in such a way. In short, there's no single definition that covers the whole complexity of disability. To oversimplify, though, there are two major models of disability. According to Tobin Siebers in Disability Theory, the medical model describes disability (rather crudely) as "an individual defect lodged in the person, a defect that must be cured or eliminated if the person is to achieve full capacity as a human being." More recently, the social model of disability changes the perspective of disability as "the product of social injustice, one that requires not the cure or elimination of the defective person but significant changes in the social and built environment" (3). As an example, someone using a wheelchair may not be able to enter a school because there are stairs leading up to its entrance, and in the medical model alone, the person with the disability is the limiting factor here -- their body's inability to walk hinders their participation in school -- and so the "solution" is to get them to scale the stairs through modification of their body's function, or, in other words, to "cure" their disability at all costs. In contrast, the more recent social model says that the means by which the entrance is accessed is at fault, not the person trying to enter, and the "solution" would be a ramp that the person can then use to access the building using their wheelchair. While there is some utility in the medical model, for example addressing chronic pain, the social model has been an important shift in disability justice over the past few decades, reframing the existence of disability from an inherent disadvantage to a contextually dependent social identity. None of these models comprehensively cover all experiences of disability, but they are a good place to start how we see the role of limb difference in BFDI. In fact, I argue that BFDI is surprisingly open to showcasing the social model.

To understand why the fandom's erasure of disability is so irresponsible, then, we must learn about how BFDI portrays disability, why it's a valuable aspect of the characters and the narrative, and how its presence in the show should lead to positive reflections on disability in the fandom (and in life itself!) more broadly.

To start, how about we look at some of the cast?

Look at all those happy faces! Two things immediately become clear:

These characters are based off objects, and objects have various bodies with different strengths, skills, difficulties, etc. They perform different functions for us in the real world, so it makes sense their bodies are diverse!

They also have faces and limbs. The amount of limbs that they have varies between objects, though the majority has all four.

1.1 What Does Disability Look Like in BFDI?

While this essay will primarily focus on characters that are armless, there are other notable ways objects are disabled. Some are "object-specific" disabilities: Bubble, Bottle, and Ice Cube are fragile and die in situations their peers would escape unscathed, and Barf Bag uniquely requires vomit inside of her to function and is at risk of it spilling out or depleting. Many have speech patterns considered disabilities in our world: Saw develops a verbal tic, Pin has a form of scanning speech, Marker has some form of verbal apraxia, Teardrop is mute, and Woody might have an intellectual disability that impacts speech and anxious behaviour. Even without direct parallels to human disability, the connection between these objects and how they approach and navigate the world reinforces that they are disabled in some definition or another. BFDI uses these quirks for humour, but it rarely uses disability to discredit their value as competitors, and all of these characters grow more complex alongside the rest of the cast. Sixteen years after we first see her pop on-screen, Bubble battles against cactus monsters in TPOT 21, successfully escaping unscathed and subverting our assumption that she'll pop. Our expectation flattens her into worrying about her fragility, but by subverting that view, the narrative forces the viewer to question their own assumptions about Bubble's character growth. Her courage here does not negate the fact that she's still extremely fragile, of course, but it emphasizes that she's had plenty of time and experience to learn how to manage her anxieties and her body. In this way, the innate diversity of the objects in BFDI--and the way they grow as characters--is interwoven with the disabilities they possess.

This diversity includes disability in the quirk of the character design itself: many of the objects have different limb configurations. Some have two arms and two legs. Many have no arms and only legs, some have arms but no legs, and some don't have any limbs at all*. As the largest minority, the armless characters provide the broadest lens into BFDI's portrayal of disability. While armlessness is not isolated as a significant impairment, at least in relation to humans (more on this in part two), not having arms is nevertheless a consistent influence on how these objects interface with the world, both in the objective sense of just not having arms, and that they experience some ableism from their surroundings and their peers. As such, it is for the objects, as with humans, a disability. For these objects, neither this objective absence nor the discrimination they face exclusively define who they are as individuals, but we're nevertheless looking at more than a cosmetic artifact of an old design choice. As we'll see, BFDI strikes a balance here: understanding these characters as multifaceted--and often quite capable--doesn't erase the reality of their limb difference, nor should it. It is, rather realistically, a fact of life that the characters carry alongside them; not the whole, but an intrinsic part, of who they are.

