If You’ve Got It, Cover It

We all know that after the glass slipper fits and the evil step-sisters are vanquished, Cinderella marries the handsome prince and rides off into the sunset to her happily ever after.

But things went a little differently for Cinderslut. The untold epilogue of Cinderslut’s story (post-epic marriage to Prince) involved getting on a plane to the Middle East and exchanging her dazzling ball-gown for an all-black cloak—a burka, or as we call it here, an abaya.

The other night I went out to dinner with my husband, and I found myself reflecting on this conservative Islamic practice of covering up when you’re in public. There we sat, enjoying nachos and a burger at Chili’s, while surrounded by groups of women wearing black from head to toe. The restaurants here are even equipped with portable screens, so the most conservative can uncover their faces long enough to enjoy their meal. My husband was wearing a nice shirt and dress pants, but there was no way for me to dress up—my attire is always the same when we go out: an all-black abaya.

So instead of dressing up, I dressed down. I gratified the urge to go commando that I had repressed during both high school and college graduation. It was kind of fun, and definitely cooler, but it didn’t really take away the slight discomfort I have with this requirement.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind wearing this garb most of the time. Even though I’m dressed in black in the middle of a scorching desert, I end up feeling cooler because I can wear as little as I want underneath. I also understand the moral basis behind this practice; Muslim women cover themselves because it is prescribed in the Quran, and that idea of keeping your beauty only for your husband, family, and female friends, really isn’t so incongruent with my own Christian worldview. I also realize I am a guest in this kingdom, and I have no desire to have a run in with the mutaween—the stalwart enforcers of the Ministry For The Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice. And yes, that is a real government agency!

So while the seas of women in black that crowd the malls are still slightly strange to me, I have accepted that wearing an abaya is not much of an inconvenience, and can actually be practical. But I still have a hard time swallowing the tradition of women covering their faces. I understand head-scarves (hijabs), but the full-face veils (nikabs) that many women also wear give me the heebie-jeebies. A few weeks ago I had my first tutoring session with a local high school student wanting to improve her English. Since we met at the public library, she was enveloped in black—only her eyes were visible. Throughout my time with her I kept thinking, “How can I really know a person if I never see her face?”

But Fairy Godmother, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind…

I recognize that for most (though not all) Muslim women, the clothing they wear is a personal choice and a reflection of their faith, and I have deep respect for that. Yet I can’t quite shake questions like these:

What does it say to women if their families, their King, and their God tell them they should hide from the world?

How is it sinful for a woman to drive herself to work, or go to a co-ed school?

My husband recently discussed these issues with one of his Muslim coworkers. They both agreed that many of the women here (at least the wealthy ones) lived charmed lives of privilege, with maids, nannies, drivers, and husbands who take care of their every need. That’s why the malls are swarming with ladies in black: they may not be free to drive themselves there, but they can spend thousands of dollars on outfits that the outside world will never see.

Their conclusion was, “Women here live like princesses.”

Perhaps they do. But this princess would rather enjoy a night on the town with Snow Whore, Sleeping Booty, and The Little Merskank, lighting up the town and wearing every color of the rainbow.

This princess would rather be a little naughty.