PREFACE

We’ve gathered in the neighborhood of Motor City in Dubai with some of the region’s top personalities in the modest fashion world for a full-day shoot. These young Muslim women work with high-end fashion brands, are dined (not wined, for obvious reasons) at top-tier eateries and are flown across the globe for paid-for travel opportunities. Their egos could be sky-high, and their demands could be of diva status but the group of six are surprisingly easygoing, even when things don’t go as planned for our outdoor photoshoot. Though rain is a rare sight in the desert land of Dubai, the overcast sky opens up to an outpouring of fat drops and the women run for cover, lest their mascara run or clothes get wet. Still, their game faces are on and attitudes are positive as they continue to work their angles: smiling, pouting and staring down the camera with the expertise of high-fashion models.

Though they take selfies somewhat instinctually, these are not the frivolous, froufrou fashion bloggers that plague the pages of social media. For these women, faith is a major motivator, guiding their fashion and lifestyle choices, particularly when it comes to dressing without baring skin. Modesty is an ideal that these women strive to portray in their outer appearances, and it’s a virtue they work hard to embody too, endeavoring not to get too caught up in the frenzied and fast-paced world of fashion. But while modesty may hold certain unfashionable connotations, these young women are neither frumpy nor matronly. As they pose in their ankle-grazing, and for some of them head-covering, ensembles that they’ve each styled themselves, lyrics from Drake’s hit track Fake Love play from one of their iPhones, and they joke about blasting rap music on the Muslim holy day of Jummah, or Friday.

Each lives her own interpretation of a balanced lifestyle, one in which faith is a strong grounding point, but where a passion for fashion also thrives. Saira Arshad (@shazaira on Instagram), a teacher who grew up in Toronto, slips on her Christian Dior heels moments after telling the group about her recent trip to Gambia with nonprofit organization Penny Appeal USA. There, she volunteered on the ground and helped raise awareness for sustainable development, sanitation and safe drinking water. That took place right after her trip to Pakistan, where she was shot for a local shampoo campaign. As a gust of wind hits the group, Saira gives her skirt a quick tug, and starts chatting with Sameera Hussain (@missmulberry on Instagram), who’s also a teacher by day, about haram ankles, a point of contention among their social media followers, who often point out that the show of skin below their midi skirts doesn’t conform with strict religious interpretations of modesty.

These young women – teachers, fashion designers, graphic designers, bloggers and mothers in their twenties and thirties – lead lifestyles that allow for both style and spirituality, where they can indulge in contemporary cultural trends enjoyed by this millennial generation without compromising on their religious beliefs. There’s an effortless ease to the way in which topics of spirituality are woven into their casual banter. Nabilah Kariem (@nabilahkariem on Instagram), a South African fashion blogger who wears a hijab (a head covering worn by many Muslim women) and has flown into Dubai to attend Dubai Modest Fashion Week, tells Saira that she and her husband are thinking of moving to the UAE the following year. What’s Ramadan like in Dubai? she asks, referring to the holy month when Muslims fast daily. Saira says that the cultural norms during Ramadan in the Arabian city require women to dress up in fashionable formal wear and socialize all night. It’s so extravagant – I’m dreading it, she says. The two may get decked out in stylish outfits and masterful makeup for their social media posts, but both recognize that Ramadan is a month of spirituality and inner reflection.

Just like the fashion blogging world may look glamorous to an outsider, Dubai too has a reputation for being centered around glitz and glam. Sameera, who prefers wearing little-to-no makeup during the day, explains that because she lives in Dubai, where women stereotypically cake their faces with beauty products, she feels a certain pressure to put on makeup during meetings with parents, and that when she does, even the children in her class notice and comment on her lipstick colors. She’s been watching Korean television shows lately, and has started testing out the latest Korean beauty products. Maha Gorton (@mahagorton on Instagram), a British-Egyptian, tells Sameera that she uses Seoul Kool, a Korean skincare brand co-founded by popular Kuwaiti-American fashion blogger Ascia Al Faraj. Maha, who has her own childrenswear brand, previously wore the hijab, and now wears her blonde hair open in loose waves – a look she says she achieved at home herself, and not at a fancy parlor. I have three kids and a sick puppy, she says, explaining that her hectic weekend schedule leaves no time for indulging in blow-dries. Maha is a brand ambassador for luxury brand Cartier, a collaboration that over the past year has presented her and her husband with a trip to Jaipur and a spread in Vogue Arabia.

