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Photographed by Kevin Serna for Brownbook Magazine, issue 59, 2016 |
Or at not-so-friendly panels, I’m asked: how someone who
wears the hijab can be “into” fashion, given the reasons why I dress modestly
and cover my hair. If fashion is about vanity, they ask me, then how can you
pretend you wear the hijab for modesty as a fashion blogger?
But, the question should not be “how” or “why” fashion
can be political, it should be: why isn’t it seen as such? Why is an
interest in clothing seen as vacuous and shallow and those working within the
industry as either vain or lacking intelligence & depth? And why is fashion--a form of art and communication--stripped of its political value when other forms of art largely do not come under the same scrutiny?
To begin a conversation on the political value of fashion, let’s first have a quick chat about where and how fashion is devalued in society.
ON FEMINISM
Good fashion is feminist.
And the fashion industry is no exception to the
patriarchy’s reach. Although many of the “top” fashion design houses
such as Dolce & Gabbana, Gucci, and others are led by men (who get to
dictate womenswear), still, most of their clothing are being produced, sewed,
and assembled by women – women, who are working in sweatshop or sweatshop-like conditions. Women, who--may I add--are still stuck doing the dirty
work behind the scenes—en masse. So of course, in a patriarchal world, an
industry dominated by women is seen as irrelevant, shallow, or silly – much less worthy of receiving a recognition of value.
You know you live in the patriarchy when writing about fashion disqualifies you from writing about politics but writing about sports doesn't— Elizabeth Plank (@feministabulous) December 24, 2016
So, yes, this is unfortunately too real. (Except here at
JooJoo Azad where we do both—very well).
But you know what else? Fashion itself is deeply political. Photographed by Kevin Serna for Brownbook Magazine, issue 59, 2016 |
ON POLITICS
ALL ART IS POLITICAL. You are either challenging norms, creating discomfort & making social commentary or have the privilege not to do so. https://t.co/J6GG4AKf82— Hoda Katebi (@hodakatebi) November 27, 2016
I always argue that all public art is
political. Artists are either using art to challenge harmful norms, question
the status quo, imagine alternatives, document & store narratives of the oppressed, heal and rebuild...or they're not. It is silent. It is complacent. It is
representative of the privilege of being able to remain silent, to lack
commentary on social issues.
And as an art (although perverted with the mass
commodification of fashion under capitalism), fashion is not exempt from its
political significance – in fact, I find value in fashion and clothing
as one of the more politically dense forms of art. Beyond the immediate, visual
expression of politics that can be expressed on clothing—be it through the
usage of particular symbols or colors, much like a painter’s canvas—there are
multiple additional layers of the politicization of clothing: its
production, consumption, and presentation and framing of our bodies in public space, are just a few examples.
Multiple layers, I should mention, that are oftentimes ignored when
deciding what piece to purchase on the consumer’s side or how a designer
chooses to shape and mold the fabric pre-production, but nonetheless still politically potent decisions that aren't discussed often.
So let's do that now.
Here are 6 ways fashion is intrinsically political:
(just for the record, I was a list
person before Buzzfeed made it cool)
1. PRODUCTION | What does it mean for my skin, my body, and my essence to be
intimately touching the product of harm, exploitation, and violence? What does
this mean for me on a physical level? On a spiritual level? Granted, most
of our consumer goods are the product of oppression and violence (s/o to
capitalism), but what other product is touching our skin, constantly?
Who is profiting, and at whose expense? For me, the decision on where I source my clothing from is not only a political decision, it’s a spiritual one.
The intimacy of clothing to our bodies is unparalleled. And yet, we don’t think twice about where—or who—our clothes come from.
Who is profiting, and at whose expense? For me, the decision on where I source my clothing from is not only a political decision, it’s a spiritual one.
What makes this
incredibly tricky, though, is the accessibility of ethical fashion – there is a
reason why most ethical fashion bloggers are upper-class white women. (i.e. why
I don’t identify as an “ethical fashion blogger” but an “anti-capitalist fashionblogger”). Not only is ethical fashion usually expensive, it’s also
hard to come by. When there is a Forever21 or Zara in every mall/shopping
district, why ditch whatever is on-trend, cheap, and madly accessible for taking the effort to do research, buy less, and spend a minute to evaluate the
implications of what it means for a shirt to cost $2?
