Best read in coordination with: “So, where are you from?” and “Law School Society and the “I’m Muslim” dilemma”
(Glossary at the end for those unfamiliar with the Arabic words).

As a law student-going-on-lawyer, I’ve realized that so much of being a perceived as a good attorney rides on your appearance. Well-tailored suits are an absolute must for both men and women. A lawyer does not look like a lawyer unless he or she is, as we say in Pakistan, “suited booted.” Business casual is rare, especially in government jobs, and even then is expected to be respectable enough to receive a client or colleague.

In some way, I win here. I recently read an article about male judges’ reflections on what female lawyers wear in the court room, and the “old boys” (and “old girls”) lawyers I’ve met through the Susie Sharp Inn of Court seem to echo the same sentiment – “You’re in court, not at a party. I don’t need to see that much leg or that much cleavage.”

Sweet – no problem on either front for me. Indeed, I agree with the sentiment itself, too. Showing that much skin is not only disrespectful to the court and the institution of the law, but also to yourself. It gets you stared at for the wrong reasons (yes, it does, even if you don’t ask for it, it does. Eyes wander, that’s what they’re meant to do – look) and diminishes you in the credibility and respect you deserve. Fine, Lady Lawyers, I’ll give you an okay on below the knee skirts and short sleeve shirts (maybe even sleeveless if it’s tactful), but no cleavage, please. Not acceptable.

But in other ways, I lose. Buying my definition of halal suits is not an easy task. Choices are limited to (at most) mid-calf skirts (more usually knee length or shorter). Jackets come up to right at or above the waist, and combined with a fitted pant or skirt, the butt is completely bare and distinguishable. Not okay for me. Blouses and shirts are either spandexy (too tight) or low cut or too short (again, see the butt problem). You can get suit jackets that are longer (mid thigh or knee), but they’re expensive and hard to come by (and often cut for an older fashion sense).

Alhamdulillah, I’m lucky that when I find one of these longer, well cut suits, my mom or dad will get me multiples stitched in different colors from Pakistan. That helps very immensely, so I’ve got a whole set of well cut, well covered suits. I shake it up with a pretty colored shirt and hijab (and apparently people notice), so there is an element of fun to it – but moreso once I’m comfortable with who I’m with and where I am. I stick to blues, grays, whites for first days and big meetings.

Here’s where the real issue is for me: my headcover.

I’ve worn hijab for 11 years now, Alhamdulillah. In that time, I’ve gone from tentative uncertainty to gradual comfort to unabashed self-confidence.

I believe that wearing hijab is good for me on many levels: it fulfills a religious requirement and provides spiritual and moral benefit, it allows me to express a carefully tailored Islamic identity, it makes me a walking (and hopefully, counter-stereotypical) symbol of Islam and gives me the opportunity to teach others the truth about my faith, and it earns me the respect of my Muslim and non-Muslim friends and colleagues.

I’m very proud of my hijab and my choice to wear it, and Alhamdulillah, I’ve never doubted my decision.

But in the past year, I’ve come to be uncomfortable and nervous in situations that would never have affected me before law school. It’s always been nerve wracking to be a muhajjibah when you’re going to a small Southern town, where the stereotypes in your head are activated and you find yourself thinking, “That man looks like he might shoot me if I make one wrong move.” But as long as you smile, stay polite, things usually turn out okay in those situations. (Note that sometimes, part of the art of wearing hijab also means gracefully ignoring prejudicial comments from the peanut gallery).

Wearing hijab as a law student, soon to be lawyer is nervewracking on a different level. For the first time ever, when I attended my first professional/social event, I found myself nervous when I walked into the hall full of attorneys and judges – butterflies-in-my-stomach, a stomach-twinging kind of nervous.

I couldn’t help thinking, “What will they think of me?” For some of them, especially the older men “old boys” types, maybe this would be their first encounter with a Muslimah, a brown and hijab-ed one at that. Would they doubt my abilities as a lawyer? Would they think I’m a little “too diverse” for their tastes? Would they let me fit in to their profession?

