Fashion Tips for Bedazzling Your Colonoscopy Bag

So you’ve got a colonoscopy bag.

And it looks like something the hospital gift shop couldn’t sell to grieving relatives in 1987. Beige. Always beige. Or that delightful “medical clear” that makes everyone uncomfortable at the pool.

Meanwhile, Karen’s walking around with a purse that looks like a taxidermied flamingo and people call her “eccentric.” You know what’s actually eccentric? Accepting that your medical equipment has to look like medical equipment. That’s quitter talk.

The Beige Industrial Complex Must Be Stopped

Here’s the thing nobody tells you: somewhere, in some windowless factory, there’s a person whose entire job is making sure medical equipment looks as depressing as humanly possible. They wake up every morning, look in the mirror, and think “How can I make sick people feel worse about themselves today?”

That person needs to be stopped.

Your colonoscopy bag doesn’t have to be their victory. You’re wearing this thing more consistently than you wear your wedding ring. (Don’t check if that’s true, just go with it.) Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, attached to your body like the world’s worst fashion accessory.

Unless.

Unless you make it the world’s best fashion accessory.

Supply Run: The Reckoning

Get twice what you think you need. Then get more. The cashier at Michaels should know you by name and be slightly concerned.

Design Philosophies for People Who’ve Given Up on Dignity

Nuclear Disco

Mirror tiles. Actual mirror tiles. Like the kind they put in 1970s cocaine bathrooms. Cover every available surface. Add strobe lights – not LEDs, actual strobing lights that probably violate several safety regulations. When you walk into a room, people should have to sign a waiver about potential seizures.

You’re not trying to blend in. You’re trying to be seen from the International Space Station.

Is it practical? No. Will it cause problems at airports? Absolutely. Should you do it anyway? What do you think?

English Garden on Bath Salts

Picture the Chelsea Flower Show. Now picture it having a nervous breakdown. That’s your aesthetic. Hot glue entire silk flower arrangements to this thing – not individual flowers, entire bouquets. Add garden gnomes. Multiple garden gnomes. Maybe a tiny bird bath (non-functional, probably). Plastic butterflies on springs so they bounce when you walk. One of those spinning flower pinwheels from the dollar store.

You’re going for “What if Mother Nature had a craft store addiction and questionable judgment?”

Corporate Overlord Chic

This is for people who want their colonoscopy bag to look like it has an MBA and commits tax fraud.

Navy blue base coat (five layers, minimum). Pinstripe rhinestones applied with mathematical precision. A tiny briefcase charm that opens to reveal an even tinier briefcase. Motivational quotes like “Disrupting the Intestinal Space” or “Q3 Gut Performance.” Maybe add a fake LinkedIn QR code that leads nowhere.

• Bluetooth earpiece (non-functional) hot-glued to the side
• Tiny power tie dangling off the bottom
• Mock stock ticker scrolling “BOWEL ↑ 3.2%”
• Business card holder (cards read “Executive VP of Digestive Affairs”)

The goal is making people wonder if you’re having a medical emergency or a hostile takeover. Both. The answer is both.

Techniques That Violate the Geneva Convention

The Gradient That Shouldn’t Exist

You want seventeen shades of purple? You get seventeen shades of purple. Start dark at the bottom, go lighter toward the top, then reverse it halfway through because consistency is for people without imagination. Use different sized rhinestones to create texture that makes no sense. Add holographic accents randomly. No pattern. Patterns are for people who plan things.

Your gastroenterologist will need therapy after seeing this. That’s their problem.

Temperature-Activated Chaos Theory

Thermochromic paint isn’t just available – it’s mandatory now. Your bag changes from blue to pink when you’re anxious. From pink to green when you enter air conditioning. Add a layer of UV-reactive paint underneath so it glows under blacklight. Why would you need this? You wouldn’t. That’s exactly why you need it.

Walking through different temperatures becomes performance art. Your body heat is now part of the show.

The Border Situation

Start with the biggest rhinestones legally available to civilians. Create a border. Now add another border inside that border. Keep going until you run out of space. Fill the gaps with glitter. Realize you have more space. Add another border.

There is no such thing as “too many borders.” There’s only “not enough borders yet.”

Seasonal Atrocities

Spring: Peeps. Just Peeps. Everywhere. Shellacked for preservation, hot-glued at random angles. Add plastic grass (yes, the Easter basket kind). Maybe a chocolate bunny, also shellacked. You want people to smell chocolate but never find it. Psychological warfare.

