Thursday, June 10, 2004
Hijabed
"Anything in a skirt...or scarf..."
I wore the Islamic headscarf on Sunday as part of an experiment for a magazine article I'm currently working on. I wanted to see if I would be treated differently when I wore it (accompanied by a long sleeved shirt and loose skirt) than when I did not. I was operating under the assumption that women wearing the headscarf received more respect from men—that is to say, were harassed less.
At first I limited my wanderings to the mall, since I’d already begun to sweat in my tank top on the way there, before I had even donned full gear in a empty restroom. After an hour and a half, I was getting restless. (Malaysian malls are the worst, especially on weekends because people flock there to windowshop, see and be seen. The problem is, they don’t walk, they crawl. Soooo slow! I practically trip over them, especially getting off the escalator.) Up till that point, I thought that my suspicions were correct—that covered women didn’t have men treating them as sex objects or saying hello (but meaning oh-so-much-more) to them in the street. I thought that because of their dress and apparent religiousness, they’d be deemed off limits and unapproachable. So far, my theory had been confirmed—and that was a bit boring.
I told myself I had to make it at least two hours. I stopped at a café on the top floor that was fairly crowded (mostly young Malays). I detected a few looks, but they seemed to be more out of curiosity and many of them were from women (mostly unveiled). I’m sure they were wondering where this white veiled girl was from (on campus I tend to be mistaken for a Bosnia, as most white Muslims there are from Eastern Europe—I even fooled a Bosnian. I met only one other American, but both of her parents are Malay).
After I gauged responses under the guise of getting a drink, I continued to wander the mall. I think I ended up checking myself out more than men did—catching a glimpse of myself in a store mirror or the reflection of a window continues to give me pause. Twice I made eye contact with a guy and then noticed him looking back at me, though it wasn’t decisively a sexual look. Plus, perhaps I had encouraged it by establishing eye contact (also, looking back to see if someone else is looking back…you don’t really know who started it). Nobody tried to chat me up. Rather than the typical up-and-down-the-body look from men, I felt fairly invisible, just as I had been expecting. But, that judgment was still premature; I hadn’t given it enough time.
I took my test to the streets and ended up in an Indian Muslim restaurant to get another drink (it was hot, I was thirsty and needed to take another break). It was fairly empty and I noticed one of the workers speaking with the veiled waitress who had taken my order, motioning with his hands and touching his head, with a glance my way. I can’t be sure, but I suspect he was asking her where she thought I was from and using the way I tied my scarf as a possible clue. Eventually, the Indonesian waitress did ask me where I was from and wanted my phone number so that we could be friends (and she mentioned wanting to go to America). The guy at the cash register also asked me where I was from (guessing I was Arab). So again, I got attention, but it was directed at my nationality rather than my sexuality.
Two 'punks' sat down near me and when a waitress at an open air cafe nearby picked up a dead bird from the sidewalk (and took it INTO the restaurant area, ew), I said something to them (like, Ew! why'd she take that in there?!). So that sort of started a limited conversation. After a bit they left, but their friends who had been nearby-ish came and started talking to me; I think they assumed I near their friends. The headscarf on me was a subject of curiosity for them.
Later, I ended up speaking with a family from the UAE, who thought that I was British. Being Arab, they didn’t make the same mistake as the Asians. I felt a certain sense of community/fellowship with other non-Malay women I saw in hijab, often exchanging smiles or nods.
I had made it past my time goal now, but decided that it wasn’t long enough and to stick it out some more. Actually, the longer I wore it, the easier it got. And the results got more interesting.
Back on the street, I was surprised to have a man say to me, just as I’d passed him (they always wait till you’re by them), “Hello, where are you going?” and follow me for a bit. Aha! I had been wrong! I was not immune to harassment just because I had covered. But it’s still difficult to know if it was because I was obviously not Malay Muslim. I suppose it’s possible that it was an attempt to be friendly, rather than fresh, but I didn’t get that vibe.