Both Maha and fashion designer Safiya Abdallah (@dulcebysafiya on Instagram) started families young – they have three kids each, and reminisce about when their children were babies. Their chatter revolves around training their infants to take pacifiers, and mastering the art of public breastfeeding – Maha, with twins. When Safiya tells the group that she had spent the previous day at the office of The Modist, a UAE-based e-commerce platform specializing in luxury modest wear, Saira asks her if she’ll be heading to the brand’s exclusive Ramadan press preview that Sunday – event appearances, after all, are commonplace for these young women, who are accustomed to dropping in on new collection launches and product reveals during lunch or after work, where they mingle, network and get photographed for the pages of local tabloids.

As the rain subsides, Rihab Nubi (@riinubi on Instagram) shows up to the shoot – a few hours late, as the rain had caused standstill traffic in the neighboring Emirate of Sharjah, where she resides. Rihab, with her red lips and winged eyeliner still intact, is meeting everybody for the first time, and gives each a warm hug. Two stylish barrettes are clipped on one side of her printed silk hijab. This style of hairclips is back in vogue, and Rihab’s head covering, it appears, will not be a hindrance to her taking up the trend, even though the accessories are meant to be showcased on uncovered hair. But covering up, as these young women prove time and again, is no challenge – nor is it mutually exclusive with looking stylish and attractive.

Our shoot takes place on March 15, 2019 – the same day that forty-nine people were killed after a gunman opened fire on two mosques in Christchurch, New Zealand. Terrorism, violence, oppression: these are stereotypes that often tarnish the reputation of Muslim communities, provoking an overall feeling of Islamophobia – the dislike of or prejudice against Islam or Muslims – leading to hate crimes, and in extreme instances, tragic mass shootings. In the West, images of Muslim women in the mainstream media often show them swathed in all-black, tent-like garments, coupled with headlines that paint them as repressed victims of a tyrannical religion. Though fashion may seem a trivial feature when discussing wars, bombs and gun violence, the attire of Muslim women has been a focal point in a long-standing Orientalist narrative. Women’s clothing has played an equally central role in the Islamist agendas of the Middle Eastern nations that have strictly enforced dress codes. But the women on set with me today, who choose to cover their skin in outfits that are both modest and on-trend, and in garments that are shown on European runways and are found in North American high-street stores, are helping to polish the image of Islamic fashion. Whether they wear headscarves or not, their sartorial choices have led to the emergence of a global modest fashion movement – one that has inspired even non-religious women of all types of backgrounds to use clothing to conceal, rather than reveal.

INTRODUCTION

Earlier this summer in a country pub surrounded by flower-spattered midi and maxi dresses, I was struck that a decade ago the same crowd would have sported whale tails (those thong straps that poked out of the tops of hipster jeans), observed the Telegraph’s head of fashion, Lisa Armstrong, in 2018.¹ Her article asks Why did demure dressing become the biggest trend in fashion? which is, in itself, a testament to the global style revolution currently underway.

The modest fashion movement has indeed enjoyed astronomical growth over the past five years, beginning with niche, under-the-radar and faith-led labels and businesses, followed by a celebration of modest fashion among mainstream international fashion houses, and finally cementing itself as a widespread retail norm, attracting shoppers of all faiths and none. In the first quarter of 2019, searches for modest fashion on Pinterest, a popular app used to upload and search for inspirational images, increased by 500 percent.²

There was a time not long ago when the mainstream demand for modest fashion was minimal, at best – I remember those days clearly. When I was fourteen years old and living in the small urban town of Morgan Hill, California (which prides itself on being the self-proclaimed mushroom capital of the world), I received a gift from a friend that I would come to treasure for many years. Courtney was a Mormon, or a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and she gave me, her one and only Muslim friend and schoolmate, a gray, oversized T-shirt with the words Modest is Hottest written in English and translated into various other languages underneath. Courtney and I were in a similar boat in our California middle school, where there were a handful of other Mormon students, but zero other Muslims. Dates and boyfriends were out of the question, and permission to attend school dances, unchaperoned parties or sleepovers was rarely given by either set of our moderately liberal, yet still somewhat conservative parents. Though we had occasional spurts of rebellion here and there, such as telling our mothers that a birthday party was all-girls rather than the mixed affair it really was, for the most part we accepted and made peace with our house rules, especially when it came to clothing.

