Among the many things we have to thank Janet Jackson and Justin Timberlake for, the introduction of the term “wardrobe malfunction” has to rank right up there with Rhythm Nation 1814 and FutureSex/LoveSounds.

I’m not condoning what happened during that fateful Super Bowl show, but the fact that it led to the coining of “wardrobe malfunction” definitely merits it a place among 2004’s most consequential events. Defined by Wikipedia and the American Dialect Society as “an unanticipated exposure of bodily parts,” a wardrobe malfunction is something we can all identify with — especially us wheelchair users.

The lack of accessible and chair-friendly clothing options, coupled with the complications that come with careless caregivers and the realities of sitting down all day put even the most fashion-conscious of us at high risk for all kinds of unique wardrobe malfunctions. From an unexpected moon sighting because of some ill-fitting pants, to a drain bag tube dangling where it was not supposed to, we’ve all been there, learned and adapted.

After 20+ years, those types of faux pas are pretty rare for me, but there is one recurring wardrobe malfunction that has long been my nemesis: the side-tum. For those unfamiliar with side-tum, here’s a true story.

Picture me — a tall white dude in a power wheelchair — rolling through a bustling Latino flea market desperately seeking a Justin Bieber piñata (don’t ask). After about 10 minutes of searching, I started to notice everyone’s eyes seemed to be on me.

At first, I wrote it off to the public’s general fascination with seeing a wheelchair user out and about on his own. As I noticed more and more eyes, I told myself, well maybe it’s the wheelchair and the fact you’re one of the only non-Hispanic people within 100 yards.

“There is one recurring wardrobe malfunction that has long been my nemesis: the side-tum.”

That’s when I finally looked down at my lap and realized that my T-shirt had ridden up to expose my mid-section — perfectly accentuating the right side of my naked quad belly: prime side-tum.

The combination of a custom-molded seat and backrest and a fashion world with no concern for making the seated consumer look stylish have put my side-tum on regular display.

That day in the flea market, I laughed and covered up to the best of my ability, but I was definitely a little embarrassed. More recently, my attitude on side-tum has changed.

These days, I own it. That doesn’t mean I’m going out featuring intentional side-tum (yet), but if you happen to catch a glimpse when we’re out together, you’re welcome.

While my side-tum may be a little pale — I live in Oregon — there’s certainly nothing wrong with it, and there’s definitely nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about. It’s a part of my disabled life, and I’m here for it.

In a world where we’ve sexualized or romanticized pretty much every other part of the human anatomy, why can’t the side-tum get a little love? Just like Justin brought sexy back, I’m working on bringing sexy to the front and side … tum, that is.

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