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When this could happen to someone like me who stays well under the radar, I shudder to imagine what would happen if one was dressing up to attract attention.
So, you’ve heard of fat-shaming, slut shaming, skinny-shaming, and even food-shaming (is that all you’re going to eat?) But sit tight, ladies; there’s a new kid on the block! It’s called modesty shaming.
Here, I am not even remotely referring to hijabs, niqabs, or shayalas. No, this is not about religious, cultural or political sects. I am steering clear of this subsection and heading straight to the polarising situations women face in today’s overanalysing and probing society.
I want to spotlight how seemingly modern, educated women who, on account of some twisted mindsets, equate modernity with short clothes. And they don’t stop at that. They take it up a notch by wanting everyone to endorse that skewed agenda and fall in line.
If you don’t, then—yeah! You guessed it! Shame on you! You’re such a prude. They may not stoop to the extent of addressing you as behenji yet (I assume) because you are still dressed in collared shirts, tailored jackets, well-fitted pants, textured dresses and floaty skirts. But you’re an old maid because you are not wearing shorts, crop tops, or stringy thingamajigs.
I thought all this happened in one’s youth—when you’re discovering your dressing style as a 20-something youngling, you make mistakes, and when your peers point it out, you make amends! But when you are a forty-something woman, set in your ways of dressing and style, strangers or people (women especially) leave you alone. After all the years of female anguish, you’ve earned it.
Right? That’s what I thought.
No. Wrong.
My brush with modesty shaming happened when a woman (forty-plus, too) managed to body shame and modesty shame me all in a few hours.
This woman, whom I hardly knew, dressed in mid-thigh shorts, shamed me for showing up in modern-cut cargo pants. Oh! The audacity, I tell you! I was too shocked to retaliate when she subtly mocked my favourite pants. But later that evening, she took it further by fat shaming me.
To say my blood boiled and I was hopping mad would be an understatement.
What the heck! I didn’t spend forty years on this planet to have a stranger fling insult on the way I looked and the way I dressed.
Of course, I ended things with a smart quip, but later in the night, I realised that her unthoughtful remark had hit home. I was back to being that fourteen-year-old who hid behind baggy clothes for fear of being body shamed. Needless to say, I cried buckets in the darkness of my room.
Somehow, I ended up in a holiday resort with this woman this time. Plans were being made to visit the mall. The conversation went like this:
Woman-in-shorts (somehow, she was always dressed in some variety of shorts or other): Let’s wear shorts to the mall!
Another lady: yeah!
Me (after inwardly rolling my eyes): Sorry, girls, I have nothing remotely resembling mid-thigh shorts. Most of my clothes reach below the knee or mid-calf. I guess I can’t style-twin with you guys!
While the woman-in-shorts smirked, following it with a laugh that riled me, the other lady quipped: Why don’t you wear a sari then?
That shook me; I was shocked beyond words. This lady had never been disrespectful of my body or fashion choices before. But there is something about mob mentality—people behave differently in a group than by themselves. Perhaps she had it in jest. But don’t we all know jokes and jibes are just another form of indirect aggression?
Though it wasn’t exactly worded that way—the aim was to make me feel outdated with archaic fashion sense. The implication was nevertheless there.
Of course, I didn’t hit back, all for the sake of a polite and civilised society. Anyway, my mind can come up with clever retorts only after the matter is long over. Plus, retaliating in the same viciousness is a double-edged sword—if you call it out, you risk being labelled as somebody too sensitive. If you don’t, the matters and situations get repeated, with the same people piling in more hurtful insults.
Though I got out of the sticky situation by uttering some inconsequential gibberish, my mind didn’t let it go. It ruminated and chewed it for an eternity.
Was it something in my mannerism or behaviour that allowed these women to put me down like that? Or do some people thrive on bullying, bitching, indirect or direct rudeness and micro-aggression? Why do these so-called educated sects of women take pleasure in tearing down their tribe? And when did shorts or miniskirts become signs of feminism and modernity? If you can carry them off, I’d be the first to applaud you. But why can’t I be uber-modern, stylish and chic with lower hemlines?