1.2 The Problem of Goikian Ableism

To address how armlessness is portrayed by BFDI, it is important to recognize that ableism against the armless is explored in a handful of scenes, and it is portrayed as an injustice through both structural and personally-directed discrimination. In BFDI, there are several challenges that either do not accommodate the competitors without arms or explicitly "disqualify" them from participating. Another Name fails BFDI 10's "handstand challenge" (6:18) in part due to Tennis Ball, Golf Ball, and Rocky immediately landing on their heads, and BFDI 12's "ladder contest" (3:18) is inaccessible for the armless contestants without help from vomit magic (Rocky) or another contestant (Leafy helping Ice Cube). The only other armless contestant at this point, Tennis Ball, stands helplessly at the bottom of the ladders. This is meant to be ridiculous: the Announcer excluding armless competitors from easily participating jabs at his absurd logic and reminds us that the contests have never had any integrity in their "fairness" to begin with. That said, when considered from the perspective of Tennis Ball himself, it is still harsh. A boy who has just lost his dearest friend--one who shares his disability--now faces an absurd task alone and cannot complete the challenge. Being derided afterwards for not arriving at the expectations unfairly placed on him is going to make him feel worse about his own disability, especially if he is still a child! But why should it? Tennis Ball has shown himself to be immensely capable in other contests, ones where he is still armless, and yet his relationship to his disability is being defined through the systemic ableism he is facing. This, by the way, is the core of the social model of disability. Even though his armlessness is part of who he is throughout the competition, its impact on his participation in these contests is dictated by how society itself accommodates, or fails to accommodate, people with bodies like his.

Objects without arms face ableism from some of their peers, too. Ice Cube has been treated poorly across the series, and her armlessness plays no small part in her mistreatment. In BFDI 15, Pencil and Bubble try to play catch with Ice Cube, but their ball flies over her head and drops, given her lack of arms in comparison to recently-eliminated Match. Pencil is dismayed. "It's no fun without Match," she says longingly, and then tells her, "Icy, compared to Match, you're garbage" (0:06). Having further locked Icy in her trunk in BFDIA 6 (rather than solve Icy's "headphone dilemma" together), Pencil holds an insultingly low view of Ice Cube, believing that she is a burden to minimize rather than a teammate to work alongside. Only when Ice Cube saves the team in the BFDIA 6's conclusion does Pencil begin to question this belief, but hasn't the damage already been done? Snowball is another clear example, treating Ice Cube as a disposable tool to chill water and battle sea monsters in TPOT 13 without for a moment thinking about her agency or the pain she's experiencing. Actually, Snowball is notoriously ableist beyond Ice Cube, and he's serially responsible for disregarding, hurting, and insulting his disabled peers: he pops Bubble constantly, he violently smashes Fanny against the ground in BFB 11 and throws her away like garbage, and he berates his armless peers, not wanting to be on their team and assuming they'll cause him to lose. In other words, Snowball, though rude to most, specifically targets disabled contestants for his abuse. To be sure, Snowball's temperament by no means stems from the beliefs of the writers themselves, because Snowball's ridiculous claims ground his archetype as the "bully" of the bunch; when an older Snowball still calls armless contestants "weak" in BFB, his bigotry is not hence a byproduct of a sincerely held belief but an intentional portrayal of an inane bias. His violent treatment certainly does not define the narrative presence of the characters he bullies, but his refusal to treat them with respect has the same effect as Tennis Ball's exclusion: the way their social circumstances fail them is much more disabling than the fact that these characters are armless. They are not broken; these elements of society are.