While we try to help out here and there on JooJoo Azad with
the research part & finding the latest ethically-produced brands,
“ethical capitalism” is only a temporary fix to larger political & economic
systems and structures to which the current status of the fashion industry is very
deeply wedded.
(We recommend a lifestyle choice to minimalism
as an alternative – more on that later).
2. CONSUMPTION | Not specific to fashion, but
where our clothes are produced – and where we decide to ultimately give
our money – are very much political decisions, even if advertising and a
culture of mass consumption lets us conveniently forget this. Deciding to solelysupport Black-owned businesses (especially in relation to the current #BlackLivesMatter movement) is a political decision (one that, may I add, we
fully support!). Boycotting brands that are supporting the Israeli military
& apartheid regime when Palestinian civil society has called for
international solidarity, is a political decision. Supporting small & local
businesses or radical Black & Brown artists (like my super cute artist collective) is a political decision.
Consumer power is (one form of) political power that we can’t forget many of us have.
3. APPROPRIATION | Are you aware of the cultural histories of each of the
pieces of your #ootd? Did you know that the harem pants in your closet came
from the people your country has imposed violent sanctions
against and calls backwards? That your blue jeans and casual clothes became the
new “cool” and widely worn today largely in part because of the Black Liberation
Movement of the late 60s/70s when activists collectively said "f*** your respectability
politics" and wanted a gender non-conforming, class-less “look” for when they
were marching on the streets in mass? The same people who are calling Black protesters “thugs” and “criminals” today have benefited from what Black
protesters have given them in the fashion department (of course, among
countless other educational, economic, cultural, and political advances).
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#BlackLivesMatter march, Chicago | July 2016
|
Whether we know it or not, (and let’s be real with
ourselves—it’s most likely the latter) the cuts, fabrics, patterns, forms, and
symbolism of our clothes carry their own histories and political significances
that are almost always lost in the process of mass production and consumption
of clothing.
Especially because cultural appropriation is such. a.
normal. part of the fashion industry, it is all the
more important to understand the legacies that we’re inheriting and how
different types of culture are consumed as replications of larger power
dynamics. We see Kuffiyehs—a symbol of Palestinian resistance—stolen
by an Israeli designer and commodified as a form of cultural genocide and erasure. We
see everyone and their white mothers wearing dreadlocks and
looking “so #hip!!!” while Black people have to fight to be able to keep their dreadlocks in the workplace.
Of course, appropriation is a very direct product of
capitalism – the need to privately profit from a shared culture. And who wears what—and what histories are
ignored, erased, and consumed in the process—is deeply political.
P.S. Need a quick refresher on appropriation 101? We got you covered. / Looking for something more advanced? Peep this dope piece on a Radical Critique of Cultural Appropriation.
4. GENDER PRESENTATION | Many of you have heard the news: I pulled a Snowden and leaked
that I’m working on a clothing line for 2017 (p.s. sign up for my
monthly newsletter to stay updated with its progress!). One of my ethical
values for this collection is to maintain gender neutrality and ambiguity in my
pieces. For me, this is an ethical and political choice. As a cis person
(someone who identifies with the physical anatomy they were born into), I’ve had
the privilege of never really struggling to find comfortable clothes for my
body or clothes. It's relatively easy for me to wear clothes that wouldn’t draw strange/hateful stares because of the way I
choose to present my body as appearing contrary to how my gender might be
assumed in public spaces (hijab aside).
Fashion and clothing literally frame & shape our bodies for public presentation.
Beyond the more obvious fact that what is designated as
“menswear” and “womenswear” is largely reflective of a society’s relationship
to gender roles and sexuality (just peek at Halloween costumes
for a quick and easy idea of how gender roles are assumed in the USA, for
example), clothing is very much a part of gender presentation.
Why are fashion editorials with commentary on gender and
sexuality so scandalous? What sort of commentary (or what sort of
alternatives to oppressive systems) do gender non-conforming clothes provide?
And why do you think it provokes such political outrage? Fashion is being used as a powerful tool for
challenging gender norms. And it’s beautiful.
