AFGHAN FASHION - PART 3

Posted by Lianne Gutcher at 20:34 on 9 Mar 2010

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My time has come.

When I arrived in Kabul two years ago, one of the first things I noticed was the dress shops. I'd be in a taxi and I'd pass windows crammed with mannequins wearing the most outrageously OTT, sparkly, meringue-y gowns in every colour imaginable. They were Afghan wedding dresses and I wanted one.

Weddings are a big deal in Afghanistan. After the Taliban fell wedding halls sprung up. There is a neon-lit strip in Kabul that looks like Las Vegas. It's all wedding halls. They have names like "Paris Kabul Wedding Hall" and there is one with a sizeable fake Eiffel Tower outside. Confusingly though, the Eiffel Tower is not outside the Kabul Paris as would be reasonable to expect but some other wedding hall.

The wedding look is, to western eyes, tacky. Mindblowingly tacky. All the guests wear the OTT dresses, not just the bride. And the frocks are set off with with pole dancer shoes and trowelled-on make up. To complete the look, long-sleeved T-shirts are often worn under strapless gowns for modesty's sake. This makes even the sylphiest of sylphs look frumpy.

The get-up is not for the benefit of men. Oh, no. The wedding party is split: men in one room, man dancing, and women in another. Guests usually do not clap eyes on a member of the opposite sex. The girls are dressed up for the benefit of other women, in particular prospective mothers-in-law.

I was invited to my first Afghan wedding about six months after I got here. I went with a lovely ex-pat lady who has been in and out of Afghanistan since the 70s and who has a second Afghan "family" here. As we sat there with three utterly miserable old biddies, sipping green tea, she told me which woman's husband beat her, which hadn't seen her children for years, and who wasn't allowed out of the marital home to visit her mother. It one of the most depressing celebrations I've ever been to. I thanked my lucky stars I wasn't born an Afghan woman.

But back to the dresses. Right away I knew we - me and the other wannabe fairytale princesses who normally stomp around in muddy or dusty boots depending on the season - would have to contrive an event that would give us an excuse to wear such outrageous creations.

And like I said the time has come. My friend has set up an NGO to help young Afghan filmmakers. Another two friends decided to organise a benefit to raise money for him. The theme is Kabuliwood. The dress code is Kabul couture.

Hurrah! Cue shopping trip to purchase the most flamboyant dresses possible.

Two weeks ago we stumbled into "Posh" across from "Nice Dresses World" and chose spectacular outfits. Our only worry as we departed the shop were that we had chosen something too conservative.

Today, we went back to pick them up.

They disappointed a little. They were actually more foxy than expected, in an ill-fitting kind of way. But there was gold lame, sequins, thigh-high splits and trains (surely asking for trouble). 

Sandra, Kate, Cameron and every other Oscars goddess on the red carpet: eat your hearts out. We are on fire. And if we stand too close too the bukhari wood-burning stoves that will be literal, not figurative.

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