For a long time, I thought these two parts of me were at war. I thought the burkha (or more accurately, my hijab and modest clothing) was the enemy of my femininity. I thought the lipstick was a betrayal of my faith.
So, to the woman looking in the mirror right now, confused by her reflection: Stop trying to peel off one layer to reveal the "real" you. The real you is the sum of the layers.
But underneath that glossy sheen is the burkha —or rather, the hijr (the protection). It is the shield. It is the whisper that says, Your value is not in your neck, your hair, or the curve of your ears. Your value is in your substance. burkha under my lipstick
The Burkha Under My Lipstick: On Duality, Choice, and Being a Woman in Between
Most people assume that wearing a burkha means you have lost your identity. They look at a covered woman and see a blank space, a ghost, a victim. But they don't see the rebellion. For a long time, I thought these two parts of me were at war
Sometimes, I walk into a boardroom wearing a silk headscarf and a power lip, and the women look at me with pity. They assume my husband picks my clothes. They don't realize I picked him because he lets me pick my own clothes.
Let your hijab sit next to your highlighter. Let your prayer mat sit next to your vanity table. So, to the woman looking in the mirror
Choosing to cover in a world that wants you naked is an act of radical agency. Choosing to wear lipstick in a community that says beauty is only for your husband is also an act of radical agency.