From Skater to Sprained Ego to Recovery Chic

Reading time: About 3 minutes.

I went roller skating to feel young again.

It worked. If by young you mean willing to wager your aging skeleton against nostalgia.

One Tuesday in mid-October, my friend Marcie invited me to the Sensory Friendly skate night at Lynnwood Bowl & Skate. It’s a session for beginners with soft music, slower pacing, and no strobe lights to overwhelm your balance. Perfect, I thought. I hadn’t skated in decades, but in my mind, I could already see myself gliding gracefully across the rink, breeze in my hair, flipping around to skate backward, impressing everyone with my comeback tour.

Reality, as it turned out, had other plans.

I didn’t realize how wobbly I’d become until I was already on the rink, teetering like a newborn giraffe. I tried to play it cool, chatting with Marcie, pretending I wasn’t leaning precariously backward, when it happened—that slow-motion “uh-oh” moment every wildly out-of-practice skater dreads.

My feet went one way, my body the other, and I hit the floor hard. Bottom. Wrists. Elbows. Pride.

Every head in the rink turned. Small children froze, eyes wide, clutching their mothers’ legs, as if they’d just witnessed a live-action lion-on-zebra moment. I refused to be the adult who made kids quit skating forever—and we had just gotten started—so I sprang up, pain searing through my wrists, and rolled on. I even started to enjoy myself: the soft wind on my cheeks, the crazed delusion I might actually be in control, the faint whiff of triumph through throbbing pain.

At home, I iced my wrists and derriere, praying nothing was broken. It was too late for the ER; these were not fatal wounds, and I wasn’t about to spend all night under fluorescent lights for a sprained wrist and bruised ego. The next morning, sweating to button my jeans before heading for x-rays, I realized the universe had handed me a writing prompt about resilience, getting dressed, and the art of looking composed when your joints are on strike.

Enter C.Banning Accessories by Cinne Worthington.

Here’s what I’ve learned from my wrists so far: button-downs with easy buttons beat pullovers. Zip-up pants beat stiff denim acrobatics. My left wrist can still work zippers, but my right—wrapped in a brace like a glass sculpture—refuses all fiddly clasps. Jewelry? Forget it.

But a scarf—that, I could manage. Tie it, drape it, knot it “just so,” all without twisting anything in protest.

So, when I ventured out again, I reached for a C.Banning scarf that I bought on Etsy this past summer. It’s a slim, color-drunk ribbon of fabric that could make even convalescence look intentional.

I paired it with a crisp white button-down shirt, a navy sailor-collared cardigan (thank you, generous sleeves), black-and-white plaid cropped pants, and lace-up boots. Admittedly, the boots were a challenge, but suddenly I looked like someone who’d chosen what to wear, not someone dressing around a brace.

That’s the magic of Cinne’s work. From her studio in San Francisco’s old shipbuilding district of Dogpatch, she designs, prints, and sews every scarf herself, blending her backgrounds in graphic and textile design. Her husband and their German Wire-haired Pointer, Dries, complete the scene. Her scarves feel like wearable optimism: tiny, joyful improvisations that jazz up whatever they touch.

They also pack beautifully, which is good, because I plan to take several to Europe this fall. They’re small, bright reminders that a white shirt and jeans can feel new again.

If the whole experience taught me anything, it’s that life isn’t about perfection—it’s about presence. It’s about saying yes to the invitations that make you feel alive, even when they make you feel a little too alive. And when things don’t go to plan, finding small, beautiful ways to meet yourself where you are: a perfectly weighted scarf, a forgiving sleeve, zippers instead of buttons. There’s grace in that kind of gentleness, with our clothes, our bodies, and ourselves.

Postscript: A few weeks later, the bruises have turned to stories—and the stories, thankfully, go better with scarves.

🧵 Find Cinne’s designs and styling inspiration at cbanning.com or on her Etsy shop. None of the links in my post are affiliated. Just throwing well-deserved flowers to a fellow colorful creative.