In March 2023, conservative commentator Candace Owens did a segment on her video podcast about a disabled model shown posing in her wheelchair for the lingerie brand SKIMS. She ridiculed the idea of a model in a wheelchair as another "ridiculous" example of "woke'' corporate marketing. But beyond the ad campaign itself and Owens' provocative, and arguably ridiculous comments about it, the incident raises some deeper questions. What do disabled people think this kind of disability representation accomplishes? What is disability inclusion in popular media for?

Responses to Owens' comments practically write themselves. And plenty of disabled people and non-disabled allies, including disabled YouTubers like Footless Jo and Wheelsnoheels, and disabled model Haleigh Rosa, have had a lot to say about specifically how Owens is so off-base.

For one thing, the campaign was for a line of adaptive clothing for people with disabilities, so including a disabled model wearing them makes perfect functional sense as well as symbolic. Owens later conceded that this was a reasonable point, while not fundamentally retracting her overall disdain.

In any case, featuring disabled models in fashion shoots is hardly a new or radical idea anyway, or particularly controversial, even among people who dislike seeing “messages” in popular culture. Inclusion of disabled models in highly visible ad campaigns would be unlikely to make anyone’s Top 5 list of the worst trends in self-consciously progressive popular culture.

In some ways Owens’ rant seems like little more than a weak, grasping extension of the now standard conservative criticisms of “woke” – especially the kind of envelope-pushing and reshuffling of familiar character and social status formulas in popular media that intrigues and empowers some audiences, but seems to make others see red.

More specifically, Owens’ complaint relies on assuming that a fashion model in a wheelchair is unnatural – something that nobody would present except to make some kind of social or political point. But this premise only even slightly works if you accept the implication that a model in a wheelchair is inherently disturbing, unattractive, and unsexy. By any standard, this is manifestly untrue, and a particularly pure example of ableism.

On the other hand, whether or not Owen's remarks were ableist, offensive, inappropriate, or just clumsy and ill advised – whether or in what exact way Owens is or isn’t an ableist villain – her initial remarks suggest a fundamental misunderstanding, or possibly an intentional mischaracterization, of what inclusion and representation are for, particularly for people with disabilities. If nothing else they offer an opportunity to review the goals of disability inclusion and representation.

First, what is the difference between "inclusion" and "representation?" Inclusion is the deliberate practice of making sure organizations and opportunities are fully open to all people, in this case focused on people with disabilities. Representation happens when typically unseen people and unheard voices are proactively given a public platform – especially when otherwise marginalized people are able to "represent" people like themselves, rather than other kinds of people attempting to portray and speak for them.

So again, what exactly do disabled people who care about these things hope they will achieve?

Opening up career opportunities.

Every casting of a model with a disability, especially a visible one, sets a precedent for hiring more. This increases the chances that people with disabilities might realistically make a successful career in fashion modeling. It’s a pretty simple equation, though of course not very large-scale in an industry as relatively small as modeling.

The same hope is more significant in other professions where people with disabilities have traditionally been seen as longshots, niche performers, or incompatible – like medicine, acting, and sports. The hope for disabled people is that one or two high-profile disabled people can generate more opportunities for others, including possibly themselves.

Recalibrating old attitudes and boundaries.

Seeing disabled people in jobs and activities that seem to contradict old, ableist ideas about disability can help change those ideas. Candace Owens’ assumption that the sight of a woman in a wheelchair is unattractive and therefore incompatible with modeling is a case in point. And deliberately hiring and featuring disabled models is a simple, direct way of demonstrating that disability is entirely compatible with beauty and sex appeal.

Seeing disabled people perform well in other pursuits traditionally viewed as off-limits or “obviously” not suited to disabled people can gradually reshape those perceptions of disabled people as well. Seeing a doctor or a nurse in a wheelchair, a deaf actress, or a blind athlete gradually changes what people think disabled people can do, and can even help reset the mood around disabled people in general.

More accurately reflecting the presence of disabled people in society.

When more disabled people are active in modeling, it makes disability itself seem less of a rare anomaly. Fashion modeling is a small, highly selective industry. But a little over 25 percent of Americans have some kind of disability, and far fewer than 25 percent of models have disabilities. Just a handful more disabled models can help shift people’s perceptions of how common disability is. That in turn makes disabled people’s needs and importance in society feel more significant and less like an afterthought.

Any particular iInclusion or representation campaign, like other corporate DEI initiatives, can of course be "ridiculous," but not so much for the reasons Owens suggests. Cynical, rote representation without a real commitment to inclusion is always possible and unhelpful. Too much self-congratulation can ruin the normalizing effect. And crass, stunt casting solely for notoriety is probably the biggest risk worth watching out for.

It's also important to be on the lookout for DEI efforts that do harm by papering over bad practices instead of changing them, both in regard to disability and in other areas. A few disabled people in high-profile positions can too easily be a fig leaf for systematic discrimination against less visible disabled job applicants, employees, or customers.

Still, it may at times be better to have representation just to "check a box" than none at all. Even insincere DEI can eventually lead to actual progress. Even if the SKIMS model was hired cynically to create a stir, her obvious success in it opens up opportunities and changes perceptions. In the long run, better practices for questionable reasons are sometimes worth the insincerity.

Most disabled people are realistic about what inclusion and representation can do for them personally. It's a long-term investment in a better future, not a trick to jump ahead in line or hide mediocrity. If you open up just the possibility of modeling as a career for people with disabilities, it's still just a possibility. You still have to be a good model, which isn't 100% about physical appearance even for non-disabled models. It still requires specific, specialized knowledge, training, personality traits, and hard work. And even with robust, proportional representation of disability in modeling, we're still only talking about a tiny number of jobs for the disabled population.

Plus, none of these arguments and counter-arguments contend with the very real possibility that companies might choose a disabled model, actor, executive, or other worker because they are the best candidate for the job. And hiring someone with a disability often does also bring extra value to the company or project, precisely because of the disability.

The business benefits of diversity can certainly be overstated. But they do exist. It doesn't take that much imagination or even "sensitivity" to think of how. And the social benefits, though often fleeting, overstated, and disparaged by grumpy naysayers, are worth it.