Native dress

As regular readers know, I'm preparing for my Arabian debut as Townsperson #8 in a local production of "The Music Man." As opening night approaches, my fellow cast members and I have been bombarded with emails from the makeup/costume maven with detailed instructions on how to turn our modern selves into small-town Iowans circa 1912.

It's amazing how well Americans from the Midwest at the turn of the century complied with current standards of modesty in the Gulf. As a River City teenager, I will be wearing white tights, Mary Janes and a dress almost to the ankles with long sleeves and a high neck. My hair won't be covered, but it will be pulled back and topped with a big white bow. My face and hands will be the only skin exposed, and I've been instructed (along with the other 'teenagers' in the cast) to cover my mouth in either shock or glee as much as possible.

True, "The Music Man" takes place before the Roaring 20s, but living here in the Middle East has given me perspective on how shocking it must have been for hemlines to creep knee-ward, after so many years of petticoats, bustles, sweeping trains and billowing sleeves.

Speaking of billowing, Madame L was educating me recently on the abeyya fashion of the modern Gulf woman. This is a topic I never tire of, probably because I grew up in a California beach town and, to my grandmother's everlasting horror, never willingly wore anything other than shorts and t-shirts for most of my childhood. Seeing women sashaying along the oceanfront in long, black robes glittering with sparkles and sequins never ceases to fascinate me. It is commonly known, and confirmed by Madame L, that Emerati women wear the abeyya by choice, for the most part, which explains the wild variation in the ways they choose to veil.

My curiosity this time was prompted by advertisements here that feature women in abeyyas and head scarves with their bangs peeking out. Now it's one thing to be at the mall and have your veil slip a bit. No one in the UAE is going to think twice. It's another thing entirely to have bangs in a Burger King ad, which has been produced to the exact specifications of some marketing drone. And then there's the matter of the women, mostly young, who wear their abeyyas open, or only half buttoned. Their cute outfit is clearly on display, and their abeyya is billowing behind them, more like a sparkly cape with sleeves than a garment intended to preserve modesty. When I see those girls, I think, 'OK, now, why bother?' My capris and pashmina cover more skin.

So, I asked Madame L what the deal was. Either you don't want strangers to see your hair or you do. Either you go out in public in a shapeless (though expensively be-dazzled) black overcoat to hide your potentially alluring feminine figure, or you don't. After all, my "Music Man" alter ego wouldn't dream of sporting a tank top at the ice cream social or flashing some ankle while dancing the "Shipoopi."

Apparently, many Emerati women, and especially the young ones, wear the abeyya as a badge of cultural pride and are not thinking a bit about religious or historical codes of modesty, any more than you or the average Iowan would today. The only gals inspired by religion are those who wear the full burqa, complete with gloves. A small percentage of Emerati women do walk around in what looks to me like widows' weeds from the 1890s: Miss Havisham-wear, complete with a full black veil that covers the face, but is made of the gauze-like equivalent of a one-way mirror. The woman can see out (undoubtedly everything looks a bit hazy) but no one can see in. (This is NOT to say that unveiled women don't value their faith or take it seriously; only that there is an explicit religious connection with women who are fully covered. The Quran doesn't require women to veil, and many devout Muslim women choose not to cover at all.)

Seeing the variety in dress among women here makes me wonder when and if the "Roaring 20s" will hit the UAE, or if abeyyas are here to stay, the billowy black line keeping Abu Dhabi from turning completely into a clone of Houston or Miami. If I were them, I'd keep the abeyya, sparkles and all. It beats a big white hair bow any day.