I once ranted on Threads the struggle of being a Muslim woman and having an “unconventional” large chest while trying to appear modest. I didn’t think much of my post, but it garnered so much attention from the ladies overnight, I didn’t know how many of us are quietly navigating the same hurdles, feeling like we’re failing at modesty just because our bodies don’t fit the typical “modest-wear” mould.
Here are some of the struggles I can summarise from my threads:
- Long straight-cut outfits don’t cover them well.
- Even when hidden, they attract perverted men (especially Muslim ones).
- Being skinny helps to hide them better.
- Many “Muslimah-friendly” labels clearly don’t have our proportions in mind during the design process.
- Whatever clothes and style we wear, they will still be there (other people see this as a problem instead of minding their own business and accepting this is something we can’t avoid).
- Not all loose clothing help with covering our aurah. The right material and style matter too.
- Taking part in sports is a battle between staying modest and enjoying the activity like a normal person.
- Shopping for a bra is a nightmare when people assume we’re “one size fits all” or we’re smaller than we are just because we’re covered up.
I could honestly vent about the hundreds of comments on that post all day, but these are the ones that clearly hit home for almost everyone.
Growing up
Looking back at my teen years, I honestly just want to give my younger self a hug for everything she went through. I was swimming in 3XL-sized school uniforms—even though I was probably an M or L—just to hide from the prying eyes of nosy older Muslim women, men, and boys.
To make myself even more “invisible,” I started slouching everywhere I went. That “hunch” became my survival strategy to minimise my body silhouette, a way to shrink away from unwanted attention. I’ve come a long way in my confidence since then, but even now at 30, I’ll occasionally catch myself slipping back into that old slouch whenever I’m in a big crowd. It’s wild how long it takes to fully unlearn the habit of trying to disappear.
It’s also honestly mind-boggling that the very people I share my faith with are often the ones who make me feel the most unsafe in my own skin. Whether it’s men or, sadly, other women, the accusations are always the same: that we aren’t “modest enough,” or worse, that we’re intentionally looking for attention.
It’s so isolating to be at your wits’ end trying to cover up, only to be told you’re “Showing off.” People act like your body is a choice you’re making to spite them or faith, rather than just the way you were created. We’re out here doing our absolute best with the options we have, but somehow, our existence is still treated like a public debate.
Body dysmorphia vs. reality
I spent so long feeling like I was just built “wrong.” Most modest fashion is designed for a very specific, slender frame, so when you add curves to the mix, everything hangs differently. I’d look in the mirror and feel “fat” or “clumsy,” not because I actually am, but because the fabric wouldn’t fall the way the catalogues promised. It took me forever to realise the clothes were the problem, not my body.
–
Modesty shouldn’t mean making yourself invisible. It took me thirty years to realise that I can honour my faith without shrinking my soul (or my spine) to fit someone else’s expectations. To all my fellow curvy Hijabis: stand tall, keep your heart soft, and remember—your body is not a liability. It’s a gift.
–
“What’s one piece of advice you’d give your younger, slouching self?”
wanywhiskers.com 
Leave a comment