I seated myself on a bench near a crosswalk where I had once waited for a friend and been the object of many a stares and a few attempts at conversation. This time I got another, “Hello, how are you?” as the man passed by me. Two young Chinese women stood nearby and a sketchy old man blatantly looked at one, dressed in a tank top and short skirt. She noticed him noticing and looked uncomfortable. I felt disgusted, but also unnoticed. It wasn’t until they had moved on and there were no other women nearby that he focused on me and only then for a moment.
I decided to walk a path I was familiar with, (a known gauntlet) from Bukit Bintang to Puduraya and then Masjid Jamek (along the way, I ignored a sudden craving I had for sweet and sour pork—that just wouldn’t do). A few more eyes looking me up and down, a few more words directed at me. Even a kissy noise. It wasn’t nearly as much as if I had been unveiled, but I was surprised there was any obviously sexual attention at all. A group of co-ed teens sitting in front of Burger King greeted me.
My experiment had several drawbacks. One, being white in a non-white country complicates things. It makes it more difficult to tease out the cause for the attention—whether it’s my foreignness more than the way I dress. Covering up my blondeness with a scarf would automatically make me less conspicuous. Perhaps my own theory was clouding my perception, particularly at the beginning. I wasn’t seeing what might have been there because I thought that women in headscarves should/would (?) be treated differently. My perception/interpretation may not have been accurate because I couldn’t be an impartial judge. Ideally, I would have had a friend (preferably Malay, to blend in) observe people’s reactions to me. This would eliminate my need to be looking around, which may have resulted in more looks (psychology studies have indicated that people can sense being looked at—even subconsciously—and are even able to detect which direction the look is coming from).
I often notice one person notice me and then whisper to his friend, who then looks over at me. I think that is a function of my foreignness, though not always. I didn’t detect any of that while I was hijabed.
The day before, I made a point of wearing a tank top and skirt that came to just above my knees, so that I could have a recent basis with which to compare. I happened to run into two of my friends from UIA that day at the mall (a different mall). I had only ever seen them on campus before, when I was fully covered. Seeing myself through their eyes, I felt more naked. And worried that somehow, perhaps, I had disappointed them.
"Anything in a skirt...or scarf..."
I wore the Islamic headscarf on Sunday as part of an experiment for a magazine article I'm currently working on. I wanted to see if I would be treated differently when I wore it (accompanied by a long sleeved shirt and loose skirt) than when I did not. I was operating under the assumption that women wearing the headscarf received more respect from men—that is to say, were harassed less.
At first I limited my wanderings to the mall, since I’d already begun to sweat in my tank top on the way there, before I had even donned full gear in a empty restroom. After an hour and a half, I was getting restless. (Malaysian malls are the worst, especially on weekends because people flock there to windowshop, see and be seen. The problem is, they don’t walk, they crawl. Soooo slow! I practically trip over them, especially getting off the escalator.) Up till that point, I thought that my suspicions were correct—that covered women didn’t have men treating them as sex objects or saying hello (but meaning oh-so-much-more) to them in the street. I thought that because of their dress and apparent religiousness, they’d be deemed off limits and unapproachable. So far, my theory had been confirmed—and that was a bit boring.
I told myself I had to make it at least two hours. I stopped at a café on the top floor that was fairly crowded (mostly young Malays). I detected a few looks, but they seemed to be more out of curiosity and many of them were from women (mostly unveiled). I’m sure they were wondering where this white veiled girl was from (on campus I tend to be mistaken for a Bosnia, as most white Muslims there are from Eastern Europe—I even fooled a Bosnian. I met only one other American, but both of her parents are Malay).
After I gauged responses under the guise of getting a drink, I continued to wander the mall. I think I ended up checking myself out more than men did—catching a glimpse of myself in a store mirror or the reflection of a window continues to give me pause. Twice I made eye contact with a guy and then noticed him looking back at me, though it wasn’t decisively a sexual look. Plus, perhaps I had encouraged it by establishing eye contact (also, looking back to see if someone else is looking back…you don’t really know who started it). Nobody tried to chat me up. Rather than the typical up-and-down-the-body look from men, I felt fairly invisible, just as I had been expecting. But, that judgment was still premature; I hadn’t given it enough time.