![]() |
Too Cute to be Binary tee available on Etsy |
5. SOCIAL CONFORMITY | Speaking of rad, genderless clothing, let’s stop talking
about the United States (finally) and hop (confession: I don’t know how to
swim) across the ocean to my motherland. Part of my academic research is focused
on public, mandatory dress codes in Iran and their relationship to gender and
class. While I call out mandatory, government-sanctioned dress codes (whether
that is mandatory veiling in Iran or unveiling in France), the history of
Iran’s dress codes is worth having a conversation about – especially in the
context of understanding broader political/social potential of clothing.
This deserves (and will be getting) its own post in the near
future, so let’s make this brief(ish): as I write in my book, the
mandatory dress codes in Iran were originally institutionalized in order to
assert national identity and fight cultural Westernization (a legacy of American
Imperialism from the prior regime) while simultaneously erasing markers of
class and gender from public space. While today these dress codes have
“transformed into a sort of enforced conformity at home,” the newly-formed
Iranian government, noting the political possibilities of clothing and dress
codes, aimed to inspire egalitarianism through an enforced public dress code.
As fashion has historically been in the business of marking socio-economic
class, enforcing a state-sanctioned dress code is one way to erase this from
clothing.
And using a public dress code to erase gender and class from
public space wasn’t just limited to the initial intentions of early,
post-revolutionary Iranian policymakers -- as mentioned under point 3, many
social justice movements in the United States and beyond used fashion
conformity to unify and resist.
6. SYMBOLISM | Whether we like it or not, wearing a piece of cloth around
our heads has indisputably become an incredibly potent political symbol. While
of course the hijab is much more than simply a piece of clothing, the decision to wear a scarf around your head rather than, say, around your neck, leads to a completely different experience (to say the least). As far as I know, we've never seen anyone shot & killed execution style for wearing a a scarf around their neck.
The hijab has
even been used by American policymakers as an excuse for military intervention
in Afghanistan (while white feminists silently looked on).
But more than just the hijab, clothing is wrought with symbolism -- the kuffiyeh, the Dashiki, an afro, or a red hat that says "Make America Great Again" can say volumes about your political values (or lack thereof).
I wear myheart politics on my sleeves--literally. When my existence as a hijab-wearing woman has already become a politically-charged symbol, why not continue to use my body to promote images of resistance?
But more than just the hijab, clothing is wrought with symbolism -- the kuffiyeh, the Dashiki, an afro, or a red hat that says "Make America Great Again" can say volumes about your political values (or lack thereof).
I wear my
And with hate-crimes against Muslims skyrocketing, (with no
decline in sight) let me tell you: your external
appearance is powerful. Use it wisely.
MOVING FORWARD
So where do we go from here?
We need a collective, long-term, and transformative shift in
our relationship with the production and consumption of clothing and fashion. We
need to be aware of where our clothing is coming from and at whose expense. We
need to be conscious of our consumer power and what we are saying about our
political, moral, and ethical values based on who we are monetarily supporting
(or refusing to). We need to understand the historical significances of our
clothing, and the many public, social, and political layers to how we present and
frame our bodies in public spaces.
More concretely, we need to start the transition to a
minimal wardrobe – i.e. something that I like to go on and on about
on JooJoo Azad—and being selective and conscious about what and how much we are
purchasing. Fashion is an art form, and should be consumed as such: slowly,
mindfully, and wholly.
And now that you’ve read (more like skimmed) this piece, you
have a general understanding of the varying political significances that
fashion has: that who you purchase from and what you wear are very much
political decisions. And here’s the fun
part (i.e. why I wrote all of this), which I think you’ve probably figured out
by now:
As I wrote earlier—all art is political. Refusing to engage with the politics of fashion does not allow you to be any less political—it just makes you silent. At a time we cannot afford to be.
you cannot choose to be apolitical about your fashion choices.
As I wrote earlier—all art is political. Refusing to engage with the politics of fashion does not allow you to be any less political—it just makes you silent. At a time we cannot afford to be.
Engage with your clothing. Be intentional and meaningful
with what you choose to convey—and how you choose to do it.
<(')
P.S. Thank you again to everyone who applied to the JooJoo
Azad internship! We had a record number of talented applicants this year and
have plans of expanding our team & mentorship program beyond a single
intern. 2017, get ready for us.
Upcoming posts:
+ A Non-Depressing 2016 Year in Review
+ Minimalism Resolutions for the New Year
+ On Trump’s Muslim Registry – What We Know & Moving
Forward
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