1.3 The Nightmare of Algebralien Ableism

Most examples of ableism in BFDI are resolved by the narrative siding with the disabled characters over the ridiculous claims against them, and the problems that the armless objects face are treated as present but insubstantial to the narrative tension: it is more often world-ending goo, for example, pressing the objects to act one way or another, than it is the boil-over of unchallenged ableism. This makes One's introduction in TPOT a turning point for the portrayal of disability in the series, concentrating the existing theme of social marginalization into an explicit theme of ableism as an insidious and damaging trauma. Immediately separated visually from her peers in TPOT 20 ("Alone"), One stands out as the only armless algebralien in a group of numbers that play catch, build stacks of cards, strum guitars, blow bubble wands, give high fives, and fix skateboards with each other. Even when One makes an effort to insert herself in their activities, they are dismissive and avoidant, like when Two interrupts and denies her request for company and runs away to high-five Eight instead (3:24). This action, as well as the scene moments later of Three and Five playing catch (3:27), places her crushing isolation against the happy, paired-off numbers specifically doing something without her. The common denominator in all of these interactions, in fact, is that the algebralien world is filled to the brim with activities that she cannot do or has not learned to do, not at least without accommodation that the algebraliens seem uninterested in providing. None of them seem intentionally dismissive towards her, sure, but most ableism rarely is deliberate; most ableism is, indeed, born of ignorance and neglect. The consequence? Being the only algebralien without arms, One has no reference point of living with her disability other than her own loneliness, and so she cannot see the neglect of her peers as avoidable; she has only ever understood herself as the broken one. The responsibility to change has never been on the nondisabled algebraliens, it has only ever seemed to be on her. All that follows One's storyline hereon, from her powers to her imprisonment to her treatment of the objects, can be traced back to her internalizing these ableist social biases as truth.

It gets worse for One, though not at first glance. When One finds the yoylelite meteor, gains its power, and realizes she can hold things telekinetically, the gulf in her mind between her nondisabled peers and her disabled self recedes: unreasonable though they may have been, she can suddenly--literally magically!--meet the social expectations placed on her. She fantasizes about winning over the other algebraliens, participating in their games, and no longer being ignored because of her body. This moment of "equalizing" explains why One is so defensive of the yoylelite when Three approaches it. When Three defensively asks One, "Where's the fun if it's just you doing that...y'know, throwing thing?" (10:48), it's dramatic irony: she does not realize that it has always been everyone but One doing the "throwing thing," and that this power made One see herself, for the first time and for better or worse, on their level. One's fears of being excluded are realized when the next day, Three leads the other algebraliens to the meteor and they together gain the yoylelite's power. One watches as that power concentrates in their hands as they practice their newfound abilities. The gulf returns. As Three even says when One confronts them later, nothing has actually changed, and all One sees from that point on is an eternity where she is sidelined. Her anger becomes understandable. Not justifiable, but not not justifiable: she has had to live without anyone or anything to live for; the arm-waving, ball-throwing algebraliens have not. She has lived without anything or anyone to see her for her passionate, adventurous self, and so in a brief moment of power in a life with so little, she lets herself feel everything she has been keeping inside of her. After Four traps her alone in the Moon for this fatal mistake, her fear of ignorance becomes a reality of banishment with only herself and her self-hatred to keep her company. What has happened to her by the time the moon cracks open would have shattered anyone.

