Pious Fashion: How Muslim Women Dress

249 Pages·2017·3.31 MB·English

by  Elizabeth Bucar

PIOUS FASHION

P I O U S FA S H I O N
ba
How Muslim W omen Dress
E L I Z A B E T H B U C A R
harvard university press
Cambridge, Mas sa chu setts ◆ London, England ◆ 2017
Copyright © 2017 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College
All rights reserved
Printed in the United States of Amer i ca
First Printing
Library of Congress Cataloging- in- Publication Data
Names: Bucar, Elizabeth M., author.
Title: Pious fashion : how Muslim women dress / Elizabeth Bucar.
Description: Cambridge, Mas sa chu setts : Harvard University Press, 2017. |
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017010500 | ISBN 9780674976160 (alk. paper)
Subjects: LCSH: Muslim women— Clothing— Iran— Tehran. | Muslim
women— Clothing— Turkey— Istanbul. | Muslim
women— Clothing— Indonesia— Yogyakarta. | Muslim
women— Iran— Tehran— Conduct of life. | Muslim
women— Turkey— Istanbul— Conduct of life. | Muslim
women— Indonesia— Yogyakarta— Conduct of life. | Clothing and
dress— Social aspects— Asia.
Classification: LCC BP190.5.C6 B84 2017 | DDC 297.5/76— dc23
LC rec ord available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017010500
Jacket design: Graciela Galup
Jacket photos: Courtesy of The Tehran Times fashion blog. Photographs of Tehran
street style by Donya Joshani, front: December 17, 2016; back: January 27, 2017.
CONTENTS
preface vii
Introduction 1
1 Hijab in Tehran 24
2 Jilbab in Yogyakarta 74
3 Tesettür in Istanbul 122
4 Pious Fashion across Cultures 171
Epilogue 191
notes 199
further reading 217
acknowl edgments 223
index 225

PREFACE
july 1, 2004
I reached into my carry-on to feel for two items I had brought with
me, wanting to reassure myself that they w ere still there: a black head-
scarf and a long black overcoat. The flight attendant passed by, col-
lecting plastic cups and wrappers of overly sweet breakfast pastry. I
looked around the cabin and saw only two w omen wearing head-
scarves. When was the right time to change? I had not wanted to show
up at the airport in full fieldwork garb. That somehow seemed inap-
propriate, as though I were trying too hard to blend in. But now that
we were getting close to landing, I wondered when I was g oing to put
on my hijab, and who was going to make sure I was covered properly.
Six months before, I had been informed by the Islamic Republic of
Iran that my visa was contingent on my abiding by local laws, including
wearing “proper hijab according to the sharia.” But no description was
offered as to what that entailed. I had troub le deciding what to wear to
enter the country and had fin ally settled on borrowing an outfit from
an Iran ian friend, presuming that she had a better grasp of the unwritten
dress norms in Iran than I did. But what if she had neglected something?
Would I have trou ble getting through passport control if my outfit
was judged inadequate? Would my clothing be considered appropriately
modest? Professional? Stylish? Feminine?
My worrying was interrupted by the pil ot’s voice over the audio
system, asking the flight attendants to prepare the cabin for our initial
descent into Tehran Imam Khomeini International Airport. I heard a
slight rustling and looked over at the w oman across the aisle from me.
Thirty- something, dressed in skinny jeans and a Diane von Furstenberg
patterned silk blouse. She caught me staring, smiled, and then winked.
Out of her Louis Vuitton bag came an overcoat and a Gucci scarf.
I followed her lead. The mass wardrobe change had begun.
◆ ◆ ◆
For the rest of the summer, I lived in Tehran, studying Persian,
perusing the Khomeini archives, and interviewing leaders of local
women’s groups. At the time I was researching a diff er ent proj ect
having to do with w omen’s advocacy programs, so Islamic dress was
not my focus. That is not to say that veiling did not occupy a lot of
my time and energy. I still had to figure out how to follow the am-
biguous dress code and decide what the culturally appropriate form
of dress was for diff er ent activities, including meeting with govern-
ment officials, interviewing activists, visiting official archives, and
socializing. Despite my lack of confidence, it turned out I was ade-
quately covered for my entry into Iran, wearing what I came to iden-
tify as a very formal style of hijab. As I stood in line at passport
control—in my long black crepe overcoat and plain black scarf, sur-
rounded by w omen in stylishly cut and colorful coats and tunics—I
realized I had proba bly overcompensated and worn something too
demure. Contrary to the assumptions of outsiders, women’s dress in
Iran continued to be enormously varied even after the legalization of
mandatory hijab. This is even more the case in the bustling cosmo-
politan capital, Tehran, where on a single block one can see women
wearing styles that range from full-b ody black chador to grungy punk.
In the first weeks, I felt awkward and a little embarrassed in hijab. It
was a form of dress I was unaccustomed to wearing, so it seemed to
me as though it drew more, not less, attention. And b ecause I am not
Muslim, it felt inappropriate, almost deceptive, even though it was
legally required. Early on, I had a few fashion failures. But I soon
viii b Preface
began to understand what was appropriate in vario us contexts. I no-
ticed the subtle differences in women’s headscarves and admired the
splendid diversity of their modest outfits. I started shopping for Is-
lamic clothing when I needed a break from my research: a culturally
appropriate form of retail therapy.
When I left Iran, I spent a few weeks in Istanbul before returning
to the United States. Veiling is optional in Turkey. In 2004, it was
heavi ly regulated and was even banned in some locations. It would
have seemed odd for a non-M uslim woman to cover her hair in a city
like Istanbul, so I did not. But bareheaded and without an overcoat, I
immediately noticed some differences. Without my modest dress I
was more aware of being a woman traveling alone than I had been in
Tehran. I also noticed that Muslim women’s modest dress was quite
diff er ent in Turkey. In contrast to the loosely draped shawls that had
been popul ar in Tehran that summer, women’s headscarves in Istanbul
were tightly pinned and w ere shaped to make the head appear very
large and round. In Tehran, women pushed the limits of acceptable
exposure of skin, but Muslim women in Turkey were carefully covered
from the neck down. They were no less stylish but differently so. This
contrast intrigued me, and I decid ed to begin a comparative research
proj ect on Muslim women’s fashion— what I call “pious fashion”—in
Tehran and Istanbul. Later, I added a location in Indonesia for reasons
I will explain in the Introduction.
During my summer in Iran, I realized that modest dress had a moral
effect on me. It altered how I saw myself and how I interacted with
others, and it influenced my expectations for how Islamic public space
should be or ga nized in terms of gender segregation. It also had an aes-
thetic effect on me, shaping what I expected from and admired about
Muslim w omen’s clothing. This is all to say that I found surprise, plea-
sure, and delight in pious fashion, as well as an intellectual challenge to
the neat boxes I had once put things in: modest dress as imposed on
women, fashion as a symptom of patriarchy, and aesthetics as separate
from ethics. This book is an exploration of this delight and challenge.
Preface a ix