Wearing the Headscarf

When I was in 10th grade the mosque near our high school had some sort of open house for non-Muslims and we got extra credit in our history class for going (McNulty shout-out). My classmates and I talked with some girls our age who were wearing headscarves. I still remember vividly our conversation because I have to admit that it quite dramatically changed my perspective on women in Muslim culture.

They told us about how the headscarf was something special that they got to start wearing around 12 years old (though it varies widely, of course), and that it’s an exciting prospect and an honor to get to start wearing it. Also, it’s their own decision to wear it, they could take it off if they wanted to (but they don’t). They want to wear it because it makes them feel more comfortable.

There are other religious, social, and cultural reasons to wear the headscarf as well: it signifies modesty, displays membership in a community, and adheres to Allah’s instructions, for example. Besides, they don’t have to worry about their hair this way. Of course the headscarf is also pretty, a fashion statement, an accessory of sorts, like a necklace or a belt, or a scarf.

I could sympathize, but it wasn’t until I wore a headscarf here myself that I could really empathize.

I sometimes wear a headscarf in the city, but I always did while I was traveling in the countryside because people living there are on the whole more religiously and socially conservative. Almost all the local women (not including the Han) had their hair covered.

When in Rome, do as.

While I was traveling, I only saw two local women outside without a headscarf. Thus, wearing the headscarf was virtually imperative if I didn’t want to offend people or get harassed. To quote the Lonely Planet guide, “women traveling here should cover their arms and legs as they would when traveling in any Muslim country.”

I absolutely loved wearing the headscarf while I was traveling for several reasons, even to the point where I wouldn’t leave the hotel without it. I still wear it in the city sometimes. It also got me in trouble. And with it I experienced discrimination in an eye-opening way.

The headscarf makes me feel more comfortable. For one, it disguises my foreign identity (until I start speaking, that is. Then I get the question, “You’re not from around here, are you?”). Many of the locals have blue eyes, so the only difference in terms of physical appearance is the way I dress and the way I act. When you take away “the way I dress” variable, it’s much harder to distinguish me from the locals. They are fascinated by this, of course, as am I.

But perhaps more importantly, the headscarf makes me feel less exposed in a sexual and naked way. Every culture has different ideas of which body parts of a woman are sexualized. For Americans, it’s the boobs and butt. In many Islamic cultures, exposed hair, legs, and arms are also sexualized. Walking around in short shorts is equivalent for many cultures as walking around without a shirt on is for us. On some European beaches, this is okay. On American beaches, this is not okay.

In this culture, baring your legs is equivalent to baring your chest. You look extremely exposed, and practically naked if wearing a skirt or shorts with your bare legs exposed. Now, skirts with pantyhose are okay, and many women wear skin-colored pantyhose (and black leggings under a skirt are popular too). But bare legs are not. You might as well just be walking around with a thong for all they’re concerned. I’ve even started to feel slightly shocked and taken aback when I see a girl with shorts on here.

When I wear a headscarf in the city, people tell me I look like a farmer. But in the countryside, fully covering your arms and legs is a must and covering your hair is even better. Having your hair exposed is like walking around with your cleavage exposed. Sure, you can do it, but you’ll look exposed, people will stare, and people will judge and objectify you.

For me, wearing the headscarf was a form of liberation through protection. By protecting my vulnerabilities--as a woman and a foreigner--I not only expressed respect to the local culture and society I was traveling in, but I also just personally felt more comfortable walking around. I didn’t get as many stares, and people automatically expressed a certain level of respect for me as a modest woman. A lot of people just automatically assumed I was Turkish or Uzbek.

It was wearing the headscarf myself that I finally experienced on a personal and visceral level that the headscarf is a sign of modesty and a mode of respect for yourself, and the men, culture and religion surrounding you. Yet it is judged--looked down upon even--by outsiders, those ignorant of Muslim religion and culture, not with respect but rather as a sign of rebellion against the state, and treated with disgust, discrimination, sexism, and ignorance by outsiders.

Of course, in America we have a very different mindset. For us, we think of wearing clothes as, “It’s my freedom of choice and if someone doesn’t like it, they don’t have to look, and men should be able to control themselves by not staring at me.” Indeed, slut shaming and victim blaming are (usually) rejected in our culture. As an American, I believe that I can and should wear whatever I want without being slut shamed or victimized or raped or stared at or judged. This is a really important part of our culture as Americans that women should be able to wear whatever they want.

But I’m not in America. I’m in a different country and I would like to show respect for their culture. It is a sign of modesty, respect, and politeness to cover yourself. As a foreigner, the headscarf signifies, “I recognize that this is your custom to dress like this and I respect that.” Just like I don’t run around shaking hands with men or eating pork on the street.

