Survivorship Bias

and why I'm constantly being let down

When you give a writer a data analysis course, they’re going to latch on to a single sample error and turn it into a metaphor. 

Survivorship Bias is a term used to define a type of sample selection bias that presents itself when the person analyzing the data mistakes the visible or apparent subgroup as the entire group. An example of this would be looking at Steve Jobs and extrapolating that being a college dropout results in some measure of massive success. If one uses only a sample of tech genius dropouts, it would be easy to ascertain a perception of success that isn’t realistic or accurate - take it from a former college dropout. 

This bias stretches infinitely further than collecting data. On a broader level, Survivorship Bias causes us to focus on, follow, and idolize people and things that may not be representative of the whole or that may be harmful representation. I often find myself having repetitive conversations revolving around the lack of disability representation in media and the grasping for straws that must be done when it comes to seeing oneself in film, books, TV, or on red carpets. Survivorship Bias causes us to fawn over celebrities like Selma Blair. Against all odds, she received a diagnosis, walked a red carpet with a cane, and was lauded for it. She represented a world in which disability - and all that comes with it - can be seen as fashionable, as cool, as something to be proud of. I read about people like her and find inspiration in their words, trying to hoard what I can for my own story. If she can do it, I can, I tell myself. When I do this, when we do this, we often do not take into consideration all of those who have have been relegated to other experiences of disability: medical gaslighting, poverty, being unhoused, abuse, death. 

We do this without intention, falling prey to this inherent bias towards the visible. 

That said, don’t we all feel a flutter of excitement, a thrill, when we see ourselves represented? It’s that feeling that goads us, unknowingly, into the dark room of Survivorship Bias. We see ourselves and what our futures could be under the spotlights, and we forget who we should be spotlighting: our community members. The people who are forgotten, left behind, and forced into the shadows for being less acceptable versions of visibility. 

Society shows favoritism towards traditional beauty standards, favoring those who are thin, white, able bodied, and cisgender. Those most likely to be spotlighted are those who survive these limiting factors. Selma Blair, an actress and disability advocate who has been revealed to be deeply hateful and Islamophobic, checks many of those boxes with ease. She is thin, white, and attractive. Money affords her a fashionable lifestyle - a well trained service dog, elegant clothes, canes to fit each red carpet outfit, a comfortable home. Her career gives her sex appeal, even as she ages and becomes more visibly disabled. As she strolls the red carpet, bearing a mobility aid for the first time, she is remembered by many for the on screen kiss she shared with Sarah Michelle Gellar in Cruel Intentions. Selma Blair, a Hollywood actress, is one of the most palatable disabled people that I can think of, and it has turned her into the surviving data point in this community full of people with stories that deserve witnessing. 

It feels like most of my growth as an adult has been not only drastic, but fairly online. I came out to most people in my life via the internet - the same place I embraced the label ‘disabled,’ shared my experiences with ableism, and started trying new combinations of pronouns. In part because of that, it is embarrassingly evident how I have been affected by my own narrow scope. 

Just a handful of years ago, I loved Sarah J. Maas novels with a feverish fervor. They were a form of escapism that helped me cope with reality throughout high school and young adulthood, and for that I loved them. Reading about her disabled characters - characters who loathed and resented their disabilities but overcame them through magical healing or willpower alone - gave me a twisted sort of hope. I didn’t have magic, and I lived in the real world, but when I was thumbing through those pages, I was able to convince myself to stay alive, if only for the hope that I too could overcome my disability. 

It should go without saying, but these examples of disability were - and are - incredibly harmful. They create an illusion of disability that needs to be cured, fixed, and hated into oblivion. The years I spent believing that I could overcome my illnesses are years that I will never get back, and they are years spent hating the very fibers of my body rather than giving myself the love and care that I have always, and will always, deserve. When writers like Sarah J. Maas use disabled characters as pawns in fantasy novels, they spread the message that disability is only a plot point, and it is one that can be battled and overcome, like a dragon in a fairytale. Unfortunately, these are the types of disability representation that are the most prevalent in the fantasy genre, and because of Survivorship Bias, these stories - the most popular, the best sellers - are the representation that young disabled people like me are most likely to have on their shelves. 

One of the most beautiful things about the disabled community is that it is far reaching and infinitely intersectional. Everyone can be - and at one point likely will be - disabled. It is an identity that can be acquired by age, accident, or birth. It can be visible or invisible. It can go undiagnosed and untouched by the medical field. It affects every race, gender, sexual identity, religion, and class. 

So why are we left with advocates who are quietly - or not so quietly - awful people?

I feel a lot of responsibility to frame disability and my personal experiences in a way that welcomes people in, particularly those who are not so interested in changing their ways. In so many ways, I am one of the more palatable disabled people. On most days - particularly lately - I don’t need or use mobility aids. I am fairly invisibly disabled, and I am quietly disabled much of the time. My accommodations are minor, and the ability I have to go without them allows me to fly under the radar without being, as someone could perceive me to be, a nuisance. I’m white, thin, and accustomed to putting on a brave face. If I am the one disability advocate that people follow online, I want to keep them here, and I want them to listen, even if it means monitoring the way that I speak about ableism and accessibility. 

This theory of non-statistical Survivorship Bias that I’ve been pondering is broadly applicable. We should, at every turn, be asking ourselves which perspectives are missing from the conversation. Why are certain advocates held to higher regard than others? Why are some disabilities prevalent on social media, whereas others are not? (The answer is ableism.) Why, as we witness the rise of women’s sports, are white athletes more likely to be praised by the media and sponsored by major companies than Black athletes? (The answer is racism.) What do we consider important, and what do we let slide?

One of the easiest ways to begin actively improving accessibility for disabled folks is by adding captions to audio and image descriptions to photos. Image descriptions seem like the barrier for entry to accessibility that separates true allies from those who only passively care. It’s easy to assume that users who need image descriptions simply don’t use Instagram, and if they do, they probably don’t follow you. I imagine this is the thought process. The ableism isn’t outwardly insidious, yet it results in completely ignoring a swath of people: those who need image descriptions for reasons that you may not understand or be aware of. 

Survivorship Bias - this tendency towards forgetting the experiences of those we can’t see - isn’t entirely incidental. It also comes from willful ignorance. Life is more comfortable if you don’t consider the thousands of disabled lives cut short by the Covid-19 pandemic and those who are newly disabled as a result of it. It’s easy to consider yourself an ally because you follow a handful of people online, even while not putting accessibility measures into practice in real life. 

So, while I’m forced to continue analyzing Excel sheets filled with numbers, I’ll be considering Survivorship Bias in more than one way. I’ll be asking myself which perspectives are absent from media, and I’ll be asking myself why I see who I see, read what I read, and consume what I consume. Which perspectives are missing, and how can we change that?

It isn’t an easy question to answer, nor is it one that can be fixed in a day, but I hope that continually asking it brings us closer and closer to consistently prioritizing the most marginalized voices in every conversation.