My Hijab Story

Hijab is the head covering required for all Muslim women to wear once they reach puberty, but I have to admit, I missed the train on this one for years. My family has always been moderately religious; we practiced the basics, but never really took time to understand the faith beyond the five daily prayers and fasting during Ramadan. Near the end of my sophomore year in college, I developed a strong interest to study Islam, and started to consider wearing hijab. At the time, my days were spent at the beach, doing anything and everything that didn’t involve what I was actually supposed to be doing, watching “Bad Boys II,” and organizing highly competitive Catch Phrase tournaments. A pretty normal part of my day also involved being pulled from the television kicking and screaming for Oprah because lacrosse practice started at 4 p.m.; I usually gave in when my teammates threatened me with bodily harm.

By the following year, the urge to cover my hair became stronger, and I sucked in massive amounts of Islamic information every chance I got. I would stay up all night talking to my uncle online; I asked him for advice and looked to him for guidance. I’m a pretty strong gal when left standing on my own, but I went to school in a place where I was only one of five Muslims on campus. Although my friends supported me in their own special way, I sometimes felt like no one could actually relate to me. When my uncle found a mosque about a half hour from where I lived, I was stoked. I started going there regularly and met some really dynamite women. I loved being in a place where I felt so at peace, but oddly enough, I didn’t feel like I could relate to those women either. They were older, working professionals that were married with children, and in my mind, I felt like everyone was more religious than I was. They all wore the traditional abaya, and that wasn’t something I saw myself clad in — at least not yet anyway. So here I was, sort of floating between these two worlds. When a handful of my college friends (who weren’t even Muslim) bought me hair wraps for my 19th birthday, I felt like God had handpicked all the people who were going to be with me on this journey.

I knew what I was trying to accomplish, but I wanted to start by setting realistic goals for myself. I wanted to embrace my new accessory with flare. I had chosen to take on something that I thought was liberating and beautiful, and I needed to make sure that – that feeling never went away. I started wrapping my hair with crochet belts I found at American Eagle, and began taking embryonic steps in changing my wardrobe. I remember only one moment in the last five years when I was frustrated over my decision to take hijab. In an act of total panic, I threw all my clothes on the floor and sat atop the heap, wondering what I would do with all my old things. My mom has always told me that every problem has a solution, and in that moment, I found mine. I decided that if I was going to change the way I dressed to please my Creator, I was going to do it the only way I knew how; with oversized jewelry, my favorite dress from The Salvation Army, and a Tod’s bag swinging in rhythm with every step I took as I marched into the mosque for prayer. Okay, I don’t really have a Tod’s bag, but you get the point.

After hijab, my personal style was never hindered – but embellished. I got a high from the challenge of putting together new outfits with the clothes I’d had for years, and I discovered a physical and internal beauty in myself that I never knew existed. When a native of Queens, N.Y. asked me if I was from SoHo, I danced a silent victory dance, and knew that the transformation had begun.

I had my “bad hijab days,” when my hair wouldn’t wrap perfectly, or I would struggle with finding the right fabric, but my clothes, in a strange way, suddenly made me feel protected and alive at the same time. One afternoon, as I was getting ready for class, one of my roommates came to my room, and stood in the doorway. I was standing at my mirror wrapping my hair, and she watched quietly for a few moments.

“Do you ever miss your hair?” she asked.

I smiled. It was such a profound question, asked in such a genuine way. It was also something I had never thought of. I continued to wrap and tuck the long layers of material around my bun, and turned to look at her. I was holding a piece of the fabric in my mouth, but smiled again, and shook my head ‘No.’