girl talk

Let's be honest:  the Western fascination with the Middle East has mostly to do with women's clothing.  I'll confess that before coming here, I felt slightly concerned about how I would dress, whether I would be a second-class citizen, whether I'd even be safe here as a blonde American woman.  As you may remember from an earlier post, the irony that I have undergone one of the biggest assaults to femininity and then came to a place where Westerners generally think women are victims of their culture was not lost on me.  And so, in the past 2 weeks, I've made it my mission to speak to as many women here as humanly possible.

The first two local women I was fortunate enough to speak with were on my second full day in the UAE.  Both of them were wearing a black abaya (all black, loose-fitting garments that go to the floor, along with a head covering so only the face is shown), so I maneuvered myself to strike up a conversation.  The intricate beading on their abayas was eye-catching but also a shock.  I had been under the assumption that traditional garments are plain, simply a shield that hides any reference to femininity.  But, here in the UAE, nothing could be further from the truth.  M's abaya had small sparkling black crystals all over her shoulders and upper body.  The effect was like twinkling stars in a dark night sky as she moved under flourescent office lights.  L's abaya had large black beads encrusted into a flower-like pattern on dolman sleeves;  they were edged in tiny golden beads.  As we chatted, both women seemed quite friendly so, after some internal debate, I decided to be just me:  I complimented young M on the beautiful beadwork of her abaya.  Instantly, her lips curled into a smile and she blushed.  Her eyes registered pride and gratitude as she giggled.  She thanked me in a whisper.  I abruptly realized that genuine compliments are as welcome here as anywhere else.

So, I later told L the beading on her abaya was lovely.  Her face also broke into a broad smile.  The ice now broken, we ventured into a rather lengthly discussion of abayas, current fashion and shoes, prompted by L's electric blue platform heel peeking out from the folds of black.  She told me that the choice to wear the abaya was as much a choice as an American woman's choice to wear pants or a short skirt.

"You chose to wear this suit today," she said, gesturing toward my conservative black pants suit.  "It is exactly the same for us.  It is our choice to wear the abaya."

And thus began my education.  In the UAE, Emirati women wear the abaya as a symbol of their status in society.  Because Emiratis make up a relatively small percentage of the population, especially in the largest cities, the abaya (and burqua, which completely covers the face) is a clear way of demonstrating that a woman is a native Emirati.  In sharp contrast to what we generally believe in the West, here the abaya is a status symbol, worn with the pride of culture and tradition.

Beyond the choice to wear an abaya itself, its embellishment is a form of personal expression and taste.  I've been astonished at the range of beading, embroidery, sequins and silk screening I've seen.  The designs are truly beautiful - the colors more rich and eye-catching because they are always contrasted against black.  I've seen everything from black-on-black beaded designs to colorful combinations of beading and embroidery.  One woman had a truly breathtaking embroidered flower design in a variety of pinks, fuschia and purple hues on the neck and chest of her abaya.  Her fuschia lipstick matched perfectly.  Another woman had large peacock feathers that appeared to be silk-screened on the sleeves of her garment; the blue and green circles of each feather were accented in sequins.  Just today I saw crocheted flowers encircling the ends of sleeves;  another woman's garment had a black-on-black embroidered design with an occasional dangle of four purplish-black beads across the pattern.  I've been told that the latest fashion is shorter, with or without a lace hem, the better to display eye-catching shoes.  Nowhere is this more evident than the mall, where you see an incredible array of stiletto and platform heels, in every color, pattern and animal print you can imagine, peeking out as they peck across polished marble floors.

One day my colleagues pointed out an older woman in an abaya and head covering as she walked through the offices where we're working.  They wanted me to see her mask but only the black outline of her covered head and shoulders was visible.  At some later point, I saw her again.  She wore a golden mask that appeared to be made of metal - two horizontal strips crossed her face at the level of her eyes and mouth, joined by a thin vertical strip down her nose.  Although the effect was somewhat startling, this too is a status symbol.  The women who wear this mask are descendants of the Sheik.

Just how misinformed we are in the U.S. became clear one day last week when I again wandered out of our office.  Just outside the door, I ran into L.  Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw me.

"Melanie, are you cold?" she asked, eyeing my cream LLBean cardigan, "It is over a hundred degrees outside today."

I chucked but stammered over my next words, "I'm usually cold in air conditioning but...  I, well... also I have to wear long sleeves, you know."

"Wear long sleeves?  Why would you need to wear long sleeves?"  she asked, her eyebrows knotting together.

"I, uh, well, I... well, it's what we learned before we came.  That we need to cover our arms."  Her head cocked to the side.

"I mean, we just need to be respectful.  And cover our elbows, our knees, you know..." I said, feeling warm.

"Who told you you needed to dress this way?" she demanded.

"Well, I, um... well, it was part of our training.  You know, before we came.  About adapting to the culture in the UAE," I said.

"You're kidding," she laughed, "it's not like this is...  is... Saudi Arabia, you know.  You want to wear the short sleeves, you wear the short sleeves."

The malls contain numerous stores dedicated to selling abayas.  Our translator, a beautiful young Emirati woman with sparkling eyes and a wide smile, explained to me that it is important to find a good tailor.

"You see these?" she asked, pointing to small jewel-toned crystals on her abaya, no bigger than the tip of a ballpoint pen. "If it is a good tailor, these do not come off in the wash.  If they come off, you find another."  Then she laughed.

S explained that when she goes to the tailor, she describes what she wants in terms of cut - the fullness through the body, whether the waist is nipped or full, how large the sleeves are, the length of the hem - and any ideas about decoration.  Then, the tailor will show samples and customize the final garment specifically for her.  Abayas can range in price from very cheap (poor quality) to extremely expensive, even thousands of dollars.

I've had one opportunity to wear an abaya since I've been in the UAE:  when we visited the Grand Mosque in Abu Dhabi, women were required to put on an abaya and cover the hair.  The fabric felt soft and flowing and, dare I say, extremely feminine.  The soft fabric flows around your legs and arms as you walk and it feels protective.  Like I could see out but others couldn't really see me.  I could definitely relate to being in control of what parts of my body were visible to strangers and which were not, especially after spending so much energy dealing with the physical aftermath of cancer.  The abaya was most certainly hot, especially over jeans, so I can't recommend it as an alternative clothing choice in extreme desert temperatures.  But, I did not feel oppressed, constricted or demeaned in the least.  And now, with the benefit of hindsight, it seems so laughably simplistic that I ever thought there was only one reason to wear an abaya or that the reason might be the same across the Middle East.  It is a complete paradigm shift to realize that, in the UAE, the abaya might just be one of the most powerful symbols of feminine choice there is.  #ibmcsc uae