I wear shorts and strappy tops in public. I adorn sundresses, hair gems, low necklines and short skirts. I am myself. But I am ashamed. Often.
Ignore the misinformation and misinterpretations, the religion I call my home does not shame nor control a woman’s body. Islam is not a judgmental ancient nor a governmental lawbook. And to every man and woman who has tried to surveil me otherwise, may Iran’s powerhouse of femininity and revolt show the condemnation and grotesqueness of suggesting gendered control in my Islam. Shame is simply social control.
Social modesty has been a core part of Islamic and West Asian culture for decades. Since the Iranian revolution in 1979, clothing has since become hyperpoliticized.
Iran passed a bill in 2023, “Hijab and Chastity,” which mandates women to wear the traditional hijab with clothing up to their wrists and ankles in public, considering otherwise “nudity.” Interestingly, the use of the word “hijab” in the Quran means a barrier or veil and does not explicitly refer to the face-oriented head covering seen today. In fact, the Quran advises instead that “the believing men […] should cast down their glances” and then that “the believing women should cast down their glances.” But that’s not what’s happening.
The hijab is not a specific article of clothing — it is an action of modesty to suggest self-respect and protection from undeserving eyes or thoughts.
In the Western world, the greatest social marker of Islam is the concealment of the body and hair. Women traditionally wear the hijab to cover the hair and loose-fitting clothing to conceal the body’s shape. It’s not a form of repression or social obedience. It’s a respect for God’s beauty in creation, emphasizing self-expression, character and empowerment through bodily modesty. It is a recognition of identity, a reverence for the essence and brevity of being. Muslim women are truly empowered by this choice.
Growing up in the United States, I’ve received confused glances and questions by my choice not to wear the hijab. My family adopted the ideology of self-guided faith, rooted in intention and honest belief. The enforcement of a hijab seemed to neglect the God-respecting autonomy of a Muslim woman. The choice must be hers, they expressed. The Quran does not demand modesty, just as it does not demand belief. The woman who wears her hijab is as free as she who chooses not to. It is a choice, not repression.
Still, Iran has so wrenchingly revealed the consequences of control through clothing: revolt, uprising, disrespect of faith and even death. The brave and inspiring revolt of this year will forever be a turning point for Muslim women and all of Islam in the future. Islam is not defined by our clothing nor by our obedience towards man. The women of Iran have begun their narrative against the sheepish silk veil, which hides the brawly beauty of the Iranian woman.
Girls are taught from a young age to practice modesty and be aware of men’s temptations. Men don’t often bear the same constant responsibility of social respect and modesty among their gaze, words and clothing. Still, it seems men get the excuse while women ingest the shame and policing. What a kind message we teach our children, that the clothing on your back matters more than the words in your mouth or the gaze of your eyes. It is not a fault of Islam. It’s decades — centuries — of authoritarian shame to control a woman from religious upheaval.
The other side of the coin prevails: to judge, mock or ban the hijab is an equally grotesque point of control that again violates a girl’s dignity. Austria recently banned hijabs for girls under 14 in some schools. They say they want to protect the freedom and equality of women. Though a noble attainment, violating dignity is not a means to, well, not violate dignity. Austria is promoting autonomy by revoking autonomy. Does that make sense?
Men and women have approached me at the mosque countless times, asking me where my hijab is, to keep out of the men’s section (I was thirsty and only they had water) or why I was praying in the same room as the men (even though this is a normal, common practice). Some men avoid your eyes at all costs, while others stare with their mouths dropped open.
This is fearful and shame-based modesty and does not reflect a chosen modesty — it instead pushes it further away. For, sadly, it’s easy for a man to hide his eyes and his thoughts, but a woman cannot hide her body. This is not an adequate excuse for Islamic social reform.
I’ve seen it myself. Childhood friends grow up policed by trusted authority to cover up. And once they move out and discover the freedom and lack of judgment from the Western world, they give up Islam. They choose irreligiosity, immodesty or even immorality over social control. How can you blame them? A pressure cooker is bound to erupt.
Islam is one of the most beautiful ethical systems of individual guidance. I revere its implications of honor in sincerity, intention and integrity. I am lucky to have grown up in a household where my choice was above guidelines. But not everyone views Islam this way. Still, it stings a bit in a sourly oppressive and powerless way to be told by a Muslim outside of my family that I should cover up, or rather to be gawked at by other Muslim men.
Never be quick to assume the woman in the hijab is oppressed, just as we may never assume she who does not wear one is faithfully undirected. Islam is plagued by a social disease, where social workings — shame, punishment and authority — are used to demand religiosity rather than invite, nurture — the heart of Islam.
The Muslim woman’s autonomy is one of the greatest losses of the 20th and 21st centuries. And it’s not just Iran, Sudan and Iraq; it’s the United States, Europe, Canada and Australia. The social implications of the hijab can haunt the technically free. So, Muslim women worldwide stand eager and wishful as the Iranian bravehearts take back their hair.