To top it all, how did sari find a place in this drama?
On a side note, considering its popularity, sari-shaming should be coined as a legit term. No, I am not talking about Sabyasachi shaming women for not knowing how to tie a sari. Apparently, the sari is not the trendiest or the most stylish choice these days. You are not up to speed with the current fashion styles if you choose sari over chic ghagras, floor-length anarkalis, shararas, asymmetrical kurtas, or co-ord sets. Go figure!
I never knew I was hobnobbing with such an avant-garde crowd till I braved a sari-shaming incident by a younger, not-so-close cousin. Though I’d wear all the above options, I would still prefer a sari over them any day! And yes! You are welcome to label me old-fashioned!
Incidentally, the past year was quite eventful, and I somehow found myself on the other side of modesty shaming, too. An acquaintance/ friend passed a snarky remark about better censorship on photos of writers shared for a competition. Close inspection revealed that the root cause for that comment was perhaps my photograph—I was wearing a relatively deeper neckline, and part of my leg showed. In my defence, I can say that I had sent a set of pictures, and that photo got randomly chosen (maybe it had better lighting?)
This time, I laughed it off; my not-so-recent experiences had helped me grow a thicker skin.
But it got me thinking, why do people feel entitled and privileged to air their unsolicited lopsided judgmental opinions? Why don’t they ruminate over their thoughts before spewing them out? Why can’t we, as a society, measure our words and not use them as weapons? How can pulling someone down make us feel better about ourselves?
When this could happen to someone like me who stays well under the radar, I shudder to imagine what would happen if one was dressing up to attract attention. Like celebrities and Bollywood A-listers! (Slut-shaming, trolling and whatnot!)
What would it take for us as a society to let women be their unapologetic selves?
After this, I can’t be blamed for preferring books over people!
Image Source: a still from the film Cocktail
A Radiologist by profession, Supriya Bansal, spends most of her day inhabiting a monochromatic world consisting of different shades of grey ranging from black to white. She is an active member of many online writing read more...
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Neena was the sole caregiver of Amma and though one would think that Amma was dependent on her, Neena felt otherwise.
Neena inhaled the aroma that emanated from the pan and took a deep breath. The aroma of cumin interspersed with butter transported her back to the modest kitchen in her native village. She could picture her father standing in the kitchen wearing his white crisp kurta as he made delectable concoctions for his only daughter.
Neena grew up in a home where both her parents worked together in tandem to keep the house up and running. She had a blissful childhood in her modest two-room house. The house was small but every nook and cranny gave her memories of a lifetime. Neena’s young heart imagined that her life would follow the same cheerful course. But how wrong she was!
When she was sixteen, the catastrophic clutches of destiny snatched away her parents. They passed away in a road accident and Neena was devastated. Relatives thronged her now gloomy house and soon it was decided that she should be married off.
Women today don’t want to be in a partnership that complicates their lives further. They need an equal partner with whom they can figure out life as a team, playing by each other’s strengths.
We all are familiar with that one annoying aunty who is more interested in our marital status than in the dessert counter at a wedding. But these aunties have somehow become obsolete now. Now they are replaced by men we have in our lives. Friends, family, and even work colleagues. It’s the men who are worried about why we are not saying yes to one among their clans. What is wrong with us? Aren’t we scared of dying alone? Like them?
A recent interaction with a guy friend of mine turned sour when he lectured me about how I would regret not getting married at the right time. He lectured that every event in our lives needs to be completed within a certain timeframe set by society else we are doomed. I wasn’t angry. I was just disappointed to realize that annoying aunties are rapidly doubling in our society. And they don’t just appear at weddings or family functions anymore. They are everywhere. They are the real pandemic.
Let’s examine this a little closer.
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