Decorated with a paisley pattern and flaunting the rule of never pairing blue with green, my new pants are practically perfect. Stretchy waist, harem-style full legs, and long enough to end at the top of my shoes, meaning I don’t have to shave my well-forested winter legs to be seen in them. They only have one fault – a single pocket. “So what?” some of you would proclaim. “At least they have a pocket”. Yes, they do. But it’s on the right, about a quarter of the way down the side of the pants. Again, the majority of people wouldn’t see an issue with that. Neither did the designer. I’m going to guess that all of those people are right-handed. I’m not.
This pair of beautifully bright bohemian pants demonstrates what is wrong with the world: the expectation that one size fits all. In my experience, one size fits nobody particularly well. The frustration for me with this particular piece of clothing is that I know they have a pocket, and I keep putting my hand down to reach into it. But I automatically put my left hand down, and that’s not where the pocket is. I’d rather spare myself the constant confusion and not have a pocket than have to continually shake my head at myself for forgetting yet again that most people don’t engage with the world the way I do.
Those of you who haven’t lived with the ongoing annoyance of having everything designed for your mirror self quite possibly won’t understand the fullness of what I’m saying. Let me give you an everyday example: ATMs and EFTPOS machines expect me to feed everything to them with my non-dominant hand. If I swipe my debit card on a store machine instead of tapping it, the panel is always to the machine’s right. It’s not calibrated for someone who puts pressure on the card from the left, so it often reports an invalid swipe and makes me try again. I’m pig-headed enough to try it again using my left hand while complaining to the checkout operator who didn’t design it, doesn’t care, and only wants me to hurry up and pay so they can serve the next customer that everything in the world is set up for right-handers.
While it doesn’t matter that the checkout operator doesn’t care, the designers should. What if I didn’t have a right hand? Then it becomes less a matter of writing preference and more an argument of engaging with technology. Why must everything be made in a way that doesn’t allow everyone to use it efficiently or easily? Don’t get me started on shared computers, either. It’s a bit easier these days with longer cords on the computer mouse – or even wireless ones – but the buttons are still set up for the ease of a right-hander. I’m loud and proud about my left-handedness, but I eventually gave up and played solitaire for hours to train my right hand to manipulate the controls. I know it is possible to buy a left-handed mouse, but it isn’t practical to carry it with me everywhere I go.
Did you know shops are set up around the psychology of shopper movement based on their dominant hand? Given that most of the population is right-handed, the checkouts are placed on the left of the store to capture the mostly unconscious pattern of people turning to their right upon entry and exiting along the opposite side. Think about that next time you walk into your favourite clothes shop. The vast majority of the stores in my local shopping centre are set out in exactly this pattern, except for the supermarkets which have counters at the front so shoppers can pay as they leave.
This isn’t a rant about the world not considering the needs of people who use their left hand (or capitalising financially on the movement patterns of those who use their right). It’s about the expectation that we are all the same and do things in precisely the same way. Perhaps I should even replace the word expectation with insistence. The unspoken statement is: This is how it is – play along or go away. If you don’t fit the model, you don’t matter. As the Borg from Star Trek state: You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile.
I choose not to go quietly. I will continue to complain because one day, someone might hear me. Perhaps all it will do is help someone who struggles with the same issues feel understood. But maybe… just maybe… my comments will fall on the ears of somebody who truly listens and can start the process of changing the things that separate or stymie people who do life differently. Whilst I may one day stop trying to use my left hand to put my keys in a pocket that isn’t there, I will never stop hoping for change that benefits all.
A Glorious Mess 