That’s not to say that all Mormons or American Muslims abide by their parents’ guidelines – many teens, and even adults still living under their parents’ roofs, would leave home in one outfit, only to shed some layers before reaching school, revealing bare shoulders, knees and more. In the eyes of the mosque and church communities, they would have been the subject of gossip among parents, looked down on as individuals who had left the teachings of religion. But must spirituality be so staunchly linked to outer looks? These faiths place God as the ultimate judge, yet humans are quick to ostracize those who fall outside the lines of culturally accepted appearances.

Nonetheless, what Courtney and I really bonded over, as insecure young adults just wanting to fit in with the other girls in our school, was the modest dress code that we were both religiously programmed to adhere to. In gym class, while our peers would roll down the waist lines of their shorts to expose as much flesh as possible, as was the fashion at that time, we would wear ours, which were bought from the boys’ section of the school uniform shop, at longer lengths so that they covered our thighs and reached our knees. Our classmates expected no less of us – we were the goody two-shoes of the bunch, and known to be more sheltered than the rest. We weren’t allowed to go on the overnight class trip to Washington DC, and we were the ones who would show up to pool parties in sporty one-pieces rather than bright and bold bikinis. And when it came time for middle school graduation dress shopping, we scoured the shopping malls for dresses together, and both emerged with spaghetti-strapped gowns for which our sewing-savvy mothers fashioned dainty cap sleeves that covered the shoulders.

But we didn’t resent our modesty codes, and we still enjoyed shopping for clothes. Courtney’s prom dress was a puffy pink princess dress, while mine was a color-blocked black satin and lavender chiffon design. While our classmates received their grade eight diplomas in mini dresses with bandeau necklines, our shoulders and ankles were covered. It was this shared sense of modesty in a teenage world, where your popularity was also measured by your willingness to flaunt your body, that helped our young friendship flourish, and I proudly wore the T-shirt that she gave me over jeans and colorful leggings before it got relegated to my pajama drawer, and years later, infested with moth holes and ultimately thrown out. Courtney and I fell out of touch, though we recently re-connected on Instagram, where she posts images of her biking escapades, pumpkin patch visits and farmers’ market trips with her husband.

A decade and a half later, the words on my old T-shirt no longer hold the novelty they once did. In 2006, the summer after my eighth grade graduation, my family relocated from California to Dubai, where I’ve resided ever since, and today, modest fashion is available everywhere – here, and in America too. When I was growing up in the US, fashionable modesty was a relatively unknown concept and preferred styles of dress included Daisy Dukes short denim shorts and tight tank tops or T-shirts, with skin-tight bodycon dresses reserved for special occasions. Now, much of my work as a fashion journalist involves writing about the global modest fashion movement. I hardly have to seek out the stories, with the burgeoning modest fashion industry constantly bringing new designers to the scene regionally and internationally. The movement isn’t restricted to niche, Middle Eastern labels and fashion personalities; rather, it’s making waves across the world.

It was this shared sense of modesty in a teenage world, where your popularity was also measured by your willingness to flaunt your body, that helped our young friendship flourish …

My own style brainstorming sessions have evolved from flipping through endless pages of fashion magazines for evidence of any popular actresses or singers wearing clothing that I could emulate with my personal modesty guidelines (covering the knees and shoulders), to now being spoiled for choice with the variety of modest wear appearing on mainstream celebrities and available in retail stores. Take wedding dresses for instance: the trending bridal gowns of the early 2000s may have been fitted with voluminous skirts, but their top halves revealed bare-shouldered, corset-style bustiers. Recently, former American actress Meghan Markle opted for a demure, conservative Givenchy wedding gown for her marriage to England’s Prince Harry, and the fashion world applauded her sartorial selection, which was not only featured in the usual newspapers and tabloids, but inspired trend stories and shopping edits in countless fashion publications as well. Modest fashion has indeed come a long way.

So what is modest fashion? If you ask ten different people to define modest fashion, I guarantee you’ll get ten different answers. Everyone’s view of modesty is subjective: exact definitions and interpretations of modesty and the subsequent dress codes they inspire are often dependent on and influenced by culture, class, ethnicity and generation. But in the mainstream fashion world today, modest attire refers to garments that, generally, cover the knees (often the ankles too), with sleeves that cover the shoulders (and sometimes the elbows and wrists as well). It is not low-cut or clingy, and is often loose and flowy. It can be stylish, covetable and extremely flattering, whatever your body shape may be, whether you’re Muslim, Mormon or hold no religious loyalties whatsoever.

