When you say “Middle Eastern woman,” most people picture a woman wearing a hijab or other headscarf (keep in mind that these aren’t all the same thing), long pants, and a loose long-sleeved shirt or dress. This might seem oppressive or conservative to many—something women wear if they don’t have any choice. From my experience in Jordan, this is inaccurate. Ninety-two percent of the country is Muslim, and most Muslim women cover their heads, so women in hijabs are a common sight in Amman. However, this certainly doesn’t mean that clothing choices are boring. Young people are often more daring in clothing, wearing bright colors and tight clothes. Most Jordanian women have beautiful makeup, and many wear heels—impressive, since the sidewalks in Amman are liable to abruptly turn into rubble as you walk along the street.
On the other hand, not all women in Jordan are Muslim. My host family is Christian, so my host mom does not cover her hair inside or outside and she generally wears T-shirts and jeans in public. Meanwhile, my host family dresses differently inside the house. Since it’s so hot in the summer, my host siblings shed their school uniforms as soon as they get through the door, wearing short shorts and tank tops for the rest of the day.
I’m from northern Michigan, so the heat seems excessive to me, too, and I want to wear shorts all the time. However, I try to fit in more than that. Catcalling and street harassment is fairly common in Amman, and I do not need to invite unwanted attention. This means my clothing has changed somewhat, beyond being unable to wear sweaters from the heat. Although I don’t normally wear scarves at home, I brought all of my scarves here and bought a few more, so I can always use them to cover up skin when too much is showing. Through my program, each student was also given a shmaugh, the Jordanian version of a kufiyah, or traditional Bedouin scarf in a red and white pattern. It probably doesn’t help me look less like a tourist, but it can be good sun protection nonetheless!
Even more than clothing, though, my hair is what I’ve had to change in Jordan. It’s not so conservative of a country that I have to cover my head with a scarf, although I do so occasionally to hide from the sun and heat. Anyone who has known me in the past two years, though, knows me as the girl with purple hair (or red, or pink, or teal…). I love dying my hair—it’s an expression of who I am, it’s a lot of fun, and it makes me unique. But while I’m in Jordan, I need to stand out less, not more. Several American girls in my program have gotten proposals from taxi drivers, and I don’t want to encourage the same. I’m already white and don’t speak much Arabic, so I couldn’t stay colorful. Instead, I turned brunette, and now my hair is fading back to blond.
I did not realize how much I would miss it, even though I almost cried when I took the last of the pink out of my hair. I have never thought I am vain, but I got used to people knowing there was a girl with purple hair on campus, and now I am not that girl. No one here understands that my hair is missing color. It feels like I am hiding, concealing myself—not just my body or my hair, but part of who I am. Normally, I am bright, different, visible, not afraid to get in your face and be myself, pushing myself to stand out even though I’m an introvert, welcoming of weirdness, and certainly colorful. Instead, while in Amman, that’s not obvious. I’ll have to show those parts of myself in other ways, and see if they’re still important to me at the end of the semester. It makes me wonder how much of identity is hidden under a hijab, or how much a hijab can comprise an identity in itself. In Jordan, clothing can mean fitting in or standing out. Appearance can lend you strength and power, or exhibit femininity. It can be a form of rebellion, a way to experiment with new styles, or another method of sticking to tradition. The way you look can show who you are and where you feel safe. For me, it will help reveal who I am now that part of my normal appearance has been stripped away.