Summer: Your bag should scream “Jimmy Buffett had a medical emergency at Señor Frog’s.” Tiny margarita umbrellas. Sand somehow incorporated into the design (it will get everywhere, that’s the point). A solar-powered fan that doesn’t actually cool anything. Zinc oxide war paint. A single flip-flop charm, just one, never explain why.

Fall: Listen. You’re going to mix actual pumpkin spice into the Mod Podge. The bees will come. Let them come. Add so many fake leaves that you rustle when you walk. A tiny scarecrow that judges people. One of those cinnamon brooms but miniature. You are autumn incarnate. You are the reason people hate October. Own it.

Winter: Full commitment to becoming a human snow globe. Clear panels filled with glycerin and glitter that actually moves. Tiny plastic villages in each panel. Working Christmas lights (battery pack hidden under more decorations). Jingle bells that cannot be silenced. You’re going to be banned from libraries and that’s a price you’re willing to pay.

The Accessory Arms Race

A bedazzled bag without a matching belt is like a wedding without a fistfight – technically complete but emotionally unsatisfying.

The Multiple Bag Personality Disorder

You need a different bag for every day of the week. No, every mood. No, every hour.

• Morning Bag: Covered in coffee beans (real ones, shellacked)
• Gym Bag: Protein powder mixed into the glue, tiny dumbbells, the smell of regret
• Work Bag: Looks like a printer exploded on it
• Date Night Bag: Mood lighting, Barry White’s greatest hits on a hidden speaker
• Grocery Bag: Camouflaged as a cantaloupe (nobody questions produce)
• Therapy Bag: Just googly eyes. Hundreds of them. Staring.

Social Media or Social Menace?

Document everything. Suggested hashtags that will get you banned or famous (same thing):

#ColonoscopyCore #IntestinalInfluencer #GutReaction #BowelMovement (the fashion kind) #MedicalDeviceButMakeItFashion #BedazzledBowelBag #ShineFromBehind

Start an OnlyFans but it’s just close-ups of your bag. Call it “Digestive Exclusive.”

When Medical Professionals Try to Stop You

Your doctor says it’s “interfering with medical care”? That’s just jealousy talking. His Honda Civic doesn’t have rhinestones either.

The nurse can’t find the opening because of all the decorations? Sounds like a skill issue.

Insurance won’t cover your “modifications”? Start a class action lawsuit. There are dozens of us. DOZENS.

The Maintenance Schedule of Madness

This isn’t a hobby anymore. This is your life now.

Hourly: Check for loose rhinestones like a paranoid prospector Daily: Add more glitter (there’s always room for more glitter) Weekly: Full structural integrity assessment, usually fails Monthly: Complete redesign because you’re bored or saw something shiny Yearly: Therapy (not for you, for everyone who has to look at your bag)

You’ve Gone Too Far When…

Actually, no. You haven’t gone too far. You can never go too far. But here are signs you’re heading in the right direction:

• Airport security has a separate protocol just for you
• Small children follow you crying (from joy or fear, unclear)
• Your bag has its own insurance policy
• Local craft stores have your picture on the wall (either fame or shame board)
• Birds attack you, thinking you’re a rival bird
• Your gastroenterologist retired early
• NASA calls about light pollution
• You’ve been uninvited from three weddings for “upstaging the bride”

But why stop there? Why stop anywhere?

The Philosophy of Bedazzled Rebellion

Look. Society decided that medical equipment should look medical. Society also decided that pineapple on pizza was controversial and that socks with sandals were wrong. Society makes terrible decisions.

You’re stuck with this bag. That’s not changing. What can change is how many rhinestones per square inch you can physically attach before the structural integrity fails. (The answer is more than you’d think but less than you’d hope.)

Every rhinestone is a tiny middle finger to the universe. Every LED is a beacon saying “You tried to bring me down but now I’m a walking disco.” Every fake flower is proof that nature might be healing but you’re absolutely not.

This isn’t about making the best of a bad situation.

This is about making a bad situation fabulous.

And if your colonoscopy bag doesn’t require welding goggles to look at directly? You’re not done yet. You’re never done. There’s always room for one more rhinestone, one more charm, one more tiny disco ball.

Tomorrow someone’s going to see you at Target, their retinas burning from your magnificence, and they’re going to think “What the hell is wrong with that person?”

And you know what?

Everything.

But at least your bag looks amazing while everything’s wrong.

That’s not giving up. That’s giving the universe jazz hands while it tries to defeat you. And jazz hands covered in rhinestones are even better.