On its own, One's arc is a horror story of ableism at its most potent, a force born of ignorance rather than malice that can, when unchallenged, fester into a living hell. Now, if One were isolated in a larger narrative without any other armless characters, her story would cut too close to the "disabled and jealous/vengeful" trope, in which disability is only represented through trauma, reinforcing the idea that to be disabled is to either experience a broken body or suffer at the hands of social prejudice. There's an argument to be made that perhaps it still is this tired trope, though we don't know how her arc ends, so it's still up in the air. But BFDI largely avoids condemning the fate of its disabled characters solely to misery, because One's story is the exception, not the norm. There exists in One's midst another society where armless people are largely treated as a normal part of the social fabric. Placing One's history against the objects we already know and love makes the narrative that much more meaningful, because we know that it did not have to be this way for One. Ableism does not have to be inevitable. Damage and heartache does not have to be inevitable. Yet to someone who has internalized her society's ableism as deeply as One has, suffering seems sourced from her body. This belief controls and clashes with all of her interactions hereon, being challenged and undermined by the objects to solidify her trauma as an unjust anomaly. Between the several suspiciously hand-shaped pillars in the backdrop of her dimension to the fixation on limbs in her dealmaking, arms eat at her mind. In TPOT 17, When Donut asks One why he would sign her contract, it strikes a nerve, and she screams at him immediately: "FOR YOUR ARMS, DONUT. KINDA IMPORTANT, HUH?" (25:52). While Donut agrees that he wants them back after she points it out, it hasn't consumed his concern in the same way One's lack of arms consumes her mind. This is because Donut has a reference as to what it is like to live a comfortable life without arms. She doesn't, and it's infuriating to her. When he tries to escape, it pushes her over the edge and she rips Donut's legs off, further disabling him. A facile reading of this scene would conclude that this is a clear, universally unwanted punishment, but remember that this is One. It's thematically relevant. Disability is punishment in her mind; she could only ever attribute her torment to her limb difference. What we see in these dealmaking sessions is, in some respects, the medical model clashing with the social, the blaming of the disabled body clashing against the reality that society, not the self, might just be the source of One's unimaginable pain. It doesn't make sense to her, though. The grip of ableism reaches deep.

"Internalized ableism," writer Melissa Blake explains, "occurs when disabled people absorb ableist messages from society and project those prejudices and stereotypes onto themselves and others" (60). She describes her own experience with it, highlighting its harm: it is "one insidious monster, and it creeps in slowly, little by little, until it's suddenly all-consuming and deeply rooted in your psyche" (61). In real life, there is a misconception that disabled folks lash out after experiencing ableism or otherwise create a destructive force for others around them, so One's storyline is a little unrealistic insofar as it edges closely to the "bitter" trope. But like I said before, context makes her actions an exception rather than the rule: so many of the armless objects are content, valued as they are, and bonded closely with their friends, and it is this normalcy that both positions One's perception of disability as skewed and challenges that perception outright. Consider why so many of her signees are armless women: Bell, Fanny, Ice Cube, Gaty, and Basketball. Having the latter two erased from existence altogether seems an intentional choice, given they each have close relationships the likes of which One never had with her own peers. In fact, Basketball's disappearance is a special case: in TPOT 19, even after Barf Bag's erasure compels Donut to concede and give up his share of Two's power, One still disappears Basketball. Donut already said he'd do it, so why? Donut has hardly even interacted with Basketball! Why her, One? Like One herself said in their deal, she and Basketball are a lot alike, being curious and inventive yet temperamental when things go wrong. A difference, of course, is that Basketball has people who depend on her and value her as an equal. Better to have her out of sight altogether than face a constant reminder of how unjust life has been. Between Gaty and Basketball, One simultaneously envies the objects and looks down on them, considers them disposable and manipulable, and refuses to conceive of a world where armlessness can be an intrinsic part of positive and constructive lives. It's vicious, but it points to immeasurable and uncontainable grief in One's heart. Maybe facing that things could be better would be more pain than she can handle. She could have been one of these objects. She could've played soccer with Three or learned to use a hammer with her feet to fix Nine's skateboard. She could have sat with Two and talked about life.

All this could have been her. It was not. Why was it not?

"Alone" and One's narrative is about ableism. Originally I was going to say that it's a narrative about disability, which is true insofar as One herself is disabled. But I think specificity matters here. It is about being disabled in a world that does not want to acknowledge it at all. It is about being neglected and marginalized, ignored and disregarded at every point. It is never that One herself is defective, but that society treats her as defective and she internalizes it into a destructive force for herself and everyone around her. Arguments could be made about whether it is perhaps too severe, and that I cannot weigh in definitively. But it remains that "Alone" is the most unforgiving storyline of BFDI. It is brutal and it is heartbreaking.

