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Monday, February 26, 2007

HOW TO: Dress Modestly

filed under: HOW TO:, Jet Sex by Lux Nightmare

From 2/18 to 2/25, Lux traveled through India, hitting up Delhi, Agra, and Varanasi.  This week she reports back on her experiences.

When we started talking about my trip to India, the first thing my family members said was that I needed to get some appropriate attire.

My style of dress is – well, not conservative, let’s say. Left to my own devices, I am most comfortable in a short skirt and a t-shirt – usually with a hoodie and Doc Martens. I do not dress this way to be provocative – I dress this way because it feels comfortable (it actually took me an embarrassingly long amount of time to fully understand just how short my skirts were).

When I am in New York, I get harassed for the way that I dress, from time to time. It’s nothing major – certainly nothing I can’t put up with – but I am no stranger to the “Hey, Mami”s. In New York, I tolerate this, because I would rather be harassed while dressing how I want than cave and compromise because of some asshole on the street (especially given that, even when dressed more “conservatively,” I still get harassed. Damned either way, I suppose).

But this is in New York.

In India, it would be a different story.

My original plan was to go to Jackson Heights (New York’s Indian neighborhood) and pick up some salwaar kameezes. A short conversation with my sister convinced me that that would be unnecessary.

“You can get some stuff here,” she said. “And just bring a few things with you. You can wear jeans with long shirts.”

The important thing is to cover your ass.

She said I could pick up some flowy tops or short dresses and wear those over jeans.

“They can even be low cut, because you can layer.”

I took this all into consideration. The day of my flight, I would go clothes shopping.

I. Forever 21

If pressed to come up with a place to buy modest clothes, I probably wouldn’t have come up with Forever 21 as my first choice. Or second. Or tenth.

It probably wouldn’t have made the list at all.

Forever 21 is burned into my mind as a teen girl store – the kind of place I like to shop, actually, full of short skirts and cute tops and adorable (cheap!) underwear.

But Forever 21 is where my sister recommended, and since I trusted her judgment, Forever 21 was where I went.

Stepping into the store this time, I saw the world of Forever 21 with a brand new pair of eyes. Items I would have once seen as standalones – a cute dress – were now revealed to be part of an ensemble – a long shirt to be worn over pants (and another shirt).

I ended up with three items – a long, long cut sleeveless hoodie, a pink baby doll dress with spaghetti straps, and a red item that was either a long shirt or a short dress (I never did figure that one out) – either way, it was sack shaped and covered my ass.

I figured this was probably good for a start.

At home, I tried to select my outfit for the trip to Delhi. I decided to wear a black t-shirt, long denim skirt, and the long hoodie. It seemed fine to me, but I couldn’t quite if it was modest enough. Upon my arrival, I asked my sister if my outfit was okay.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “This is Delhi. You can wear whatever in Delhi.”

“Whatever” within a limited spectrum. Yes, (some) women wear tight jeans in Delhi, but you’d be hard pressed to find any short skirts and knee socks (however, bared midriffs seem to be okay in at least some situations: saris, the wrap dresses worn by married women, expose the midriff, and no one seems to mi

“It’s when we leave Delhi that you’ll have to be worried,” she said.

II. Fab India

We took an autorickshaw to the market on N Block to go to a store called Fab India.

The store walls were lined with shelves of clothing, divided by style and size. Some quick inspection revealed that I was somewhere between a medium and a large. I grabbed a few kurtas (long, loose tops) and headed back to the changing room.

Things got weirder when we added pants into the mix. I had two choices: the more stylish, tight pants that bunched up around the ankles; and the more traditional, looser style, which seemed like something MC Hammer would wear. Since my kurtas were rather long, I opted for the tighter style.

“You’ll be amazed by how comfortable this stuff is to travel in,” my sister said.

III. Beyond Delhi

I had the good fortune to be invited to India’s 2nd National Women’s Conference on my second day in Delhi.

Because it was an important conference, discussing a domestic violence act passed 2 years ago, it was determined that jeans wouldn’t quite cut it, and I’d be wearing my new Fab India duds.

They felt weird at first. Specifically: I felt like my mom. There was too much fabric, bunched up in odd places, and I felt weird.

As the day progressed, however, I got more and more comfortable in them. Especially when we arrived at the conference, and I found myself surrounded by women dressed in a similar fashion. To be dressed otherwise – to be dressed as I normally would – would have been to flaunt my outsider status (even more so than my skin color and accent already did) – something that didn’t seem appropriate, given the circumstances.

About half an hour after we arrived at the conference, I noticed a white woman wandering around the building. She was wearing a knee length skirt and a long sleeve shirt – the kind of outfit I would wear to work, the kind of outfit I would normally consider to be modest.

I found myself shocked at her boldness. Then I found myself shocked at my shock.

“It’s funny how quickly your perspective changes,” I said to my sister.

The next morning, I got on a train to Agra. That night, I took an overnight train to Varanasi, where I spent the next three days.

Traveling through India, going to places far less cosmopolitan than Delhi – even just riding the train – made it highly apparent how out of my element I was. Just walking the streets of Varanasi, just walking down the ghats, was enough to provoke stares, to attract the attention of local men (because it’s pretty much only men on the streets. In most of India, the public sphere is a man’s world.). I made sure to cover up: to wear pants, a kurta, and a scarf covering my breasts for good measure. To do otherwise would have been to invite too much attention.

IV. Heading back

On my last night in India, I went to a party for expatriates living in Delhi.

Because it was a party of expats, rather than Indians, modesty was unnecessary. Though I still wore one of my long shirts over pants, I replaced the under t-shirt with a thin tank top. Cleavage was definitely on display.

It was slightly weird to not be covered up – though less weird than I would have expected. There was no huge shift, no sudden feeling of freedom – it was just finally appropriate, okay, to rock a low cut shirt. And so rock it I did.

Going to India, I didn’t know how it was going to feel to cover up. I thought I might experience some sort of revelation about modesty – the kind of emotional, mental, freedom you always hear women talking like Wendy Shalit talking about; a sort of hidden power in modesty.

I didn’t, though. Dressing modestly gave me freedom, for sure: but it was a limited freedom, a twisted kind of freedom. Dressing modestly may have gotten me more respect, offered more protection, than wearing a short skirt would have – but the fact that the amount of respect I was afforded hinged on the amount of cloth adorning my body hinted at a much deeper issue within the culture.

I’m back in the States now, where I can wear anything I want. Over the coming week, I will dress modestly some days, and immodestly on others: and mostly I will just be glad that the choice is in my hands. Mostly I will just be glad that I have the choice to make.

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