Waxing feminine in Turkey
Tuesday December 5, 2006
She was right. I did know Turkish society demanded purity of single girls like Lale. But I also knew it didn?t seem concerned that they look pure, a perplexing paradox that marked my most personal struggle that first year. Much of middle and upper class Istanbul leaned towards attire that in my own culture would appear an overture to promiscuity: tight ultra-low-rise jeans, which tended to expose the elastic band of the wearer?s thong panties, frighteningly high heels, bare midriffs and skin-tight blouses. Fashionable mature ladies often dressed much the same, as did professional women in the office district of Maslak where I worked, wearing corporate interpretations of body-hugging fashions. Most of the female population cultivated a highly feminine, head-turning image. How was that not considered promiscuous? I wondered.Since my arrival, I had wanted to assimilate into my adopted culture but was reluctant to reflect an image I thought immodest. Ironically, in my tomboy attire I was often made to feel homely and unkempt for my lack of style, the pitying glances of colleagues wounding me, and unsolicited fashion advice from Turkish family members insinuating my lack of sophistication. My comfortable shoes and androgynous wardrobe were to them less appropriate than the spiky heels and miniskirts the other career women were sporting. When I protested that short skirts were improper, co-workers called me repressed. If I complained to my mother-in-law that the top she gave me showed my cleavage, she dramatically insisted there was no way to camouflage my beauty and my gunny-sacks only painted me as a peasant. It was a battle I couldn?t win. If I wanted to gain admittance to this chic, urban Istanbul sisterhood, I?d have to relinquish my incongruent definition of what it meant to be feminine. I had always been one of the guys, but to ?fit in? I would have to learn to be a girlie girl.
I knew that life in Istanbul was bound to be different from life in Tennessee, where I had met and married Lale?s older brother Bar?? at university in 2000. I hadn?t travelled overseas before, but befriended foreign exchange students and naturally gravitated towards other cultures. I joined the Indian Students? Association since my classmates in the computer science department were Indian. They, like all my close friends, were male. Boys seemed to be less complicated, less conflicted and more confident, whereas girls in my town seemed to base their entire self-esteem on grooming, using their appearance as bait to attract boys. If their looks didn?t lure men, they considered themselves worthless, doubling their efforts along with their neuroses. A Knoxville neighbour my age wouldn?t even remove her makeup at night, morbidly concerned with looking her best should any night-time emergency occur. My confidence didn?t depend on my image ? I didn?t allow such weakness ? so we had little in common. Rather than disco nights out with the girls, my university social calendar was punctuated by billiards and watching boxing with six male housemates, a routine in which Bar?? quickly became an integral part.
Because my closest confidantes had always been male, upon moving to Turkey, Baris?s best friend Tunç became my close friend too. Tunç would be at our house every night by dinner time. We were the Turkish Three Musketeers and hardly an evening went by in those first five months where Tunç wasn?t with us, playing pi?ti, Turkish pinochle, drinking beer or watching football. The three of us even went on vacation together down Turkey?s southern coast. But when Tunç got married, his Turkish wife didn?t understand our boys-club camaraderie. ?Maybe you should think about making some girlfriends,? offered Bar??. ?Platonic relationships between men and women aren?t usual here, especially for married women. People will misunderstand.?
?But I can?t identify with girls. I don?t act the way they do.?
?Women here are not the same as in Knoxville.?
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