My friend Kelly has a themed fancy dress party for her birthday each year. When she turned 26, the dress code was glitter and flowers.
And I fucking brought it.
I wove some roses into a crown, found my sheer dress at the bottom of my closet and hand adhered as many rhinestones as I could fit onto nipple pasties.
I did it for a combination of people:
1. My Friend
2. The Guy I'd Just Met (Jaime)
3. The People on the Street on the Way to the Club
4. The People in the Club
5. Myself
6. Not My Long Suffering Family
But more importantly, I looked amazing, felt even better and told someone in the bathroom who'd been hitting on that guy (Jaime) "no" when she asked to borrow my lipstick. It was one of the greatest nights of my life.
That same guy (Jaime), and I heard about Switzerland's burka ban on the radio this morning.
Within a year of bedazzling bandaids for my chest, I was standing fully clothed before a classroom of international college students in Parkville, Missouri. The majority were from Saudi Arabia and wanted to improve their English skills before entering bachelor's programs in the U.S.
My male students didn't stick out too obviously in a college town, but most of my female students were in a hijab or niqab.
And outside of our floor on campus, that drew some attention.
After the radio story, I told Jaime that my feelings about head coverings had changed after that teaching experience. He already knew this, so I explained it to him again.
The Saudi women in my classes were among the most confident, capable and powerful people I've ever met. It was quickly apparent to me that their headscarves were a matter of personal choice and expression. Maybe they had to wear them in Saudi Arabia, but they didn't have to in Missouri where a woman's autonomy over her own body is always sacred and protected. Men don't have any say, and women are not gaslit into voting against their own interests.
Anyhoo, only one of my students wore a burka. She came late to every fucking class and scared the shit out of me every fucking time. After the split second it took me to realize she wasn't a ghost, I'd say, "Good morning, Nora!" And she'd answer, "Good morning, Miss Emma!"
To this day, I have no idea what she looks like, and it doesn't matter.
Because what people choose to wear or not wear just doesn't matter. Unless it's like an AK-47 to a capital building or school or something as whorish as that.
What does matter is a country of 8.5 million people forcing a dress code upon 30 of its residents. That's not about freedom or security. That's about some racist Swiss.
What matters is a country mandating women to cover certain parts of their bodies. That's not about religious beliefs. That's about some incompetent misogynists.
And what matters is a school sending girls home for wearing tank tops and shorts because their education is less important than protecting boys from being held accountable for sexual harassment.
It's so fucking stupid. I just hope that Nora and I chose to put on a burka and pasties because we wanted to, and that's what we felt most comfortable wearing. But let's be honest, with the amount of adhesive they have to put on those things, Nora won the comfortable contest.
My Sparkle Queen Kelly
My New Boyfriend (Who Didn't Have to Cover His Nipples)
My Choice
