Friends often ask me whether I object to wearing a headscarf when I visit relatives in Muslim countries. It is, I admit, a subject of some controversy. Jack Straw laid into the niqab, which covers most of the face, in 2006 when he asked constituents to unveil themselves, at least partially, when talking to him. Channel 4’s Lyndsey Hilsum felt impelled to defend her feminist principles when she appeared on Channel 4 news swathed in a headscarf so that she could file from Iran.
The fact that many in the west link the hijab or niqab to oppression annoys many Muslim women who both wear the scarf and have come to see it as an expression of feminist ideas. But even this doesn’t stop westerners from feeling sorry for women who are forced to wear it. Which is all well and good—if we want to obsess about the link between feminism and how many layers of cloth a woman should or shouldn’t wear. But my concern is simpler. Leaving feminism to one side for a minute, the real untold problem that no one ever discusses, I have to admit, is that the headscarf is not very friendly on my hair.
It’s not all bad, of course. The case for headscarves is especially strong in the winter months. They keep your head warm. They are also particularly good if you haven’t managed to wash your hair, and a dream if you are having a bad hair day. In such cases the jilbab—the full-length tunic worn by many Muslim women—covers an even greater multitude of sins, from hairy legs to one of those days when you just can’t be arsed to get dressed properly.
I remember well that my grandmother, who married a Serb businessman and lived for much of her married life in Belgrade, always used to put a headscarf on when she went shopping or to church—she’d gotten used to it there, and carried on doing it when she returned rural Norfolk. Such practicalities mean I myself am not averse to wearing one. Over the years I’ve built up a lovely selection—one in Indian cotton, a…