Do you get to wear what you want?

Issue #103: Most women don't.

Hello ji,

When you are a kid, you never think that your parents had an existence before you came into their world, right?

At least, this is how I saw the world as a child.

For the first few years of my life, I used to think that my parents appeared on this planet as two adults married to each other.

It is forgivable, perhaps, for a child to then have difficulty seeing their parents as individuals outside these roles and what they represent for most people around.

I grew up in North India where almost every married woman wears a bindi. I saw my mother wear one on most days too. It almost felt like a part of her face to me. Her ‘outside home face’, anyway.

So when, a few years later, she tried to stop wearing one, I was among the first to mutiny and demand a return to status quo.

I remember pestering her every time I saw her step out without a bindi, or even accost her with one on some occasions. It seemed unnatural to see my mom dressed up to go without it.

With time, nonsense notions absorbed from cultural and social norms cemented my belief that my mother - as a married woman - must adhere to the fashion code followed by all married women I had ever encountered. The glorification of ek chutki sindoor meant that a part of me even believed that my father’s health and safety were somehow tied to my mother’s bindi.

At some point, my mother gave up the fight, and the bindi became a ‘part of her face’ again.

All was well in my Little Miss Moral Policewoman world again.

Years later, I discovered that my mom had had an allergy to the glue used by most manufacturers of stick-on bindis in the 90s.

She had struggled with trying to paint it on, applying it with sindoor (red powder), etc. and none of it had worked for her. The no bindi option was not an option left to her by the world - including her own betraying progeny.

To this day, my mother has a white mark in the center of her forehead - decades of being made to paste an allergen on your own face will do that to you.

It also serves as a daily reminder for her erstwhile tormentor to stay humble.

Break ke baad, we are back with these messages.

---

Like a Christmas Tree 🎄

When Maya was a new bride, she noticed that her mother-in-law liked to hold extensive discussions with her on the subject of her wardrobe and accessories.

“She was a Punjabi, I am a Tamilian. She was otherwise a very sweet and adjusting woman who would pack me a lunch for work and wait for me to come home - sometimes late into the night - so we could eat dinner together.

But, for years, she could not understand why I would not dress up like a Christmas tree. She would fuss and fuss because I refused to wear clinking bangles or big gold chains or anything to signify I was newly married.

She repeatedly asked me to get rid of my pre-marriage wardrobe, which I repeatedly refused. I never understood this expectation of erasing all imprints of a married woman’s existence before she was a wife. I had spent my hard-earned salary to buy clothes I liked.

It took my mother-in-law years to get over this obsession with what I wore. She never understood how being her son's wife was not the focal point of my identity.”

With time, Maya and her mother-in-law grew into a warm relationship with mutual respect. But she regrets that such shallow barriers were put in their way.

“Controlling what a woman wears is a key tenet of patriarchy. Sadly, it is aided by female enablers/enforcers. Women are so brainwashed in this bullshit that they actively try to police other women, starting with what they wear. It is really sad!”

---

The Punjabi bahu

Sanghamitra grew up in a family that never questioned what women wore at home.

“My paternal grandmother wore sleeveless blouses with her saaris all her life. As a young woman, my mother would often wear skirts outside the house. We never had the culture of covering our heads during pujas or while entering temples.”

Coming from such a family, Sanghamitra was in for a shock when she married a Punjabi man.

“Whenever I met my in-laws, I would dress modestly, but in my own preferred style. A mix of Indian wear and Western formals. Sometimes with a bindi, sometimes without. Mostly without a dupatta. I did not want to create a false image and then spend the rest of my life living up to it.”

Despite her precautions, Sanghamitra’s life changed drastically after the marriage.

“My life took a 180-degree turn. My in-laws told me that ‘new bahus’ (daughters-in-law) have to dress in a particular manner - only silk saaris, make-up with bold lips, straight hair, and heavy gold necklaces, bangles, and earrings.”

What earring?

“My outfits had to always be discussed with my mother-in-law in detail, including the jewels I wore. It was directly and indirectly conveyed to me that my opinion was not more important than the family standards for the bahu.”

The time that Sanghamitra spent at her in-laws’ home was full of wardrobe policing.

“When I stayed with my in-laws, I had to have two outfits for a hot summer day – one that I wore in front of the family (I was expected to wear fancy clothes even at home) and the other - a pair of shorts and a t-shirt - that I wore in the comfort of my bedroom.

I was told to get my hair straightened or ‘do something about’ its natural curly texture. At all times, I had to adorn myself with at least a chain, earrings, rings, kadhas (bangles), and bichiya (toe ring).

