I am a dedicated follower of fashion. I love designer clothes, particularly the less mainstream brands, although that said, my favourite piece is a full-length autumn-leaf red linen Dolce & Gabbana coat. Very distinctive but hey, I like to stand out, and it certainly made quite an impression.
That all changed when I had my accident. Now I’m a wheelchair “rider” as they say in the States - not sure I particularly like or understand that term - full length coats don’t work too well. I didn’t want to cut my D&G coat down to size as I hope one day Griffin will want to wear it.
It may seem shallow, but the thought that I’d not be able to wear any of my designer clothes any more really got me down when I was in hospital. Clothes and clothes shopping gave me a lot of pleasure and formed part of my identity. So much so that when I worked at London Arts (now the slightly clumsy "Arts Council England, London") one of the Christmas party prizes was the "Andrew Farrow Services to Fashion Award". I was afraid I’d be wearing the standard cripple uniform of tracksuit bottoms forever.
I had to confront this fear. So when I left hospital, I went back to the Designer Warehouse Sales. This is an incredible place, where I used to buy all my clothes. It's basically a big warehouse at the back of King's Cross with racks and racks of clothes and an open-changing area. Every three months they have a men's then a women's sale. I've been going for years. I bought my wedding suit there back in 1992. There's a huge range, massive reductions, a wondrous variety of customers and staff. My D&G coat should have been £1,000. It cost £100.
I remembered the venue (the old one – they’ve now moved) was on two floors and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get in, let alone around. I went with real anxiety. I need not have worried. I could get in. I explained my (fairly obvious) situation to the staff. They were utterly charming and offered to help in any way they could. So, I had two men carry me upstairs. I had two personal shoppers who looked for stuff that might meet my needs (I particularly wanted a new, short coat to replace my D&G, and trousers that could accommodate my ever-expanding waistline). I could get around easily by myself, reach all the racks. I had a brilliant time, found loads of fabulous new clothes, including a gorgeous lime-green lightweight Macintosh jacket. I felt invigorated and restored. My life as a fashion victim wasn't over.
I sent a version of this post to the delightful Stiletto Wheels, a site I stumbled across late last year. It's great to read of others facing the same conundrum, and interesting to find websites dealing with wheelchair fashion. There's WheelieChix-Chic, with a lot of lingerie (modelled by a woman in poses that suggest she's not a wheelchair user herself), somewhat fewer dresses and trousers. Sadly nothing for men. It's run by Louisa Summerfield, who's been a chair user since she was 15.
And then there's Tanni and Anni at Rackety's, "the exciting new range of adult clothing thoughtfully created with the combined experience of Dame Tanni Grey–Thompson DBE and designer Anni McMahon. Adaptive clothing that works with you, your wardrobe and your lifestyle". I'm particularly taken with the "There's no need to stare, I know I'm fab" long sleeved t-shirt. Now, can I get away with wearing it in pink?