For locals, the headscarf a sign of modesty and respect for themselves, and their bodies. By protecting themselves and their bodies from being exposed, they grant themselves more freedom to walk around and do what they want without being sexualized or objectified everywhere they go. Without the headscarf, they perhaps might not leave the house. With it, they can move freely about the city.

By protecting your vulnerabilities, you grant yourself more freedom to do as you choose safely and consciously protecting yourself from getting hurt, mentally and physically.

The headscarf is also political, of course, or at least it has become political recently. It’s a sign of rebellion, of difference, of distinguishment from the other and of identifying with the Muslim world. And it is greeted by the outside world with nothing but confusion, and with an orientalized, exoticized, objectified gaze. 

Some people even treat the headscarf with disgust and hatred, thinking that if we took the headscarf away from Muslim women they would be more free. And how wrong they are! If you took the headscarf away you would take away their freedom to move about relatively freely in society and outdoors.

Wearing or not wearing a headscarf is a deeply personal and highly private decision. I highly enjoy the freedom and protection of wearing a headscarf out in public and knowing that I will not be asked about it, even among my closest friends. If I show up to a gathering with friends with a headscarf on, they might comment on how much I look like a local, or say I look pretty. But they will never ask me, “why are you wearing a headscarf?” I even realized a couple times when trying to offer an explanation to people on why I was wearing it they would sometimes even interrupt me and say, “it’s the same, it’s all good, we don’t care either way, you don’t need to explain your decision.”

So that is perhaps why my roommate last semester was so upset or maybe perturbed or maybe just annoyed when I asked her, “why do some people wear headscarves and some people don’t?” and she said, “you mean people like me?” and I nodded before she proceeded to give me her explanation. I realize now that as curious as I was, it was a rude question to ask of her, especially as a foreigner.

That is why when governments start getting involved in dictating a highly private decision regarding how women wish to present their bodies to the world--a decision that even my closest friends wouldn’t dare question--that starts offending people. That’s when the personal gets public and the public gets personal.

To give one example, a friend of mine is currently fighting with her fiance. He wants her to wear a headscarf, but if she does she’ll have to give up her job at a state-affiliated workplace. She’s stuck between two forces, dictated primarily by men, telling her what she can and cannot do in regards to exposing or not exposing her body in a certain way. The personal has indeed become political. 

She told me this story while I was wearing a headscarf. I was ashamed and sad that I had the privilege to put on and take off my headscarf when it is convenient for me, whereas she is faced with a huge life decision based on whether or not she will start wearing one or not.  

How dare people think that they have any right to determine or judge how anyone chooses to cover, adorn, or expose his or her body.

Because wearing a headscarf is such a deeply personal decision, I don’t go around asking women, “so how do you feel about the headscarf?” That would be a good way for me to piss people off and to get kicked out of the country. But I did get to talk to two young women in one of the towns I went to, who initiated their own feelings about it: “If I wore sexy clothes maybe the Han wouldn’t bother me, maybe then they wouldn’t even notice me.”

Another said, “I want to be international but if other people see me without a headscarf they will look down on me so I always wear it outside, not wearing it is not okay.”

Whether or not you wear a headscarf here, you're screwed either way. If you don’t wear one, you signal your distance from local Muslim culture, and are sometimes even thought of as a traitor or slutty, or judged by others as an objectified female sex object, or an unholy or dirty person.

However, the wearer of the headscarf is also subject to discrimination by non-Muslims, and I felt this in a major way while I was traveling. I was treated with distrust and suspicion by outsiders I interacted with who thought I was a local. Being treated with prejudice, suspicion and distrust is a terrible feeling.

After getting to one city, I was turned down by the first two hotels I went to, where they said they were full. I took my headscarf off, and was accepted at the next hotel I went to. It’s definitely possible that this was a coincidence, but I was accepted at that hotel with nothing more than a somewhat gruff, “You’re not a journalist, are you?” and smiles after that.

The strongest I felt it was the three times I went into school supply stores with my headscarf. The Han people working there were very short with me, saying “ting bu dong” (“I can’t understand you”) whenever I tried to say something (I was looking for notecards). They did not go out of their way to help me, just saying, “no, we don’t have that.” When people think I’m a local and I can feel their annoyance, hatred, mistrust, fear, and distance. They scoff at me, “ting bu dong.” It’s worlds of difference from when they think I’m American.

I wouldn’t go to the market or walking around town or ride a bus without a headscarf. But I can’t go to school or in any government building with one on, and wouldn’t go to the train station or the airport with one on either.   

But I’m clearly and painfully obviously in a privileged position. I get to wear it when it is advantageous for me to wear one and take it off when it isn’t. This is a luxury that many Muslim women do not have. They thus may find themselves in a Catch-22 situation: they can either feel naked or be discriminated against. Which would you choose?