My choice of saaris was rejected. Only heavy silk or sequined saaris in red, pink, and orange were approved. Saaris of my taste - light, flowy, and pastel colours - were cast aside.

Hoping to avoid confrontations, I did not even bring up the possibility of sleeveless options and dresses/ skirts after marriage. But yes, the thought that a woman can dress for herself was a long shot for me till we stayed with them.

In fact, I have now been married a decade, and their sensibilities still dictate my dressing style whenever I visit them.”

---

Meri Pyaari Bindi

Suvarna is a Maharashtrian woman.

“When I was a child, my dad would insist that I should wear a bindi - a small dot on my forehead - when I went to school. I was 5 or 6 years old then - too young to understand concepts like agency and independence. But I hated it anyway because none of my friends wore it and it made me feel out of place.

I resisted and pushed back hard. Eventually, my Dad gave up, and never asked again. Through my teen years and later, this conversation thankfully stopped happening at home.”

But, she says, the ghost of the bindi came back to haunt her after her marriage to her South Indian husband.

“My father-in-law kept insisting that I should wear a bindi. For some time, I gave in and would wear it when the in-laws were around. Honestly, when I think of it now, I don't know why I did it! It was very irritating. By now, I was fiercely protective of my independence and hated someone else trying to dictate what I should or should not do with my own body.

Eventually, I decided I will not wear it anymore. I told my husband that he needs to convey this message to his Dad so that he stops asking me. Husband did what he always does - tried to diffuse tension with humour. He tried cracking jokes about it like saying he would wear a bindi too, but his Dad didn't get the point.

The Indian patriarch. World-famous for an excellent sense of humour.

Eventually I had to just directly tell my father-in-law that I don't like wearing a bindi and won't wear one all the time anymore. I will wear it when I feel like it, but not always. He was clearly not happy with this.

He still passes some comments every now and then which are offensive by themselves. He likes to insinuate that I have adopted Christianity and I am not a true Hindu if I don't wear a bindi. But I let his comments pass. I wish I could think of an appropriate response, but I don't know what I can say without offending him further.”

I asked Suvarna how others in the family reacted when they saw her father-in-law bully her like this on a daily basis.

“Everyone else in the family - my mother-in-law and an aunt who lives with them - would say that they don't have a strong opinion about whether or not I wore a bindi. But then, they would still ‘gently remind’ me or offer me bindis if they ever saw me without one.

I am sure that most people in the family would have preferred / expected that I either adapt (i.e. wear bindis all the time) or at least wear one in front of my father-in-law to avoid conflict. I just find it so absurd that how a woman decides to dress/ look should be a point of discussion or a point that decides whether there is harmony in the whole family!”

---

Go for gold

Akanksha had a similar experience with her in-laws trying to control her entire wardrobe after her marriage.

“The thing that irked me the most was that they ‘allowed’ their daughter - my sister-in-law - to wear whatever she wanted. But they would try to control what I should or should not wear as their bahu all the time.”

Things hit a breaking point for Akanksha when her body began to be treated as a showcase for the family jewels at family gatherings.

“Almost two months before my sister-in-law’s wedding, conversations began on who is wearing what. My mother-in-law and sister-in-law insisted that I must wear some 20-year-old gold jewelry that they had gifted me at my wedding. While I had to graciously accept the gift at my wedding - I had absolutely hated the design and had no wish to ever actually wear it.

They clearly told me that this is one of the few ocassions when they get to ‘show off’ the family jewelry which meant that my body was basically nothing but a showcase for them. I told them that I did not like gold jewelry at all - I had not even worn gold at my own wedding. But they would not budge.

They put me in a very difficult position, and it led to a lot of heated arguments at home. I finally wore what I wanted to, but this basic freedom did not come to me without having to suffer a ton of fights, silent treatments, and general brainfuckery.”

No man - in the history of the great Indian wedding - has had to go through months of bullying over his wardrobe. But the suffering goes on for Akanksha even now.

“This struggle continues even today. Each time we have to visit someone on my in-laws’ side of the family, I am expected to be decorated as a trophy to show-off the family wealth. Heavy clothes and gold jewelry are a must and resisting each time requires the same battles to be fought all over again. There is another family wedding coming up this December and I am dreading it already!”

Tere exhibition ke din aa gaye.

---

The neckline privilege

When I put out the word for this issue, Abhishek shared with me the following story.

“I am a man and I like wearing V-neck T-shirts. I find high necks suffocating. I live in Delhi, and the heat makes it very difficult for me to function if I don't wear loose, comfortable clothing. No one has ever asked me to change what I wear.

