Fashion and faith are said not to go together, like chicken nuggets and applesauce or interracial/cultural marriages. Yet here I am living the enigma; enjoying fashion and being Muslim, eating chicken nuggets with applesauce, and marrying a Bengali man. As a woman in physics who believes not only in God but also in quantum entanglement, I am well aware of how others have always perceived me. As a woman in physics, I’m a rarity, but I was not made to feel that way but outside society pinned me as a woman who wore frumpy clothing, no makeup, greasy hair, and oblivious on how to be “feminine”. Physics was associated with atheism, but for me, I saw every breakthrough and every mathematical concept as proof of God’s being. I’ve always been both things a woman who loved fashion and culture and a woman who loved to get dirty and do science.
When I first converted to Islam, I knew I need to change my wardrobe. It wasn’t that I believed that I suddenly had to put on a hijab (hair cover) or wear long skirts, I wanted clothing that was more modest. My clothes from a non-Muslim perspective were relatively modest, but I didn’t feel comfortable wearing normal-sized shirts anymore. Like many women who first convert, I experimented with long shapeless black dresses. While I enjoy and still do, the way the dress fluttered around me as I walked, I just couldn’t feel any enjoyment from the outfit. The long maxi dresses that usually came in dark shades just weren’t me. Ironically it wasn’t the veil that made me question myself or my religion. I knew I wanted to wear the hijab and be modest, but I couldn’t bring myself to dress in clothes that were uninspired.
As a White woman, the abaya and long dresses made me feel disassociated with my culture (yes, yes que the small violin for my white privilege). I wanted to wear my sweaters and leggings; while also following the latest fashion trends. Thankfully there was a solution to my problem, I lived in an era of Instagram and YouTube. Influencers wore the hijab and the niqab, while also wearing modest fashion. I saw firsthand how I could combine my own style taste with modest fashion, even better I knew where to buy modest fashion. I didn’t have to throw away my blue jeans, I just simply needed to buy a tunic top or a maxi-blouse to fit my style. Cardigans and sweaters that were maxi became in vogue and I was able to get some cute fall looks to pair well with leggings.
Turkish websites provided me options to buy cute, fashionable and modest maxi skirts that didn’t have a slit on the side. While also allowing me to avoid the dreaded maxi-jean skirt, which I believe is the worst fashion item known to mankind. I slowly began to blossom as a Muslim woman. I wanted a wardrobe to match my newfound faith, but more importantly, I wanted my clothing to match who I was as a person. Learning to style jewelry with the hijab, was tricky but I learned how to pair earrings with it. Turtlenecks became my go-to, as I could wear them with anything and cover the skin I didn’t want to be shown.
It seemed superficial to want to be fashionable and follow God. Over and over again I was told that I shouldn’t want worldly positions to be a follower of God. The black clothing was considered sunnah or religious good because that’s what the wives of Muhammad wore. I should give up all my clothing and start on the path of a drab old maid. On the other hand, I began to wear South Asian clothing, that my husband bought for me. While I loved wearing the sari, still do, and the salwar for everyday wear at home, I still could not connect to it on the same level. The problem with the all-black dimer and the South Asian clothes, wasn’t that I didn’t like them or enjoy wearing them from time to time the problem was that it wasn’t me.
Putting on clothing that wasn’t ethnically mine felt like an invasion because it wasn’t mine. I learned the reason I felt un-religious and not spiritual in the clothing that was traditionally Muslim was that it wasn’t who I was. I couldn’t understand why it was okay for a Pakistani, Nigerian, or Arab to wear their traditional clothing for Eid or every day but not okay for Westerners both black and white to wear modest fashion from our own Western culture. It wasn’t that I struggled with modest clothing, in fact, I love it and it makes me feel liberated. It was wearing orthodox clothing that blockades me from my own culture and identity. Hijabis on Instagram saved my faith because they showed me, I could still be me and Muslim. I could still be a fashionable physicist Muslim woman, who wears saris to Bengali events. As women (men) it’s important we realize that fashion sometimes can be more than wanting to be stylish, it is who we are culturally, ethnically, and religiously.