Fashion Taboos: Our Bold Choices
Fashion Faux Pas: From Sneers on the Streets to Online Harassment
It was the summer of 1979, and my mother, a student at the Government Law College in Kozhikode, was strolling through the bustling streets of Mittai Theruvu when she stumbled upon a shop that caught her eye. Inside, she found a beautiful Pathan Suit, now known as a Salwar Kameez, with circular patterns that were evenly spaced, and a rich brown color that stood out against the cream background.
The dress reminded her of her younger sister, who is still the most beautiful person in my family, a beauty that even her grandchildren couldn’t rival. My mother couldn’t resist and brought the dress as a gift for her sister while visiting her for summer vacation.
When the school reopened after the summer holidays, my aunt walked through the streets of her small village, her heart filled with excitement. She had been eagerly awaiting this day when she could show off the beautiful new dress her sister had gifted her. But little did she know, the day would bring her nothing but disappointment and heartache.
As she approached her girls-only school, she heard the whispers and snickers of the men and boys who lined the streets. They called her names, sneered at her, and taunted her for daring to wear a dress that did not conform to their narrow ideas of what was appropriate for a Malayali girl child.
…the proper attire for a young girl was a ‘Pavada’ (frock) and ‘blouse’, and as she grew older, they expect her to…..
In their eyes, the proper attire for a young girl was a ‘Pavada’ (frock) and ‘blouse’, and as she grew older, they expect her to add a long cloth that covered her chest and derriere but it is slightly different from a saree and hence called a half-saree. Later at an adult age, her dress will be upgraded to a saree. The crime committed here was going against the purity of Malayali culture by accepting a “foreign” trouser (Salwar) bottom and a “foreign” long shirt or tunic (Kameez) top.
After that traumatic experience, she never gained the courage to wear a dress which goes against cultural norms. Her beautiful brown and cream salwar kameez was forgotten and lost forever. Only the terrible memory reminds her to this day.
Currently, the various forms of Salwar Kameez are one of the most popular women’s fashion wear in Kerala. This intrigued me about what is foreign and what is indigenous. Was the much celebrated Saree or otherwise called Kerala Saree purely indigenous in its origin? No, not for a bit. Historian J Devika writes “The modern saree popularised throughout regions in India during the 20th century, it is now well-known was an invention of the modern educated Indian elite in Bombay and Bengal during the 19th century, who were in the proximity with colonial authorities…. additions like the corset-like “blouse” and the “petticoat” brought it in line with the European gown… A variant of the saree combining the upper cloth, blouse and the mundu (waist cloth) began to be used among educated circles in the late 19th century, popularised especially by female missionary educators.” In short, the saree was definitely “foreign” in origin like the next popular women’s wear: Nightie, which is brought in by the Gulf Malayalis. Nightie is the first abaya-inspired home dress worn by women across all religions, castes and classes in Kerala.
From Saree to Nightie, we abused these “foreign” dresses and the people who wore them during the early adaptation. Coming back to today, 2023 the abuse is continuing but this time my aunt was replaced by my wife. One of my friends from school days posted a picture comparing the woman wearing her dress to a ‘Chaakk Kette’ (jute gunny bag tied at the top). My friend was mocking, abusing, and degrading my wife’s choice, which she made in her early 20s and objectifying her into a thing.
Even though the saree had a Christian missionary/British background, the salwar kameez of Muslim origin (remember the word Pathan Suit), and the Nighties had a middle east abaya inspiration the phobia was mostly around its outsideness. When it comes to hijab, the central stage of phobia is occupied by the politics of religious hatred and bias. Before men and women engrossing in elegantly regurgitating theories on foreign origins, I wish they had time and open-mindedness to notice the foreignness of their own attire.
Reference: Davika,J. “Hijabophobia in Kerala.” In The Hijab: Islam, Women and the Politics of Clothing, edited by G. Arunima and PK Yasser Arafath. New Delhi: Simon & Schuster, 2022