Once, a friend and I were traveling together. It was a hot Delhi day, and she was complaining about the heat while wearing a closed neck shirt. I said that the heat makes me mentally stifled and I can’t even think clearly if I am not wearing comfortable clothing. I asked why she didnt wear open-necked t-shirts like me.”

Her response surprised Abhishek, but it might not surprise any woman reading this.

“She replied that it was easy for me to wear a V-neck because I am a guy and travel in my personal car. As a woman who travels in public transport, she can’t simply wear what she wants, no matter how stifled or unproductive she feels.

For the first time in my life, I realized that half the world doesn't even have the most fundamental freedom of life - the ability to choose the clothes they want to wear. This may seem insignificant, but it is not. For me, my choice of clothing helps me think freely and I am 5x more productive at work and in life because of it.

I realized in that moment that women’s choices and the right to live freely are murdered simply because of their birth in one gender and not the other. As if all things - freedom, choice, comfort, will to deliver better and succeed, living one's destiny, and even the basic joy of wearing loose clothing on a hot day - is only a man’s privilege.

I recently came across an image and I am sending it to you. This hit me hard.”

---

Covert hair-cutting ops

Agni likes to sleep wearing comfortable t-shirt and shorts. Of course, not everybody sees shorts as just a comfortable piece of clothing.

“I live with my parents, and our milkman comes at 5 am. I am an early riser so sometimes I am the one who hears the bell and gets up to buy the milk. I noticed that the milkman RECOILS from me as he gives the milk. He literally looks down at my legs, and takes two steps away from me. Then he stretches his hand far to hand me the milk while maintaining as much distance between us as possible. It took multiple instances of this for me to confirm that it is indeed my shorts that elicit this reaction.

When I ranted about it to my Dad, he said, ‘If they stare you have a problem, if they look away you have a problem - you can't have it both ways.’ He also said that the milkman comes from a different background which might make him react this way. I understand the explanation of the behavior but that does not make me feel less shitty about it.”

For Agni, acceptance of her body has been a long and difficult journey.

“I struggled with years of body image issues, so it has taken me years to become comfortable with wearing shorts. When this is the first thing that happens every morning, I feel like it pushes me back to square one. Now my day often begins with hearing the bell and checking what clothes I'm wearing. If I am wearing shorts, I just lie in bed and wait for someone else to wake up and open the door; because asking to be treated as normally as a man wearing shorts is apparently too much for me to ask.

It might seem like a small thing but there is a sinking feeling in my heart every time I don't get up because the first thing I do every morning now is to alter my behaviour because of someone else’s close-mindedness.”

Agni’s journey of accepting her body has happened against the backdrop of gender dysphoria (a sense of unease one might feel with the gender they were assigned at birth).

“My dad has had the weirdest relationship with my hair length. Ever since I was a teenager, I felt sick of my long hair. When I cut my hair to shoulder length in my teens, it felt really liberating. Later in life, I realized that I am non-binary and short hair has boosted my self-esteem and self-image immensely.”

If you think Agni’s dad might be happy that his child is happy, think again.

“Almost once a day, he would bring up that he doesn't like my short hair. Remarks like ‘Ye kya haircut karaya hai?’ (What is this haircut?), or ‘Tere baal toh mere jaise ho gaye’ (Your hair has become like mine). When it became too much to take, I asked him to stop commenting on my hair, and it led to a big fight.

I did not even realize that he was keeping track of my hair growth until one day he even accused me of ‘secretly cutting my hair’ because he didn’t think it was growing back fast enough.

I actually really liked my short hair but it deeply disturbed me when he called me a ‘boy’ because of my hair. My gender identity is complex and a mix of agender and girl. But I don't identify as a man and it really unsettled me to be referred to as one.”

---

A matter greater than life or death

Not that having long hair is enough to meet the standards of family and society. The men in Sheena’s family have also had a weird obsession with her hair.

“I have long hair, and people in my family are always telling me to tie it up. When I was around seventeen, one uncle had the gall to pull my hair hard as I was walking past him. When I turned to him, he smirked and told me to tie my jhontein (colloquial term for thick disheveled hair).

Not that one should have to justify how they style their own body, but Sheena actually has a medical reason to keep her hair untied.

“I get migraines. The tightness of tied hair can wreak havoc in migraine headaches. But that does not pass up social scrutiny. Now, I am just deemed stubborn/difficult and everyone in the family just gives judgmental looks when they see me with my open hair.”