1.4 Rejecting Symbolic Disability

There is only so much of One's storyline I can point out before it becomes simultaneously shallow and unbearable. These forms of ableism exist, but not only do they not include most of the experiences of the disabled characters in BFDI, their exclusive focus would flatten this discussion of disability into a trauma, as is so commonly the case in media. This would present disability as some kind of symbolic punishment or narrative tension that, like in the medical model, is propped up to be "fixed" for the betterment of the character. BFDI competently avoids this, instead offering a big cast of objects that are consistently but never defined by their disability. Oft-frustrated Fanny doesn't seem to care that she doesn't have arms, nor does Gaty, or Naily, or Foldy, and so on. None of these characters without arms are disabled for any sweeping narrative "reason". While at first this may seem obvious and natural--and it is, given that the series itself is open-ended!--this manner of seeing disability is actually not very common in media.

Stories as old as stories themselves, from fairy tales to modern television, have often been moralistic, and in many cases function to explain why some people are disabled and others are not. In her book Disfigured: On Fairy Tales, Disability, and Making Space, disabled author Amanda Leduc says that stories "turn disability into a symbol because it has been socialized to be not useful...If disability is not a disability so much as a symbol of something else, then once that symbol is realized, the disability can go away" (215). She adds, in contrast, that "disability isn't visited on us in response to a grand, overarching narrative plan, but rather is a lived, complex reality that reimagines the very nature of how we move through and occupy space" (216). What is so refreshing about BFDI is that its characters reflect the latter more than the former. Its characters can be tangibly disabled and have it mean various things to their lived experience (or in BFDI's case, participation in the contests) without either flattening it into a problem of misfortune or giving it some metaphorical, deeper symbolic meaning. The tendency, I think, to misunderstand these disabilities as "not important" has to do with the framework of disability as something symbolic; when it isn't symbolic, people don't know what to do with it. But doesn't BFDI then offer us a new vantage point? Must these armless characters be armless for a reason, to telegraph that they are "other" and symbolize some greater narrative challenge that must be "fixed" for their happiness? Or...do they just happen to be disabled? This is where BFDI shines. Just as an object might be small, round, or dimpled, an object might just not have arms.

As a 2010 veteran and self-described main character, Golf Ball stands out as one of the most complexly disabled characters in the show because though her occasional struggle against ableism impacts how she views herself, the series doesn't limit its focus on her character, her abilities, her flaws, or her armlessness to these negative experiences. On the outside, Golf Ball is a high-strung, highly confident contestant that touts her ability to lead her team to victory. This is for good reason on her part: her plans are often sound, and usually they fall apart when others fail to listen to her, which is often the case. Yet it feels, even in her moments of leadership, that she is always trying to prove herself to somebody, because it is a fragile sense of confidence that erodes when things go awry. Consider BFB 6: in an attempt to escape the Twinkle of Contagion, Golf Ball escapes to the moon yet gets it immediately after leaving her rocketship. Frustrated by this, she catastrophizes: "Why do my plans NEVER work?!" (7:32). This frustration is frequent with her, as Golf Ball is subtextually autistic and particular about things going as she expects. But surely someone who is delusionally confident in her own ability would deny that the failure is her own fault, right? Of course. She's not delusionally confident. Her confidence was never about her proving to Blocky or Snowball or whoever else that she was a capable team member as they are; it was to prove to herself that she is on level ground with her peers, an internalized voice insisting she has to work harder to be an equal. She faces a social current that has never been conducive to her participation. This is explicitly tied to her physical disability. She has to be smarter than everyone else to get through challenges not made for her, she has to deal with Snowball treating her like she is useless simply because she is armless, and if all else fails, she has to face against her own hopes that she cannot do some things the same way as her peers. When she gets frustrated at herself, enough to feel she is inept, we should see her as a disabled woman realistically reacting to the discrimination she has faced for years. It is natural, then, that there are moments where Golf Ball wishes, if momentarily, that she were not disabled. It happens.