I took my test to the streets and ended up in an Indian Muslim restaurant to get another drink (it was hot, I was thirsty and needed to take another break). It was fairly empty and I noticed one of the workers speaking with the veiled waitress who had taken my order, motioning with his hands and touching his head, with a glance my way. I can’t be sure, but I suspect he was asking her where she thought I was from and using the way I tied my scarf as a possible clue. Eventually, the Indonesian waitress did ask me where I was from and wanted my phone number so that we could be friends (and she mentioned wanting to go to America). The guy at the cash register also asked me where I was from (guessing I was Arab). So again, I got attention, but it was directed at my nationality rather than my sexuality.
Two 'punks' sat down near me and when a waitress at an open air cafe nearby picked up a dead bird from the sidewalk (and took it INTO the restaurant area, ew), I said something to them (like, Ew! why'd she take that in there?!). So that sort of started a limited conversation. After a bit they left, but their friends who had been nearby-ish came and started talking to me; I think they assumed I near their friends. The headscarf on me was a subject of curiosity for them.
Later, I ended up speaking with a family from the UAE, who thought that I was British. Being Arab, they didn’t make the same mistake as the Asians. I felt a certain sense of community/fellowship with other non-Malay women I saw in hijab, often exchanging smiles or nods.
I had made it past my time goal now, but decided that it wasn’t long enough and to stick it out some more. Actually, the longer I wore it, the easier it got. And the results got more interesting.
Back on the street, I was surprised to have a man say to me, just as I’d passed him (they always wait till you’re by them), “Hello, where are you going?” and follow me for a bit. Aha! I had been wrong! I was not immune to harassment just because I had covered. But it’s still difficult to know if it was because I was obviously not Malay Muslim. I suppose it’s possible that it was an attempt to be friendly, rather than fresh, but I didn’t get that vibe.
I seated myself on a bench near a crosswalk where I had once waited for a friend and been the object of many a stares and a few attempts at conversation. This time I got another, “Hello, how are you?” as the man passed by me. Two young Chinese women stood nearby and a sketchy old man blatantly looked at one, dressed in a tank top and short skirt. She noticed him noticing and looked uncomfortable. I felt disgusted, but also unnoticed. It wasn’t until they had moved on and there were no other women nearby that he focused on me and only then for a moment.
I decided to walk a path I was familiar with, (a known gauntlet) from Bukit Bintang to Puduraya and then Masjid Jamek (along the way, I ignored a sudden craving I had for sweet and sour pork—that just wouldn’t do). A few more eyes looking me up and down, a few more words directed at me. Even a kissy noise. It wasn’t nearly as much as if I had been unveiled, but I was surprised there was any obviously sexual attention at all. A group of co-ed teens sitting in front of Burger King greeted me.
My experiment had several drawbacks. One, being white in a non-white country complicates things. It makes it more difficult to tease out the cause for the attention—whether it’s my foreignness more than the way I dress. Covering up my blondeness with a scarf would automatically make me less conspicuous. Perhaps my own theory was clouding my perception, particularly at the beginning. I wasn’t seeing what might have been there because I thought that women in headscarves should/would (?) be treated differently. My perception/interpretation may not have been accurate because I couldn’t be an impartial judge. Ideally, I would have had a friend (preferably Malay, to blend in) observe people’s reactions to me. This would eliminate my need to be looking around, which may have resulted in more looks (psychology studies have indicated that people can sense being looked at—even subconsciously—and are even able to detect which direction the look is coming from).
I often notice one person notice me and then whisper to his friend, who then looks over at me. I think that is a function of my foreignness, though not always. I didn’t detect any of that while I was hijabed.
The day before, I made a point of wearing a tank top and skirt that came to just above my knees, so that I could have a recent basis with which to compare. I happened to run into two of my friends from UIA that day at the mall (a different mall). I had only ever seen them on campus before, when I was fully covered. Seeing myself through their eyes, I felt more naked. And worried that somehow, perhaps, I had disappointed them.