I hate feeling like that. I hate that, when I walked into my first job interview with Justice Timmons-Goodson at the NC Supreme Court, I thought “what if I won’t belong here?”

I had left those feelings behind on the first day of high school, when I started wearing hijab and emerging from my middle school chrysalis. What were those emotions doing back here, in my throat and stomach, when I was about to meet a state Supreme Court Justice?

I was nervous, shaky, and agitated – but thankfully (and this is a testament to her greatness), the Justice took me into her office, spoke to me kindly and with an obviously real interest in my opinions, and finally gave me the job. I still look to her, a beautiful African American woman (the first on the NC SC) who worked hard and proudly stands for what she believes in, as an example of who I want to be. Her clerks were also like her – Saad, a Muslim clerk of Pakistani origin whose intelligence blew me away from the start, and Jenny, a mother of four whose absolute skill in excelling in both work and family life inspired me and let me dream of having a life like that, too. And of course, there was the unforgettable Ms. Elaine – an open minded, loving woman with great hair who has deep and hilarious conversations with you no matter who you are.

I was ashamed of how nervous I was – not because I did not have confidence in my skills, but because of what I thought others would see when they saw my hijab.

Imagine my annoyance, then, when the same feelings sprang back up when I walked in for an interview with the NC Attorney General’s office for my current summer internship. Justice Timmons-Goodson had come with high praise from some of my most respected advisors, and I had a feeling that, being a minority herself, she would not be as weirded out by a muhajjibah. But I felt twice as apprehensive while waiting for my two interviewers at the AG’s office. I’d never seen these women before and had only spoken to them on the phone. They’d been attentive, engaging, and friendly on the phone – but what if they’d just been expecting a normal brown girl, not a muhajjibah?

They didn’t flinch when they both walked into the lobby, where I stood anxiously looking at pictures of former NC Attorneys General. They were everything kind, polite, engaging, and fair (and have continued to be so as I’ve started working here). I was simultaneously at ease, and exasperated and embarassed for my suspicions. Hadn’t I done just to them just what I was afraid they’d do to me?

Stereotyping is contagious.

Still, I can’t help feeling the nerves.

I still feel that when I speak in class or express an opinion (especially one having to do with war, national security, or civil rights), I’m often speaking as a symbol of Islam (this is part of what kept me relatively quiet in my National Security Law class, and if it was not for the absolute kindness and open mindedness of Professor Scott Silliman, I would never have opened my mouth. My classmates are the people I will be working with for the rest of my life, so I didn’t want to be branded as ‘That crazy liberal Muslim girl from law school.’).

I still feel that, to some degree, I will be judged by what I wear on a different level than a woman who wears a revealing shirt or skirt – because my kind of clothing marks me as distinctly different and possibly foreign (and to some, dangerous), instead of just a little too liberal in fashion sense. Maybe I’m just imagining the looks from the “old boys,” the lawyers who’ve been working for longer than I’ve been alive. Maybe not.

But really, in the end, most of them will not treat me differently, at least not in the public interest law field that I’m working towards. I’ve still got the unabashed confidence for 99% of the time. In the end, overwhelmingly, I feel respected, not rejected.

And the most important thing is that I know what I am doing is right for me (both wearing hijab and being a lawyer), and it makes me happy to do it.

But it’ll always be in the back of…or, I guess, on top of…my head.

The last day of my internship at the NC Supreme Court, Jenny took me aside and told me how proud she was of me for wearing a scarf. She told me that there would always be people who would treat me differently because I wore a scarf, but that I wouldn’t want to work for those kinds of lawyers and law firms anyway.

Thanks, Jenny. You’re right.

—-

Glossary:
Hijab: the Muslim woman’s (Muslimah) religiously mandated style of dress and behavior that is meant to embody and encourage modesty, spirituality, and ethical goodness. The term “hijab” means more than just a particular item of clothing, but it is commonly used to refer to the scarf that covers the head and neck. A Muslimah who wears hijab is called a muhajjibah.

Halal: (an extremely simplified definition) what is allowed by Islamic law.

Alhamdulillah: “Praise be to God.” Used to express thanks.

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