Chronic Style is a project that explores the relationship between fashion and chronic conditions. Through highlighting the stories of individuals living with disabilities and chronic illnesses, as well as designers who are working to meet their needs without compromising their self-expression, this project aims to shed light on the unseen barriers to accessible fashion.
Note from the Editor:
I have been hard-of-hearing my entire life, but I wasn’t always comfortable identifying as such. As a young child, I often spoke louder than was appropriate. I constantly asked people to repeat themselves, and didn’t always react when my name was called. In elementary school, when my family began to suspect my behavior was abnormal, I was in and out of doctors’ offices and hospital rooms, where I was tested for a range of conditions before being formally diagnosed with bilateral hearing loss.
I was in the fourth grade when I received my first pair of hearing aids, and I absolutely hated wearing them. I tried to make the devices more appealing to my 9-year-old self, opting for a bright pink finish and decorating the case with multicolored gemstones and Monster High-branded stickers. Still, every time I wore the aids, which at the time felt like they filled my entire ear canal, they caused a dull, throbbing ache that caused my eyes to well up with tears of frustration.
Gradually, I abandoned the devices altogether, opting to struggle through lectures and miss out on hushed conversations with friends rather than end each day with red ears and pounding headaches. My father was rightfully frustrated with me—hearing aids did, and still do, cost thousands of dollars—so it wasn’t until I was studying here at Lang that I once again visited an audiologist and adopted the devices.
In the last couple of years, my hearing aids have expanded my world. Sounds I never realized I was missing, like the hum of the refrigerator or the chiming of a bell on a cat’s collar, have since filled my ears for the first time.
Most of the time, my hearing aids prompt me to feel appreciation. They allow me to cross barriers I sometimes didn’t even know were in place. Progress in the design has transformed the once large, hard plastic earmolds into thin, translucent tubes that go unnoticed by those around me. At times, even I forget I’m wearing them.
But sometimes the sounds and sensations feel overwhelming. I often find myself reaching to pull the devices out and place them back into their charger as soon as I arrive at my apartment each night, letting out a sigh of relief when the nagging sounds of city streets are reduced to muffled background noise.
Sometimes my gratitude becomes muddled by frustration. My coarse curls wrap around the tubes and create a constant scratching. On sunny days, my sunglasses push down against the battery, sometimes knocking the hearing aids out of place, leaving me to choose between forgoing eye protection or constantly readjusting the devices’ placement so I don’t risk letting $3,000 slip out and fall onto dirty concrete. Headbands, one of my most adored accessories, pose a similar conundrum.
These small annoyances prompted a broader curiosity: How many people face invisible barriers and altered dress practices because of their disabilities and chronic illnesses? Why does it seem like no one talks about this?
The more I researched, the more the story came to life. Just as I had temporarily abandoned my hearing aids in favor of comfort, many of the people I spoke with told me of times they had forgone devices, garments, or accessories that help lessen their symptoms because they brought physical discomfort or felt incongruous with their aesthetic tastes.
Every voice you will encounter, even those with shared diagnoses, faces singular challenges and develops personal solutions in an effort to meet their medical needs without abandoning their personal style. Designers like Haley Schwartz of Vertige Adaptive and Allison Roberts of Return to Sender take this a step further, channeling what they’ve learned throughout their health journeys into creating something tangible that will help others feel confident in their sartorial expression.
This project is by no means a comprehensive overview of these ideas; there are countless chronic conditions and a myriad of individuals whose stories are waiting to be told. For now, I hope this project will act as the first chapter of a much longer story, one that will spark a long-awaited journey toward increased representation and accessibility across the fashion industry.
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