Margo Hanson's Eye Patch and The Power of Stylized Survival

In The Magicians, few characters are as sharp, glamorous, and terrifyingly competent as Margo Hanson. As High King of Fillory, Margo is fierce, loyal, and relentlessly stylish. She treats her wardrobe as seriously as she treats diplomacy or magical warfare. When Margo loses her right eye in Season 3, her identity and her relationship with her body begin to shift. What could have been portrayed as a purely tragic injury becomes a layered exploration of pain, resilience, and style as psychic armor. The sparkling, custom-made eye patches she wears are more than fashion. They are power.

According to The Magicians Fandom page, Margo sacrifices her eye in an act of political resistance, refusing to let the Fairy Queen use her vision for surveillance. It is a strategic loss, but not one she takes lightly. In the episode We Have Brought You Little Cakes, Margo says, “It’s not the same. Let’s not pretend it is, okay? That makes it hurt worse.” She acknowledges the disfigurement not as a point of pride but as a real wound, both emotional and aesthetic. For someone whose appearance is an extension of her identity, the loss carries real weight.

Margo’s choice to wear ornate, glittering eye patches is more than a practical adaptation. It is a psychological shield. This reflects what sociologist Erving Goffman described as a "covering strategy," where individuals with visible differences find ways to manage how others perceive them. The Disability Studies Quarterly discusses how appearance-based stigma can deeply affect identity, and how people navigate public life when their bodies mark them as different. Margo’s eye patches are a way to take control of that perception. She does not conceal her injury but reframes it with rhinestones and velvet, asserting her authority over the gaze of others.

This idea resonates far beyond fiction. In Dazed Digital, writer and activist Roxy Murray explains how fashion can help people with disabilities reclaim agency over their bodies. “It can feel like the body no longer belongs to you,” she says. Customizing mobility aids or choosing expressive clothing allows for a return of that control. Margo’s patch is not just an accessory. It is a refusal to let trauma erase her selfhood.

This is supported by clinical research. A Redalyc study on disfigurement and body image found that visible changes to the face can trigger shame, depression, and a loss of confidence. However, participants who embraced appearance-related choices such as makeup, accessories, or stylized aids reported improved self-esteem and a renewed sense of self-determination. Choosing how to be seen becomes part of the healing process.

Margo’s eye patches represent more than an aesthetic decision. They are a way of asserting presence, of turning vulnerability into visibility. Her decision to wear beauty on top of trauma is not about vanity. It is about survival through transformation.

As my own gait disorder has progressed, I made the decision to start using a quad cane. Not just any cane, but a leopard print one. Bold, stylish, and a little defiant. I did not want to disappear under medical beige or sterile metal. I wanted something that looked like me. In that way, I found myself thinking about Margo Hanson again.

Margo did not choose to lose her eye, just as I did not choose a body that resists smooth movement. But she did choose how she moved forward. Her rhinestone-studded eye patches were not just functional. They were statements of ownership. They were expressions of self in a world that often reduces disability to tragedy or invisibility. In Dazed Digital, Roxy Murray describes fashion as a tool to reclaim the body when illness or disability makes it feel distant or surveilled. I understand that feeling. When I hold my leopard cane, I am not just walking. I am announcing that I exist on my own terms.

Studies on disfigurement and disability reinforce this approach. According to the Redalyc research, people who find ways to personalize visible aids or bodily changes often report stronger self-esteem and psychological resilience. The Disability Studies Quarterly also suggests that visible adaptations, when made with intention, can counteract stigma and help people feel more in control of their narrative.

For me, this cane is not about hiding. It is about choosing how I show up in the world. Just like Margo did.Margo Hanson’s journey with her missing eye is more than a subplot in a fantasy series. It is a mirror for how real people navigate visibility, loss, and identity. When she puts on an embellished eye patch, she is not pretending the injury never happened. She is turning it into something powerful, something hers. That transformation speaks to a broader truth. Whether it is a cane, an eye patch, or any other aid, what we choose to make visible about ourselves can become part of our strength.

The research supports this. Studies like the one published in Disability Studies Quarterly show that when people take ownership of how they present their disability, it can reshape how they are seen and how they see themselves. The Redalyc article on facial disfigurement echoes that, noting that appearance management and creative adaptation can reduce shame and increase self-esteem. These findings go hand in hand with what Roxy Murray writes in Dazed Digital, where personal style becomes a way to reclaim the body and reject narratives of pity or invisibility.

When I chose my leopard print cane, I was not reaching for camouflage. I was reaching for something that reflected who I am. Something that helped me move through the world with more than just stability. Like Margo, I was looking for a way to turn vulnerability into expression. There is grief in adapting to change, but there can also be power in choosing how that change is seen.

We do not always get to choose what happens to our bodies. But we can choose how we respond. We can choose rhinestones. We can choose leopard print. We can choose to be seen.