Burkha Under My Lipstick File

The burkha taught me discipline. The lipstick taught me joy. Islam does not demand ugliness; it demands modesty of the gaze. And makeup, when worn with the right intention, is simply art on the canvas God gave you.

And I am the woman who wears a slick coat of crimson lipstick over a mouth that prays for forgiveness.

For a long time, I thought these two parts of me were at war. I thought the burkha (or more accurately, my hijab and modest clothing) was the enemy of my femininity. I thought the lipstick was a betrayal of my faith. burkha under my lipstick

Let your hijab sit next to your highlighter. Let your prayer mat sit next to your vanity table.

Sometimes, I walk into a boardroom wearing a silk headscarf and a power lip, and the women look at me with pity. They assume my husband picks my clothes. They don't realize I picked him because he lets me pick my own clothes. The burkha taught me discipline

Most people assume that wearing a burkha means you have lost your identity. They look at a covered woman and see a blank space, a ghost, a victim. But they don't see the rebellion.

I am keeping both. Because under this lipstick, my voice is loud. And under this burkha, my heart is free. What are the layers you wear that the world doesn't see? Let me know in the comments below. And makeup, when worn with the right intention,

So, to the woman looking in the mirror right now, confused by her reflection: Stop trying to peel off one layer to reveal the "real" you. The real you is the sum of the layers.