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Dina Torkia on perfecting the art of modesty dressing

By Dina Torkia
Wed, 08, 18

The Muslim social-media sensation reveals how she mastered dressing demurely with elan.

Here are some facts everyone should know about hijab. It’s a personal commitment to God; a beautiful tradition that encourages you to focus on your character rather than your looks; and, sometimes, it’s a bloody fashion nightmare.

I was 11 years old when I started wearing a headscarf. Growing up in a liberal family in Cardiff, with an Egyptian father and a British mother, it was my choice whether or not to do it. As a teenager, I had the same worries and concerns as any other girl. I spent a ludicrous number of hours obsessing over whether or not my bum was the right size, and I was convinced I might actually drop dead every time a boy I fancied didn’t like me back.

In terms of style, though, I was up against a more difficult set of challenges than my non-Muslim friends; which is saying something, considering this was Britain in the velour-crazy 2000s. Mainstream fashion was dedicated to crop tops and low-rise jeans, but I had to wear items that were modest, whether I was at the cinema on a Saturday night or playing football in school. The lack of options for me on the high street meant that - years before layering was fashionable - I was wearing bodycon dresses with long-sleeve tops and ill-fitting jeans underneath. I often looked like I’d thrown on my entire wardrobe.

Meanwhile, when it came to hijabs, it was impossible to find one that matched the rest of my clothes. Options were limited to tacky headscarves from Islamic shops or high-end designer creations from Louis Vuitton or DKNY with too little fabric. Somehow, though, I still loved fashion. In fact, the more difficult it was to find elegant, modest clothing, the more obsessed I became. In my late teens, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I bought a sewing machine and tried making the sort of clothes that I dreamed of owning myself - cutting shapes around my body and learning about needlework as I went. I may cringe at those looks in hindsight, but in the moment I felt empowered.

A few years later, I started blogging. My then-boyfriend, now-husband, patiently took photos of me dancing around the house in crazy outfits before helping me post the images on social media. Little by little, I found my style groove. I learned a million ways to tie my headscarf; I found accessories that were “just enough” rather than too much; and I discovered a style icon in Her Highness Sheikha Moza hint Nasser, wife of the former Emir of the State of Qatar - swapping my tight hijabs and baggy clothes for sleek turbans and flowing, high-necked dresses. I also perfected the art of shopping; hunting down pieces by lesser-known designers such as Dian Pelangi and Hana Tajima.

At first, it was only my close friends or people from the local mosque who noticed. Gradually, though, I started to get comments - and compliments - online from Muslim women based everywhere from Morocco to Indonesia. Suddenly, there were hundreds of us, then thousands, then a million, all trying to figure out not just our place in society but what on earth to wear for Eid.

At the same time, fashion began to embrace modest dressing. More clothes than I could actually wear landed on the high street, while models such as Halima Aden began conquering the runways. It may have taken a while, but, now I’m 29, it seems the world has finally realised what we had known all along: there are nearly a billion Muslim women in the world, each with our own relationship to God, our own understanding of modesty and, yes, our own style.

– Courtesy: Vogue.com