A few years back, Sheena lost her father. Even in that impossibly difficult time, relatives did not pass up an opportunity to shame her for her choices around her body.

“Three days after my father passed away, I was making some arrangements for the funeral. I was wearing a pyjama that got wet during some ritual so I had rolled it up to ankle length. Someone in the family eyed my ankles, made a face, and asked me to go to a parlor and get waxing done.

I was shocked that this person has the nerve to suggest a salon visit three days after I had lost my father. I spent ten whole minutes arguing with and explaining to them how this was massively hurtful and unwarranted. They still did not understand what they did wrong.”

---

Rejected for her hair

For as long as she can recall, Ankita was always told how to dress up.

“I was a topper in my high school. I was the best public speaker in town. I was popular and had lots of friends. I was also a teenager who wanted to look her best and make decisions about what she wore. But that never mattered. What mattered was what people thought of me.

I remember my mother telling her friends,

‘She does not have permission to wear what she wants. I control that.’

She would proudly state this in front of me, my friends, and their parents. My friends grinned and I cringed. But she enjoyed the looks of admiration on all those other parents’ faces - admiring her ‘control’ over me.

She would lay out clothes for her every time we had to go out. And if I disagreed, all hell would break loose. She would scold me,

‘Obey me for your own good. Don’t let people talk ill about us!’”

Soon, Ankita’s elder brother hopped aboard the control-what-Ankita-wears bandwagon.

“He would make cruel comments about my body and how I chose to style it.

‘Stop wearing lipstick, you look ugly!

Stop wearing pants, you have a huge bottom!

Stop trying to ape the West, wear a bindi at all times!’

My mother was proud of his control over me too. My confidence slowly ebbed away and seeking external approval took its place.”

Once Ankita went to college, she moved out of her home to live in a hostel. It was her first taste of freedom.

“I could dress up the way I wanted to and it was liberating. I was often called the best-dressed girl on campus. However, my internalized self-critical voice - learned from my upbringing - would still tell me I was ugly.

Every time I came home for the holidays, I was told to

‘Dress up in a salwar kameez! Don’t let people talk ill about us!’

I kept overhearing proud proclamations about how my choice of clothes was still tightly controlled by my family.”

Even before she graduated college, Ankita’s ‘groom hunt’ began at home.

“All my wit, sense of humor, and intellect were thrown out of the window. I was being groomed to please men and their families. One man’s father rejected me because he felt my hairstyle was not appropriate (I had bangs).

This escalated the control to my hair as well.

‘Grow the bangs out and don't get a haircut without checking with Mom.’

I was prohibited from going to the salon. One day, I rebelled and went and got my hair trimmed by just a centimeter to feel like I still owned my own body.

When I came back that evening, my brother looked at me with disgust and said

‘You have already been rejected for your hair once and now you have done it again.’

Something in me snapped that night.

I thought of all the years of policing I had tolerated:

I was forced to wear makeup to cover my acne scars.

I was forced to wear heels to appease tall boys.

I was forced to wear saaris to appease their orthodox parents.

The list was endless.

I realized that after a lifetime of giving in to the rules set for me by everyone else, I had forgotten what I wanted. I had so gotten used to others telling me how to dress up that I felt I could no longer make decisions for myself.”

That one thought marked a change in Ankita’s life trajectory. Today, she is a 46-year-old happily unmarried mother.

“My daughter and I adopted each other. I live with my 43-year-old partner. We co-parent our little girl, and we couldn’t be happier.

It has taken me decades to make this journey of self-acceptance where I can finally be unapologetic about my choices.

One day, I overheard my mother tell my seven-year-old daughter to grow her hair longer. Hearing her reply, I knew that I had done something right!

‘Ajji, my hair, my rules!’”

My heart every time I read this last line.

---

This policing - of what one wears, how one cuts their hair, which kind of jewelry, bindi, and a million other accessories they do or do not wear - is a privilege only accorded to women.

We covered the complex science of what women wear to work in a previous edition of this newsletter, but the restrictions women face within the four walls of their own homes can be equally strong and a lot more suffocating.

Feeling like a prisoner in your own home and your own body is a fate we would not wish on our worst enemy.

Then why do we inflict it on those we love most?

Little Miss Moral Policewoman (Retd.),

Mahima

---

❤️ Love Womaning? Show it by becoming a paid subscriber or getting yourself some choice Womaning merch.

🔥 If you are an aspiring writer - or even someone who just wants to make their emails shine - check out my storytelling course, which includes writing workshops and one-on-one mentoring to help you write better, write consistently, and launch your own newsletter.