You may wonder if, because of my Muslim faith and multicultural background, I’m especially attuned to the modest clothing trend, perhaps making more fanfare out of it than may be deserved. But I’m hardly the only one picking up on the fashion movement in our midst.

Sitting writing this in Dubai at the dawn of my third trimester of pregnancy in September 2018, I’m feeling terribly left out while key players in the modest fashion realm embark on a major industry moment. I’d give anything to be back in California to celebrate the opening night of the Contemporary Muslim Fashions exhibition at the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, where a great number of designers I’ve met with over the past few years are showcasing their creations. It’s America’s first major exhibition dedicated to modest fashion and a proud moment for American Muslims, who rarely witness such high-profile celebrations of their culture and faith. Had this exhibition taken place back in 2002 when I lived in Morgan Hill, I would have jumped at the opportunity to make the hour-and-a-half drive to San Francisco to witness history in the making. Hindered by my growing belly, I do what any other millennial in my shoes would do when dealing with a case of FOMO, or fear of missing out on a special event: I pick up my smartphone, open Instagram, search the hashtag #ContemporaryMuslimFashions and start scrolling through the images.

I see designs from Indonesian entrepreneur Dian Pelangi, London-based Saiqa Majeed, Saudi Arabian Mashael Alrajhi, and Dubai-based Faiza Bouguessa. Big Western brands like Jean Paul Gaultier, Oscar de la Renta, Yves Saint Laurent and even Nike are all part of the exhibition too. Fashion designers, models, historians and industry professionals from around the world, Muslim and non-Muslim alike, have traveled to San Francisco to celebrate the opening of the exhibition. High-profile American rapper Neelam Hakeem, a hijabi (a woman who wears a hijab), is also present, dressed in designs from online luxury retailer The Modist. But perhaps what excites me most about the museum’s curation is the fact that while it sheds light on the diversity of Muslim fashion, showing different ways the hijab can be worn, it’s also flagging up that not all female Muslims cover their hair – a truth often overlooked by the mainstream Western media.

As a fashion enthusiast who doesn’t wear a hijab but has always tried to dress modestly from the neck down, I’ve eagerly awaited a mainstream acceptance of modest fashion for over two decades. I certainly never anticipated seeing a whole Wikipedia page dedicated to modest fashion, or a news story in the Guardian titled The end of cleavage: how sexy clothes lost their allure.³ Nor did I ever imagine I would type in vogue.com and be greeted by an image of two Caucasian models in black jumpers and trench coats, with their faces bordered by tight-fitting black headscarves, topped off with black hats.

It’s clear that modest fashion is being embraced by millions of women who have no religious affiliations, as well as Christians, Orthodox Jews and Muslims. Not to mention the style movement that’s gaining traction with men, who are eschewing sagging pants and muscle vests for more polished looks, in the name of modesty.

So I can’t help but ask – what is driving this trend, and why is it happening now?

The financial incentives fueling modest fashion

While modesty is relevant to consumers of all sorts of faiths and backgrounds, it’s retailers’ preconceived notions of Muslim and Middle Eastern wealth that is the reason for modest wear skyrocketing into the mainstream over the past few years. Author Shelina Janmohamed, who uses the phrase Generation M to refer to the growing group of young Muslim millennials and entrepreneurs who share the characteristics of faith and modernity, points out that while Muslims may welcome the industry’s increased focus on modest wear, it’s not a black-and-white embracement of diversity. While reaching out to Muslim consumers might leave their audience with a warm fuzzy feeling, there are financial incentives too, Shelina claims.⁴

In 2015, Muslim consumers worldwide spent around US $243 billion on clothing, with around US $44 billion, or 18 percent, on modest fashion purchases by Muslim women, according to the State of the Global Islamic Economy Report from Reuters and DinarStandard. The report estimates that by 2021, Muslim consumer spending worldwide will reach US $368 billion – a 51 percent increase from 2015.⁵ Muslims are expected to account for 30 percent of the global population by 2030, with more than 50 percent of that population aged under twenty-five.⁶ Their spending power, attributed mainly to Middle Eastern millennials, is what the global fashion industry is now scrambling to attract. In an article about the modest fashion industry for Bustle, journalist S.I.