When women objectify other women's bodies

Dear readers, thank you for subscribing to Post-it’ing Life and offering your time and attention to my small space on the internet. This week, I’m sharing a prose poem that was originally intended to be a longer essay. The reason for this are two-fold (i) writing this poem helped me ruminate and think deeply than the essay would, and (ii) these past few weeks have been busy and exciting, with a major career milestone that took most of my time.

Since I’ve been working on a cadence of sending a new piece of writing every two weeks, I wanted to inform you all about the reason for the delay. I hope you find this poem indulging and it helps you ponder upon the relationship between clothing and shame that South Asian societies often impose on women.

Modest

My go to desi fashion stylist in Singapore 
Is a middle-aged Indian woman
who welcomes me with the warmest greetings
that sound as sweet as honey but burn like caramel on skin 
With an incredible knowledge in garment and fabrics
She advices me to buy cotton silk for my saree blouse
And draws out her measuring tape 
To note the dimensions she needs
Complimenting me for my “weight” 
She measures my breasts, waist and arms
And arrives at the neckline 
…

One hand on my shoulder holds the tape 
As the other draws it towards my chest 
Her fingers begin to trail at 7.5 inches 
“This is modest,” she says. 
I look at her and then myself in the mirror 
“Make it eight?”
She pulls the tape further down 
“This much?” her grip on the tape tightening
“Actually, 8.5 is best,” 
I finally say. 
An extra decimal and a digit 
Added to the list of my immodest attempts 
To own my body despite another woman’s gaze 

…

The depth of my neckline 
Is the point at which my mother sees me 
Thousands of miles away a picture of me travels into her phone 
Among others celebrating another year round the sun 
She replies, “your dress is good, but neck so deep!” 
I react with an emoji, an emotion of surprise
Not at her words, but my own response
Shame is no longer the language I speak

…

The stylist’s mother is an old lady 
Whom I find alone in the store one evening
Her hands deftly adding pearls to a golden lace 
Running the sewing machine over a piece of brocade 
Despite her busyness and her cataract-coated eye, 
She helps me in trying my newly stitched blouse
“It is a bit tight around my waist,” I say
“Haan, even the neck is too deep,” she states

…

I laugh with these women and sit curiously with comments now
Their words trying to somehow cover up the shame
That has been ingrained into our bodies
Coercing how we look, appear and feel in order to be accepted
But modesty is not an armour that can save me 
From a mindset that objectifies women irrespective of what they wear

…

The gaze of these women on my body
Is not about a deep neckline rather a deeper need to cover up 
A feeling that rests uncomfortably inside us all
That we are made to carry with us everywhere
Holding us prisoner to actions outside our control
Demanding us to conform, to follow and deliver
Even when the places meant to keep us safe, fail
Every single day

[All rights reserved - Mariyam Haider]

Mariyam Haider is a writer, podcast host and spoken word artist producing works on feminism, culture and society. Her writing has appeared in Scroll, Kontinentalist, Asian Review of Books, Centre for Feminist Foreign Policy, Livemint, Mekong Review, among others. You can follow her work on Instagram or LinkedIn, or write to her at work@mariyamhaider.com for any potential collaborations.

Her most recent collaboration was with Singaporean poet and educator, Jennifer Anne Champion for Esplanade’s Foreword Series. You can watch the performance here.