These prostheses break the mold with third thumbs, spikes and superhero skins

Clode’s current project, which also helps him do his job, is a “third thumb” that anyone can use to increase their grip. The flexible device is powered by motors and controlled using pressure sensors in the wearer’s shoes. Volunteers learned to use it to unscrew a bottle, drink tea and even play guitar. She hopes that one day the thumb (and similar devices) could help everyone from factory workers to surgeons perform tasks more efficiently, with less strain on their own bodies.

Traditionally, prosthetic designers have looked to the human body for inspiration. Prostheses were seen as replacements for missing body parts; the hyper-realistic bionic legs and arms were the holy grail. Thanks to sci-fi franchises like Star Wars, such devices still have a hold on our collective imagination. For better or worse, they have shaped how most people view the future of prosthetics.

But Clode is part of a movement for alternative prosthetics, a form of assistive technology that goes against convention by not trying to blend in. Instead of making devices that mimic the look of a “normal” arm or leg, she and her fellow designers are creating fantastical prosthetics that could wiggle like a tentacle, light up, or even shoot glitter. . Other unconventional prostheses, like runners’ favorite blade legs, are designed for specific tasks. The designers believe these devices can help prosthetic wearers regain control of their own self-image and feel more empowered, while simultaneously removing some of the stigma around disability and limb differences.

But even as alternative prostheses gain visibility, they are clouded by an uncomfortable fact: prostheses are still only accessible to a small percentage of those who could benefit from them. In a world where many people who want a prosthesis can’t afford it, advocates are looking for a middle ground where accessibility, style and substance overlap.

Prostheses are ancient and deeply human. The earliest known artificial limbs date from ancient Egypt: two carved toes, one found attached to the right foot of a mummy, which date from 2,500 to 3,000 years ago and bear unmistakable marks of corded sandals.

Ancient peoples made and wore prosthetics for a myriad of reasons – some practical, some spiritual, some tinged with ableist logic. Most were designed to blend in, but some stood out intentionally. When Roman general Marcus Sergius Silus lost his hand during the Second Punic War, he reportedly ordered an iron replacement. At least one medieval Italian seems to have replaced his hand with a knife.

Instead of making devices that mimic the look of a “normal” arm or leg, Clode and his fellow designers are creating fantastical prosthetics that could wiggle like a tentacle, light up, or even shoot glitter.

The impulse to customize her prosthesis makes sense to Victoria Pitts-Taylor, a gender studies professor at Wesleyan University who has researched body modification in culture, medicine and science. “Whatever we do to our body, we don’t do it in a social vacuum,” she says. Veterans may want to express their identity with a physical tribute to their military service, while artists may want to experiment with color and pattern.

According to Pitts-Taylor, everyone in society is expected to modify their body in some way, such as having their hair cut, and wearing particular clothes. “When we’re able to find ways to modify our bodies that reflect our sensitivities and our perception of ourselves, it really feels good,” she says.