The Abaya Monologues, part 1

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No, I didn’t come up with that title – it’s the title of an article by Washington journalist Danielle Crittenden, who decided to wear a conservative-style abaya (overgarment) and niqab (face veil) during a week of her everyday life. She wanted to know what life is like for those “Islamist women” who wear these “oppressive” garments. (I’ll quote from parts of the longer article, which can be read as published by Canada’s National Post in December 2007, here.)


From the point of view of a Muslim woman who daily wears a moderate version of this “Islamic” attire (which I suspect she’d still consider oppressive!), and who has on occasion willingly worn something similar to the abaya/niqab combination Crittenden selected, this article has a number of inaccuracies and pitfalls that I cannot refrain from addressing.

The first problem I noticed with this article, the problem which forms the foundation for her experience in abaya/niqab and informs her commentary on it, is that Crittenden, like many journalists (and academics), does not bother to actually ask Muslim women about what it is like to wear these overgarments in their everyday life. She consults no one, and she does not offer any alternative points of view, she simply takes her own bias (that the garments are inherently and necessarily oppressive) and sets about to prove herself correct while veiling her obvious bias in the language of journalism.

Any new type of garment will require time and practice before one can move comfortably in it. If you have grown up wearing pants and then begin to wear skirts, there will be a learning curve over which you get used to the way the new garment moves and learn how to move in it and with it. The same idea holds true for a Muslim woman who adopts a headscarf, an abaya, a niqab, or even a long, loose skirt after being used to wearing shorter, fitted skirts. Crittenden does not take this required learning curve into account in her own experiment with Islamic overgarments, and the lack colors her experience.

Because Crittenden does not bother to consult anyone who actually wears these garments she does not know what she is buying nor how realistic these garments are for the average conservative (or, to use her language, “Islamist”) woman. Even in Saudi Arabia, stereotyped as a place where women wear only one kind of clothing in public, there is a staggering variety of styles and fabrics worn. Some of these are more practical or more popular than others. Crittenden, assuming she already knew what these women wear, chose one of the most conservative, least practical garments, an overhead abaya (called so because it falls from the top of the head to cover the entire body). This particular garment is not required of Saudi women, and only the most conservative or most traditional wear them regularly.

I had opted (blithely, in retrospect) for the most conservative, Saudi-style of abaya (i.e. velcro not included). So I improvise: I pull the top part over my head, as if I’m about to run out in the rain, and then tuck in another piece under my left shoulder so the front stays closed, sort-of.

The style she selected is not even sewn closed or fastened in the front, requiring the wearer to hold or pin it closed; most North American women who wear an overhead abaya opt for the kind that’s closed in the front, as it’s much more practical. In fact, most online retailers who sell these to the North American market warn shoppers that this is a somewhat difficult style to wear and that women new to the garment are advised to buy a closed style instead of the open. Crittenden also complains that there are no “Ikea-like diagrams with cheerful balloon people, suitable for all languages” to demonstrate how to wear the abaya enclosed with her order. This is hardly necessary since anyone buying an overhead abaya, which is not a ‘starter’ overgarment, really ought to already know what it is they are buying; additionally, photographs of the item on the websites Crittenden perused before making her purchase show clearly how the garment is supposed to be worn. It’s quite straightforward – you put the middle of the fabric at the face opening on the top of your head and put your hands through the openings on either side. That’s it.

She continues to baffle me by describing the clothes she’s chosen to wear beneath her abaya.

I’ve worn a black longsleeve t-shirt, yoga pants, and boots beneath the abaya (the closest thing I have in my wardrobe to colorless Arabic undergarments).

Just where did she get this idea? Sure, one should wear long pants/skirt under the abaya, as the abaya fabric will move around with you (especially the overhead style) and may reveal glimpses of your pants as you move (and better to reveal glimpses of your pants than of your bare legs!). But what are “colorless Arabic undergarments”? There’s no such concept. Women wear whatever they like under their abayas, whether they are Saudi or Arab or from wherever. Jeans are popular all over the world. Colorful clothing is extremely common, even expected. Muslim women who observe more conservative and dark-colored coverings in public do not forswear bright, even attractive clothing altogether, they simply cover it when in public. The idea that women are supposed to wear only black comes from her own imagination, not from fact. Even in Saudi Arabia, black overgarments are a matter of a hegemenous cultural tradition rather than law.