I have lived for years with scoliosis. The prescription was a rigid brace—effective only if worn all the time: in the bathroom, in bed, on the street, at parties, in class, in every social setting. I learned to breathe inside plastic and metal, and to bear the gaze that came with it. Gradually the brace became a nightmare; I monitored it, obeyed it, and it kept defining my posture and my presence.