The Mythical Unicorn of Accessibility
Why “fully accessible” sounds reassuring, but rarely survives contact with real people and real life.
Let’s be honest.
When someone proudly announces their venue, event, website, or perhaps even their spaceship is “fully accessible”, there is often a quiet, collective eyebrow raise from disabled people everywhere.
Not rude. Not dismissive. Just experienced.
Because the truth is this: there is no such thing as fully accessible.
And that is not because people are not trying. Quite the opposite. It is because access needs are as varied as the people themselves. What works beautifully for one person can be difficult, uncomfortable, or completely unusable for another.
So rather than chasing the unicorn, it is worth understanding why it does not exist.
The ramp that works until it doesn’t
Ramps are often held up as the symbol of accessibility.
And for many wheelchair users, they are. A good ramp can mean independence, ease, and a straightforward route in without needing to scale something resembling Ben Nevis.
But give that same ramp to someone with a balance impairment or using crutches and it can feel more like a ski slope. Add a bit of rain and suddenly it becomes an extreme sport.
Then there is the question of gradient. Too steep and it is exhausting or unsafe. Too shallow and it stretches halfway across the postcode.
The “perfect ramp” turns out to be anything but universal.
Lighting: helpful or overwhelming
Good lighting can transform a space. For many people with visual impairments, bright and even lighting makes navigation safer and more confident.
But that same lighting can be overwhelming for others. People with migraines, photosensitivity, or sensory sensitivities may find it harsh, disorientating, or exhausting.
So we soften the lighting. Warm tones. A calmer atmosphere.
Lovely, until someone drops something important and spends five minutes searching the floor like a detective in a period drama.
Quiet spaces and the sound of nothing
Quiet rooms are often a genuinely thoughtful addition. They can offer relief for people who are overwhelmed, anxious, or simply need a break from busy environments.
But for some, silence removes useful cues. Sound helps with orientation, awareness, and confidence. Take it away, and the space can feel isolating rather than supportive.
And then there are alarms. Flashing lights, vibrating alerts, loud sirens. Designed to be inclusive. Experienced by some as deeply unsettling.
Accessibility is rarely one dimensional.
Digital: accessible for who?
Digital spaces follow the same pattern.
A website that works beautifully with a screen reader can be a lifeline. But if every image comes with a paragraph of alt text, the experience can become long and tiring.
On the other hand, simplifying content for clarity can help many people, while leaving others without the detail they need.
Try to design for everyone at once and you risk creating something that feels like a compromise to all.
Seating: simple until it isn’t
Seating sounds straightforward.
Except it is not.
Some people need to sit regularly. Others find sitting painful and prefer to stand or move. Some need space to stretch, shift position, or lie down briefly.
A room full of chairs solves one problem and creates another. A standing event does exactly the same.
There is no single right setup. Only a series of choices and trade offs.
The toilet is never just a toilet
Accessible toilets are often seen as a clear marker of inclusion.
And features like Changing Places facilities are absolutely vital for some people.
But even here, the detail matters. Poor signage, awkward layouts, dim lighting, or difficult doors can all get in the way.
And of course, there is the classic scenario: the “accessible toilet” tucked away down a corridor, behind a heavy door, next to a mop bucket and a bicycle.
Technically present. Practically questionable.
So where does that leave us?
Accessibility is not a checklist you complete and move on from.
It is an ongoing process. A balance. A series of decisions that need revisiting as you learn more about the people you are trying to welcome.
“Fully accessible” is not a destination. It is more like a direction of travel, with the occasional wrong turn, a few course corrections, and the need to keep going.
What this really means in practice
If you are responsible for a place, a service, or an experience, there are a few things worth holding onto.
Aim for better, not perfect. Progress matters more than labels.
Understand that needs can and do conflict. This is normal, not a failure.
The most useful thing you can do is ask, listen, and adapt. Then do it again.
Final thought
And if someone tells you their venue is “fully accessible”?
Smile. Appreciate the intent.
Then ask a few gentle questions.
Because the real work of accessibility is not in the claim. It is in the detail, the listening, and the willingness to keep improving.