But if being armless really were something Golf Ball wanted to fix about herself, surely she would have done so by now. She is a prolific inventor! BFDIA 25 shows her reversal of Pin's limb loss and in the same scene shows she has already built a pair of mechanical arms! But she has not grown her own limbs, nor is she ever shown using inventions in this way. Why would she? Even through brief pains of frustration, her disability has never been something she actually wishes to change about herself. She is sufficiently capable of doing everything she loves to do. Her feet are her hands! But it's not a big deal, either. Consider everything we've seen of her, irrespective of how she does it: she loves to draw, research, brainstorm, sketch, invent, and write papers, and she can drive, hammer, fix, experiment, hold, type, push, pull, and drill. She is one of the smartest contestants and she is almost always doing things for the success of her team rather than herself alone. In TPOT 13--a single episode--she builds a full drill-equipped van from blueprint to construction and nobody really bats an eye. It's tempting for someone with arms to see her disability as a challenge that she continually has to overcome, but is it, really? It's all she has ever known and all she's ever had to work with, and she seems just fine. Her capacity for adaptation is not anything special, it's just who Golf Ball is and what Golf Ball does. Her lack of arms is a physical difference from the status quo, sure, and sometimes that causes tension in her own self-conception, but it is more often an aspect of her that she works with, that is her, facing an environment not made for her. It is not, no matter what Snowball tells her, a shortcoming innate to her body. She knows that her body is not "missing" anything. She does not need arms, and BFDI has always asserted that clearly without ever erasing her disability.

To reiterate, in comparison to One, the armless objects benefit from living in a better, more communal social context that sees their disability as a present but unremarkable part of their identity--a mundane reality that has been absent from disability representation for so long. Without any support, the feelings of ostracization that ensnared One could only ever bounce around and amplify in her own head. Not so for the armless objects, as many of them not only have allies with similar disabilities to themselves but are treated as unremarkable by their nondisabled allies. To continue with our favourite dimpled lady, Golf Ball's disability is certainly a large part of her profound relationship with Tennis Ball, both being massive nerds. And what a team Tennis Ball and Golf Ball make! She and Tennis Ball match each other both in scientific fervour and physical ability, writing and building the same way, sharing "low-fives", and commiserating with each other's limits, however few there may be. Strong relationships do not occur solely between armless objects, either: Saw and Gaty are very close, Fanny is a highly valued member of Death P.A.C.T., Bomby helps Bell navigate without her string in the algebralien dimensions, and Book remains one of the few who treat Ice Cube like a person, respecting her autonomy enough to give her the distance she needs in TPOT. There's also humour in these relationships, especially when the armless objects have the advantage: when Two whips a wooden board at Donut in TPOT 9's Cake at Stake, Gaty playfully quips, "Gotta learn to catch with your legs, Donut!" (3:55). Having lived with her disability for as long as we have known her, Gaty makes fun of Donut because she knows that he can learn to live with it--indeed, Donut gets considerably better at using his feet by TPOT 17, though here gets his arms back. BFDI may not be flawless in portraying disability as mundane, but the many small moments like these provide something so rarely given to disabled characters: belonging and acceptance. There is nothing for armless characters to prove, nor are they shunned and othered by their nondisabled peers for not having arms. A major overarching theme of BFDI is togetherness and isolation, the push and pull between belonging and ostracization. Having disability be a part of it all, weaved in as just another aspect of the characters, can be, if not revolutionary, then at the very least refreshing.

