Prosthesis
I would be lying to you if I told you that I didn’t stop dead in my tracks when I saw this photo on Design Boom because I thought it was sexy. Really steamy hot. I would be lying even more if I told you the idea of having body parts with “adjustable knobs” didn’t appeal to me. But it’s not just that. It’s the sexiness of the broken yet beautiful that appeals to me. Sure, J.G. Ballard and David Cronenberg have covered this territory, but I’m not just talking about car crash victims here. I’m talking about life as a car crash and how I am attracted to those who wear the scars of the shattered windshield of their lives like a kind of sexy dare. Dare to look at me. Dare to touch me. Dare to look inside my scars. I like looking at scars.
And then I read the description of this prosthetic leg, and I thought, “Where is my prosthesis? What can I use to replace my missing parts?”
'outfeet' by recent industrial design graduate aviya serfaty is a new prosthetic leg designed especially for amputee women. recognizing that most prosthesis available on the market today are bad imitations of a natural leg, or are simply thin steel poles that disregard the female body silhouette altogether, 'outfeet' aims to embrace the idea of a prosthesis not only as a medial device but also as a fashion accessory. the product's first focus is to meet the wide variety of needs in day to day life: the design features adjustable knobs that create artificial arches in the sole to adapt to whatever occasion . . .
That’s right, what is going to fix the amputated parts of me so I can make it through my “day to day” life and wear my scars like a sexy fashion accessory? So I'm not just a cheap imitation? Where is my screw-on stiletto?
I guess the fact that I find this photograph really sexy is because on some level I feel like I’m looking in the mirror and want to see myself reflected in that black prosthetic leg. I want my broken parts to look that good to someone.
Band-aids. Bandages. Tape. Plaster. If I just wrap my holes with some duct-tape and shove a screwdriver between the seams to get the job done, would you find me sexy? What will it take to turn the things that have been amputated from me into a miracle of design, something you would want to hold between the sheets instead of something that you want to punch or run away from?
It doesn’t matter. I have pictures to look at. Pictures like this one. They make me feel some kind of raunchy abstract desire. They make me feel connected to my own body. They make me think that I found someone like me. Isn’t that what pictures are for? Prosthetics for human relations? Isn’t that what blogs are for too?