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Abayance
This column in the LA Times details some of the experiences one of their reporters had while covering stories in Saudi Arabia. I've read a couple of books by women with similar stories to tell, but this is a nicely written piece.
She writes:
To me, the abaya implied that a woman's body is a distraction and an interruption, a thing that must be hidden from view lest it haul the society into vice and disarray. The simple act of wearing the robe implanted that self-consciousness by osmosis.
I'm reminded of a dream that I once had. I rarely have naked-in-public anxiety dreams and the few I've had all have some kind of twist. In this one, I was visiting an ex, shortly after our breakup, to pick something up. His new girlfriend was hovering in the background as he searched for whatever-it was, and he was leering and making sly comments about my breasts. I realized at that point that I wasn't wearing a shirt. Rather than feeling embarrassed by my nudity, I felt outraged that I couldn't wear whatever I felt like wearing, or not, without him taking it as a sexual come-on. Trust me, I thought, if I were interested in sex, you'd know it.
In the US, I try to be tolerant of other women's choices. Now there's a way to be, my mother will say, when she sees someone dressed in a manner she finds outrageous. Walking through the Cambridgeside Galleria, I see women whose clothing ranges from shorts and tube tops to headscarves and robes. I value the cultural diversity on display and I respect their right to wear whatever they feel comfortable wearing.
But I do find it hard not to take the decision to cover women's bodies to a greater degree than men's bodies as an accusation. If covering your hair is a sign of modesty, then what does that say about my waist-length braid, brazenly displayed? At the same time, is tucking in my shirt a judgment of women with proudly exposed bellybuttons? And to what degree are any of us actually free in our choices?
She writes:
To me, the abaya implied that a woman's body is a distraction and an interruption, a thing that must be hidden from view lest it haul the society into vice and disarray. The simple act of wearing the robe implanted that self-consciousness by osmosis.
I'm reminded of a dream that I once had. I rarely have naked-in-public anxiety dreams and the few I've had all have some kind of twist. In this one, I was visiting an ex, shortly after our breakup, to pick something up. His new girlfriend was hovering in the background as he searched for whatever-it was, and he was leering and making sly comments about my breasts. I realized at that point that I wasn't wearing a shirt. Rather than feeling embarrassed by my nudity, I felt outraged that I couldn't wear whatever I felt like wearing, or not, without him taking it as a sexual come-on. Trust me, I thought, if I were interested in sex, you'd know it.
In the US, I try to be tolerant of other women's choices. Now there's a way to be, my mother will say, when she sees someone dressed in a manner she finds outrageous. Walking through the Cambridgeside Galleria, I see women whose clothing ranges from shorts and tube tops to headscarves and robes. I value the cultural diversity on display and I respect their right to wear whatever they feel comfortable wearing.
But I do find it hard not to take the decision to cover women's bodies to a greater degree than men's bodies as an accusation. If covering your hair is a sign of modesty, then what does that say about my waist-length braid, brazenly displayed? At the same time, is tucking in my shirt a judgment of women with proudly exposed bellybuttons? And to what degree are any of us actually free in our choices?
Re: sorry, this stuff makes me ranty
But the thing is, in our society, there is at least some level at which it is the women's choice, ostensibly. And that's where my position comes a-cropper.