Beauty and the Blind

"Blindness isn't sexy."

This was the answer given to an organization for which I volunteer when it was asked, “Why is it so difficult to raise funds for the visually impaired community?” Of course, this reasoning was delivered in a joking  tone, but there is truth in its message.  Blindness isn’t sexy.

People with deep pocketbooks support causes that are popular in mainstream American culture. Causes that resonate with the majority society, and that are seen as en vogue.  Causes that are sexy, hot, and now! Causes that inspire Change.org  petitions and dominate Huffington Post headlines. Blindness, to my knowledge, has never fallen into any of these categories. Having been legally blind my entire life, I can assure you that blindness is not only considered “unsexy”, but downright strange.

Now, I’m not writing this post as a plea for financial donations to my favorite, local visually impaired organization. Rather, I’d like to use this space as a discussion of that word “Sexy”. Because even though it was used as a metaphor for cultural popularity, there is truth, that the physical representation of blindness is everything but sexy.  A few weeks ago, I had a conversation about this topic with a very dear friend who is totally blind.

“Blindness just isn’t the prettiest disorder,” she said. “People don’t know a lot about it, so it’s scary. You have this long, white cane that you’re constantly swinging in front of you. You sometimes run into things, and bump into people.  And some blind people don’t dress well, because they’ve been taught that if they can’t see, it doesn’t matter. So, sighted people have this idea that we’re all incompetent, awkward, poorly dressed individuals who just shuffle through life.”

How true this is. I use my cane every day, and the stares, comments and general attitude of repulsion that I receive from complete strangers is shocking, even though I am well-acquainted with the experience. And, the worst part of it is, because I am not totally blind, I can see (somewhat) when these people stare at my cane. I can hear their audible gasps and speculating whispers. I’ve watched as they cross the street, mid-block so that they can avoid the potential accident of my running into them. Just because we’re sharing the same bit of sidewalk.  Once, when I was out with my parents, a matronly woman was gawking so intently at my cane, that my father, in one of his proudest daughter-defending  moments, challenged the stranger.  “Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer!”  Sometimes, I feel like  a leper. Someone to be shunned, stared at, hidden away and avoided at all costs.

Which is why, in these moments, I have to ask myself,  “What would Audrey do?” and then proceed accordingly. My favorite little black dress, and my heart on my sleeve.   

Audrey Hepburn. The epitome of grace, class, elegance and poised sophistication. Men wanted to be with her, and women wanted to be her. On-screen, she was everyone’s darling, and even though Hepburn never thought herself to be attractive, she was aware of this magnetism. She once said of her subdued sexuality, "I know I have more sex appeal on the tip of my nose than many women in their entire bodies. It doesn't stand out a mile, but it's there."  Hepburn’s delicate physicality carried her through every scripted scene, and her doe-like eyes conveyed both feminine fragility and fierce tenacity, depending on what was needed in a role.

And, once, she played a blind woman.

 Audrey Hepburn’s turn as the terrorized, recently blinded Suzy Hendrix, in 1967’s Wait Until Dark is a remarkable performance. Without giving too much of the film’s premise away, Hepburn’s blindness plays a pivotal role in the trajectory of the plot, and is used against her by the murderous and revenge- seeking thugs who invade her New York City apartment.

 It’s a nail-biter of a film, and as a young, legally blind woman watching my idol portray a disability, I cheer in her moments of triumph, and deeply resonate with her frustration, when she desperately exclaims, “Do I have to be the world champion blind lady?”

This question is a choice that Audrey’s character makes in the film, and it is one that I think about every day.

How will I be a champion blind lady, today? I select today’s vintage-inspired dress  -- one of the many Audrey-worthy frocks  that I own.  How will I be gracious and generous to the inevitable and inappropriate questioning from perfect strangers? How can I explain to them that I would rather they know my name, instead of my medical history?  I determine today’s lipstick color (“Bombshell  Red”, or “Cherries In Winter”?), and spritz this week’s perfume-of-choice.  How will I work to better the perception of blindness to the strangers that I meet? I slip my feet into my heels, and my cane into my hand.  I weigh these choices in every step to the bus.  

The decision to be gracious and generous and warm is not always easy. It’s not easy when, in pitying tones, strangers offer prayers for complete, physical healing. It’s not easy when a sixty-something  fellow-bus-traveler suggests,  in a lecherous tone, that my lack of vision would have benefits because, “You probably can’t tell how old I am.” And it’s a downright impossible decision when a smart-punk kid nearly shouts to his girlfriend, “So, you think that bitch is really blind?”

And that was all within the last week.  

But I hope for the best. I hope that maybe that, through miraculous means, these strangers will remember not just my cane, but rather take note of the fact that my handbag and my shoes were meticulously coordinated. Or, perhaps they will remember that  I carried myself with a confidence that contradicts their ideas about disability.  And maybe those brief moments will change how they treat the next person they meet, and they change their conversations about normality, and little, by little, change a generation’s ideas of what it means to have a disability. To be blind. To be different. To be sexy. To be successful.

 Though she is often falsely credited as the author of  the following quote, Audrey Hepburn cited this as a favorite of hers, and it is an appropriate beauty tip for us all.

 “For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others; for beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness; and for poise, walk with the knowledge that you are never alone.”  --  Sam Levenson