How fashion helps us express who we are — and what we stand for | Kaustav Dey
I was around 10 when one day, I discovered a boxof my father's old things.
In it, under a bunchof his college textbooks, was a pair of black corduroybell-bottom pants.
These pants were awful — musty and moth-eaten.
And of course, I fell in love with them.
I'd never seen anything like them.
Until that day, all I'd ever known and wornwas my school uniform, which, in fact, I was pretty grateful for, because from quite a young age, I'd realized I was somewhat different.
I'd never been one of the boys my age; terrible at sports, possibly the unmanliest little boy ever.
(Laughter) I was bullied quite a bit.
And so, I figured that to surviveI would be invisible, and the uniform helped me to seem no different from any other child.
(Laughter) Well, almost.
This became my daily prayer: "God, please make mejust like everybody else.
" I think this went straightto God's voicemail, though.
(Laughter) And eventually, it became pretty clear that I was not growing up to bethe son that my father always wanted.
No, I was not going to magically change.
And over time, I grew less and less surethat I actually wanted to.
Therefore, the day those black corduroybell-bottom pants came into my life, something happened.
I didn't see pants; I saw opportunity.
The very next day,I had to wear them to school, come what may.
And once I pulled on those god-awful pantsand belted them tight, almost instantly, I developedwhat can only be called a swagger.
(Laughter) All the way to school, and then all the way backbecause I was sent home at once — (Laughter) I transformed intoa little brown rock star.
(Laughter) I finally didn't care anymorethat I could not conform.
That day, I was suddenly celebrating it.
That day, instead of being invisible, I chose to be looked at, just by wearing something different.
That day, I discoveredthe power of what we wear.
That day, I discoveredthe power of fashion, and I've been in love with it ever since.
Fashion can communicate our differencesto the world for us.
And with this simple act of truth, I realized that these differences — they stopped being our shame.
They became our expressions, expressions of our very unique identities.
And we should express ourselves, wear what we want.
What's the worst that could happen? The fashion police are going to get youfor being so last season? (Laughter) Yeah.
Well, unless the fashion policemeant something entirely different.
Nobel Prize laureate Malalasurvived Taliban extremists in October 2012.
However, in October 2017,she faced a different enemy, when online trolls viciouslyattacked the photograph that showed the 20-year-oldwearing jeans that day.
The comments, the hatred she received, ranged from "How longbefore the scarf comes off?" to, and I quote, "That's the reason the bulletdirectly targeted her head a long time ago.
" Now, when most of us decideto wear a pair of jeans someplace like New York,London, Milan, Paris, we possibly don't stopto think that it's a privilege; something that somewhere elsecan have consequences, something that can one daybe taken away from us.
My grandmother was a womanwho took extraordinary pleasure in dressing up.
Her fashion was colorful.
And the color she loved to wear so muchwas possibly the only thing that was truly about her, the one thing she had agency over, because like most other womenof her generation in India, she'd never been allowed to exist beyond what was dictatedby custom and tradition.
She'd been married at 17, and after 65 years of marriage,when my grandfather died suddenly one day, her loss was unbearable.
But that day, she was going to losesomething else as well, the one joy she had: to wear color.
In India, according to custom, when a Hindu woman becomes a widow, all she's allowed to wear is white from the day of the death of her husband.
No one made my grandmother wear white.
However, every woman she'd knownwho had outlived her husband, including her mother, had done it.
This oppression was so internalized, so deep-rooted, that she herself refused a choice.
She passed away this year, and until the day she died, she continued to wear only white.
I have a photograph with herfrom earlier, happier times.
In it, you can't really seewhat she's wearing — the photo is in black and white.
However, from the way she's smiling in it, you just know she's wearing color.
This is also what fashion can do.
It has the power to fill us with joy, the joy of freedom to choose for ourselveshow we want to look, how we want to live — a freedom worth fighting for.
And fighting for freedom, protest,comes in many forms.
Widows in India like my grandmother,thousands of them, live in a city called Vrindavan.
And so, it's been a seaof white for centuries.
However, only as recently as 2013, the widows of Vrindavanhave started to celebrate Holi, the Indian festival of color, which they are prohibitedfrom participating in.
On this one day in March, these women take the traditionalcolored powder of the festival and color each other.
With every handful of the powderthey throw into the air, their white saris slowly startto suffuse with color.
And they don't stop untilthey're completely covered in every hue of the rainbowthat's forbidden to them.
The color washes off the next day, however, for that moment in time, it's their beautiful disruption.
This disruption, any kind of dissonance, can be the first gauntlet we throw downin a battle against oppression.
And fashion — it can create visual disruption for us — on us, literally.
Lessons of defiancehave always been taught by fashion's great revolutionaries: its designers.
Jean Paul Gaultier taught usthat women can be kings.
Thom Browne — he taught us that men can wear heels.
And Alexander McQueen,in his spring 1999 show, had two giant robotic armsin the middle of his runway.
And as the model, Shalom Harlowbegan to spin in between them, these two giant arms — furtively at first and then furiously, began to spray color onto her.
McQueen, thus, before he took his own life, taught us that this bodyof ours is a canvas, a canvas we get to paint however we want.
Somebody who loved this world of fashion was Karar Nushi.
He was a student and actor from Iraq.
He loved his vibrant, eclectic clothes.
However, he soon started receivingdeath threats for how he looked.
He remained unfazed.
He remained fabulous, until July 2017, when Karar was discovered deadon a busy street in Baghdad.
He'd been kidnapped.
He'd been tortured.
And eyewitnesses say that his bodyshowed multiple wounds.
Two thousand miles away in Peshawar, Pakistani transgender activist Alishawas shot multiple times in May 2016.
She was taken to the hospital, but because she dressedin women's clothing, she was refused accessto either the men's or the women's wards.
What we choose to wear can sometimesbe literally life and death.
And even in death,we sometimes don't get to choose.
Alisha died that day and then was buried as a man.
What kind of world is this? Well, it's one in whichit's natural to be afraid, to be frightened of this surveillance, this violence against our bodiesand what we wear on them.
However, the greater fearis that once we surrender, blend in and begin to disappearone after the other, the more normal this falseconformity will look, the less shockingthis oppression will feel.
For the children we are raising, the injustice of today could becomethe ordinary of tomorrow.
They'll get used to this, and they, too, might begin to seeanything different as dirty, something to be hated, something to be extinguished, like lights to be put out, one by one, until darkness becomes a way of life.
However, if I today, then you tomorrow, maybe even more of us someday, if we embrace our rightto look like ourselves, then in the world that's beenviolently whitewashed, we will become the pinpricksof color pushing through, much like those widows of Vrindavan.
How then, with so many of us, will the crosshairs of a gun be able to pick out Karar, Malala, Alisha? Can they kill us all? The time is now to stand up, to stand out.
Where sameness is safeness, with something as simple as what we wear, we can draw every eye to ourselves to say that there are differencesin this world, and there always will be.
Get used to it.
And this we can say without a single word.
Fashion can give usa language for dissent.
It can give us courage.
Fashion can let us literally wearour courage on our sleeves.
So wear it.
Wear it like armor.
Wear it because it matters.
And wear it because you matter.