1.5 Conclusion - Disability, the social core of BFDI, and why this matters

A series built on character diversity, BFDI endears its audience because it has a plethora of objects to cheer on throughout many absurd contests. It shouldn't be surprising, then, that the cast welcomes its many armless characters as another variation of the object form, making it a consistent quirk of the character design while firmly appreciating it as normal. Though there is honesty in BFDI with the challenges of being physically disabled in an inaccessible world, and One's arc tackles this problem explicitly, her juxtaposition against all of these similarly disabled objects allows BFDI to acknowledges a much broader and brighter lived experience of disability that frames the series' love of this diversity at its best. Having a limb difference can mean something to how some objects exist in the world, but this does not mean it has to be negative all, or even most, of the time. There is so much space for armless and disabled objects to find common ground and acceptance, even celebration, amongst themselves and their nondisabled peers. To so many of these characters, their disability is not exclusively who they are, but it is not irrelevant, either; it can indeed be a part of the joy they can share with one another. Characters stay disabled no matter what challenges, triumphs, or mere routine they face at any given moment. To perceive otherwise is to reduce disability, to flatten it and disregard its existence in our own world, but it also shutters off the chance to learn that experiences that differ from one's own need not be inherently worse.

I hope it's clear why disability is a nonnegotiable aspect of BFDI as a whole. When you want to carry on the love that BFDI has for its characters into the fanwork you create for it, I implore you to remember that BFDI itself does not forget disability. It does not forget how many characters have limb differences, and it does not forget that disability is normal. Disability is normal. Your creativity cannot afford to forget what the series embraces. Your creativity can and should include disabled characters. If you wouldn't draw a Golf Ball without dimples, why would you draw her with arms?

While the second part of this series will critique the portrayals of characters in fandom spaces, I don't intend to lambast any portrayals unfairly, nor do I want to posture it as intentional on the part of fan creators. Because BFDI and its fandom has such a broad age appeal, I know that many artists are children and don't really...know what disability looks like, or maybe disability seems too daunting to address and so is a lot easier to adapt into the dreaded "magic prosthetic arms" that plague the character tags. I am not here to be upset at children, and I am not here to say they should know better, because that's unkind and unrealistic. That being said, even if it isn't intentional, ableism is still ableism. I will elaborate much more in the second part, but I will say this explicitly now: giving human characters "prosthetic" metal arms to suggest that their object selves don't have arms is not engaging with disability in any meaningful way. It is obscuring it behind assumptions and ideas of disability that are meaningless if not blatantly incorrect.

(And if you still aren't convinced, please read this post and this post and this post when you have a minute. Thanks!)

This part comes first because an honest discussion of disability portrayal needs a framework and backing, which itself requires consideration of the source material's engagement with disability. At the end of the day, though, I want this to be an opportunity to learn. It is important to understand that even as I critique the ableism of a wider community, I do it because I know people can do better about disability representation. I trust that people want to do good things. But I also know that if these shortcomings remain unchallenged, there is not going to be change or growth, just a stagnant, tired, and boring rehashing of the same tropes, the same misunderstandings, and the same biases.

Erasing disability from fanwork is a disservice to the characters and, more importantly, a disservice to disabled folks who already do not see themselves ever represented in media. It should be important to everyone that we recognize and accept real human people, let alone silly cartoon objects, as they are. Accept bodies that look different. BFDI is all about the differences that pull its characters apart and pushes them together, so let's celebrate it for what it does best.

If you've read this far, thank you. I hope this could spur some thoughts about disability rep, whatever they may be. I also humbly request something from you, if possible: this has been a lot of work, and I am an adult with a job and not that much time to spare for silly things like this. Because it's taken up more time than I'd expected, please consider reblogging this post, sharing this to anyone you know in this fandom space, and talking to them about it. I really want people to think about this. If not reblog or repost directly, by all means still have these conversations. Please just get the word out about disability and start a discussion on how we portray it in our culture, both in BFDI and beyond. Cultural shifts can start in the smallest places, but they take effort. I hope it's clear the effort is worth it.

Works Cited

Blake, Melissa. Beautiful People: My Thirteen Truths about Disability. Hachette Go, 2024.

Leduc, Amanda. Disfigured: On Fairy Tales, Disability, and Making Space. Coach House Books, 2020.

Siebers, Tobin. Disability theory. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2008. Via the Internet Archive, https://archive.org/details/disabilitytheory0000sieb.

and a buuuuunch of bfdi episodes lollll jnj