[Continuation of How Do You Wear? senior thesis]

Emma and I outside Boston Children’s Hospital where we met
First iterations of pre-patching my sweaters

This project began with my own clothing — my own wear patterns, my own story. But from the start, I knew I didn’t want to work in isolation. Disability isn’t a monolith, and neither are the ways our tools and bodies shape the materials around us.

Designed after the Charles River in Boston where my family is from

Inspired by Grace Jun’s Fashion, Disability, and Co-Design, I invited two collaborators — Sarah and Emma — into the process. Jun’s framework emphasizes co-design not as token inclusion, but as an ethical and creative imperative: a way of designing with, not for. It was important to me that this project reflect not just my own experience, but the diversity, complexity, and joy of disabled embodiment.

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Sarah is a fellow Wesleyan senior and one of the first people I met on campus. She was born without a right hand.

Sarah describes her wear pattern
[captions for all audio can be found on the video at the top of the page]

Sarah told me about her long habit of pulling her sleeve down to cover her right arm — a small, daily action that puts significant strain on her sweater cuffs. She wears through the fabric quickly, especially on the right side.

Sarah and I discuss her reinforced cuff and the possible conversations it could spark

In our co-design sessions, Sarah chose to make this quiet pattern visible. We created a TPU-reinforced cuff (see later 3D printing section) that remains hidden until the surrounding fabric wears away. On her second sweater, she chose to place the strip externally — a reversal that turned the reinforcement into something proudly visible. What began as concealment became expression.

First thinking and work on Sarah’s cuff:

Emma and I met through our shared medical team at Boston Children’s Hospital. She’s a student at Northeastern and a full-time wheelchair user. Like me, she was born with a vascular malformation — and similar to me, she finds that her sweaters tend to wear out quickly at the elbows and hips, where her body rubs against her chair.

Emma discusses her wear pattern
Emma’s inspo board

Emma told me a story I’ll never forget: once, a student saw her leg and vomited. Two years later, a child touched the same spot and said, “It looks like a galaxy.” That moment became our design cue.

Together, we created patches that echoed the swirling shapes of her veins — abstracted and embroidered beneath the fabric. When the sweater wears down, the galaxy reveals itself.

Emma discusses stories of her vascular malformation and more broadly the perception of “normalcy” as it relates to the body

First iteration’s of Emma’s sweaters:

Emma’s elbow patches – designed after her venous malformation birthmark
Emma’s hip patches – designed after her love of figs, connecting to her queer identity

These collaborations weren’t just additive. They challenged me to rethink the project’s scope. Each person’s wear pattern was shaped by their body, movement, and memory — and each deserved a design solution that matched its emotional and material logic.

Following Jun’s model, I treated each sweater as a site of narrative, care, and authorship — garments that didn’t just solve for wear, but gave space for the meaning behind it.

Co-design allowed this project to move beyond repair into something deeper: a practice of visibility, self-determination, and shared transformation.