The beach should be the most democratic of places. Sand, sea, and sun are offered to everyone equally. Yet one image etched itself into my mind: a man in shorts, skin bronzed, wading freely into the water. Beside him, a woman in a full black burqa, her body swallowed in fabric, the heat of the sun trapped in every fold.
This contrast was almost unbearable. The man enjoyed ease and comfort; the woman carried the weight of modesty on her shoulders – literally. If modesty were truly a shared virtue, would he not also be draped head to toe? Instead, he basked in freedom while she embodied restraint. The imbalance was not subtle. It was written in fabric against flesh.
The burden of modesty
The Qur’an instructs both men and women to be modest – in gaze, behaviour, and dress. Yet over time, interpretations of modesty became uneven. For men, modesty came to mean covering from the navel to the knee. For women, it meant total concealment. What began as a principle of humility was transformed into a system where one gender polices itself while the other enjoys near total exemption.
And the justifications are always ready.
- “It protects women from harassment.” As if it is women’s job to manage men’s impulses.
- “It preserves honour.” As if honour resides only in the female body.
- “It is God’s command.” Yet interpretations vary wildly across Muslim societies, proving human hands shaped this rule as much as divine text.
Misogyny in cloth
When you see it on the beach, stripped of rhetoric, it is clear: this is not modesty. This is misogyny stitched and wrapped into fabric, passed down as culture, defended as faith, enforced as duty.
The logic collapses under its own contradictions. If modesty is about protecting purity, why is male skin allowed the sun while female skin must hide? If honour is sacred, why does it cling to her body but not his? These are not the demands of God but the anxieties of men.
Voices from within
This critique is not just an outsider’s complaint. Muslim women themselves have been raising these questions for decades.
- Amina Wadud reminds readers that the Qur’an places the command of modesty on men first – lower your gaze before you demand anyone else’s clothing.
- Fatema Mernissi traced the history of veiling as a tool of patriarchal control, turning women into symbols of family honour rather than full participants in society.
- Asma Barlas argues that if modesty were truly the principle, men would be covered as much as women. The double standard exposes its own injustice.
These women are not rejecting faith. They are exposing how faith was hijacked by patriarchy and rebranded as piety.
The question of choice
Of course, not every woman in a burqa is coerced. Some embrace it as devotion, as identity, or as defiance against Western beauty standards. Choice matters. But choice ends where coercion begins. And when social pressure, family honour, or political law strip away alternatives, the word “choice” becomes a hollow shield.
On that beach, the image did not speak of freedom. It spoke of a system where one body was allowed to live in the sun, while the other was condemned to carry the weight of everyone’s virtue.
A closing image
He laughed as he plunged into the waves, his skin cooled by the sea. She sat still, her black cloth absorbing the heat. This is not equality. This is not balance. If this is modesty, it is modesty weaponised – a cage disguised as virtue.