As Coco Chanel Knew

"Serene and elegant": that's how Jean Vanier described the young people he met during a stay at Il Chicco, the L'Arca community in Ciampino. He clearly perceived a natural grace and simplicity in them. But pairing those two words—coming from someone like Vanier, who never cared much for appearances—he was also suggesting something deeper: that caring for one's outward presentation, whether for ourselves or for those who cannot care for themselves, is never a trivial matter. How we dress and present ourselves is one of the ways we tell the world who we are, and how we're doing. Teaching and promoting care for one's own uniqueness and beauty is the first step in fighting the many prejudices that shape how people with disabilities are commonly imagined and portrayed. The disabled person is sick. Cannot progress through education. Has no need to work, to move freely, to pray, to fall in love. Is incapable of independence, of being desirable, and besides—why bother with how she dresses? Her life will be unhappy anyway. These are generic, simplistic, and profoundly false beliefs. They ignore the complexity and potential of people with disabilities. They shut people out when, as Pope Francis wrote in his message for the International Day of Persons with Disabilities, they need—exactly like everyone else—"not only to exist but also to belong to a community." Now, finally, some convictions we feared were cast in stone are beginning to crumble. We see it in the way that world of the ephemeral and exclusive—fashion, which this issue examines—is now embracing and amplifying the conversation around disability. Signals with unmistakable symbolic weight that will help us, we hope increasingly, to move past rigid and harmful beauty standards. We are discovering, as Coco Chanel said, that "to be irreplaceable, one must always be different." A path out, at last, from the eclipse of stigma—and toward claiming one's rightful place in the world.