Iconography

Walking through the halls of Huntsman Hall at the University of Pennsylvania, something odd caught my eye – a sign displaying four figures: two in skirts and two not, all inside a box. It was meant to be an elevator sign, but it was just perplexing. Why this strange, gendered representation? It didn't make sense.

I decided to reach out to the Wharton operations team. In my email, I questioned the need for such a convoluted design. Surprisingly, they responded quickly and removed the sign. This quick action impressed me, but it also made me wonder about the purpose of such a confusing sign in the first place.

Signs, especially in a bustling academic environment, should be straightforward. They're not just for inclusivity; they should convey their message clearly and without ambiguity. My brother, who is autistic, faces challenges with unclear signage. This elevator sign was a glaring example of unnecessary complexity.

Whenever my family is out and about, and my brother needs to use the bathroom, I accompany him to be there to advocate for him, in case anything goes wrong. And one of the most common ways things go wrong is when there is unclear signage. Whether that means foreign language signs or none at all, signs are only as useful as their ability to communicate their message, something which in my opinion has been slowly lost over time in favor of stylization and decoration. These are luxuries afforded only to those who can understand implicitly a signs message through external context clues.

The choice to use four gender-specific figures in the sign baffled me. Why not something simpler? As someone who pays attention to details exactly like this, this sign struck me as a clear misstep. Having seen my brother struggle with similar issues, I felt an urge to make a change.

While writing to the operations team, a friend looked over my shoulder and was surprised. To them, it seemed like nitpicking, possibly troubling an already busy staff. Perhaps they were right. But my life experiences, particularly with my brother, have made me sensitive to these nuances.

I've always believed that if you point out a problem, people will understand and empathize. However, I've learned that without personal experience, it's hard for others to grasp the need for certain changes. This doesn't discourage me. Rather, it reinforces my commitment to advocate for those who might not be able to do so themselves.

This experience has been a valuable lesson in the power of observation and advocacy. Small actions, like questioning a sign, can lead to meaningful improvements. It's a reminder that our voices can contribute to creating a more inclusive and accessible environment for everyone, a testament to the impact of being observant and speaking up for what seems right.