As I enter Kirkland Dining Hall, heads pick up--male heads, of course. I pass by a female friend who normally says hello to me. She glances at me briefly, then keeps her head down without acknowledging me. When I ask the female dining checker where I can put the UC collection boxes, two male staff workers at the table near the desk immediately answer for her, pointing out energetically where I can place the boxes. She rolls her eyes and tells me where to go. As I leave, two staff workers stop talking to stare at me. I'm gradually losing the self-consciousness and gaining an extremely vain high.
1:35 p.m., In front of the MAC
Passing by the MAC, I accidentally drop my box of flyers. Instantaneously, two men, about 30 or 40 years old spring to my side, apparently from thin air. Grinning at each other like mischievous boys, they help me gather the windswept papers. One warns me, "You be careful there," and I thank them with all the dignity I can muster in a skirt that seems to be creeping higher up my thigh every minute.
1:45 p.m., Harvard Square
While crossing John F. Kennedy Street, I get my first whistle, from a guy driving by in a truck. When I enter a store, a salesman automatically jumps up and asks me if I need help. He then helps me pick out a clock for my roommate, and when the computer jams, he gets flustered and jokes, "The computer's jealous." I'm impressed with the service, until I realize that no one is helping the other 10 customers in the tiny one-room store.
3 p.m., Walking back to the dorm
By now, the thrill of satisfying my vanity has worn off, and the whistles and stares just make me feel like a spectacle. So when a slightly deranged homeless man mutters, "I'd like to have me some of that," I answer him with a stare so cold he backs off fearfully.
When I leave, an elderly Asian woman walks alongside of me, staring at my legs and scornfully muttering in Chinese to her friend. I find myself wondering what my mother would think if she saw me dressed like this, and decide that it's time to return home.
5 p.m., Winthrop House Dining Hall
By this time, I feel immune to stares, so I decide to eat dinner in front of all the House tutors and my friends. Besides, I’m so hungry I would walk in wearing nothing but green paint if I had to. To my surprise, nobody really reacts to my clothes, until my friend Nancy turns to me at the drink machine and comments, "Hey, Evelyn, is that a new outfit? I like it." A Day In the Life of a Muslim Woman
Noon, Winthrop G-45
How much harder could it be to dress as a Muslim? After tolerating rude stares and whistles, I'm prepared for anything, I think. My other roommate, Sameera, wears a hijab, so she lends me an ivory one along with a long, loose navy-colored robe. We laugh as we walk out of the dorm together, wondering if people will really think I'm Muslim or not.
1 p.m., Barker Center
On my way to English 10b section, I meet many of my fellow UC representatives, who glance at me curiously, many asking if I'm Muslim. Otherwise, I receive polite and almost overly respectful glances, as though people with whom I normally goof around are now afraid to offend me with questions--or even eye contact. Yesterday I felt like a spectacle, but today I feel invisible.
In my English section, I immediately explain my garb, which sparks a discussion of whether clothes should be important at all. Even with my explanation, the other students can't help sneaking peeks at me during the section. One boy, who came late and missed the explanation, can't keep his eyes off of me. Unlike the bold stares of yesterday, however, his stare comes in spurts, as if he's trying not to let me see him stare. Almost worse than invisible, I feel like a shrine, too holy for mortal eyes.
2:15 p.m., Harvard Square
I bravely enter Harvard Square. I notice that men with beards gaze at me curiously. Unfortunately, I'm still in the mode of rebuffing advances, so I throw them cold looks. Later, my roommate explains they probably were waiting for me to say, "Assalaam- alaikum," the universal Muslim greeting, meaning "May peace be with you." I realize that my clothes serve both to exclude me from the general population and to include me into the smaller population of the Cambridge Muslim community.
I enter the same store where I had been so energetically served the day before. The same salesman greets me as I enter, but remains at his seat behind the counter, flipping through a comic book. I wandered around the nearly empty store, passing the counter a number of times as though in search of a certain item. Still, no one approached me to ask if I needed help. Finally, when I neared another salesman, he politely asked if he could help me. The respect in his voice contrasted with the easy, presumptuously friendly tone of yesterday's salesman. I decline his help and left the store, feeling rather sad.
5 p.m. Winthrop Dining Hall
Home again. I enter the dining hall. By this time, many of my friends already know about my experiment, but I still receive curious glances from the staff. Again, I am impressed by the silence, and respect that the silence implied. Nobody asks me why I'm dressed the way I am, except for the polite query, "Is it a special holiday today?" Nobody wants to offend at Harvard, but it leaves me feeling rather lonely. I find my friends, though, and eat a weary meal.