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About Ramblings of a Hopeless Khowaga

Welcome to my Web site. My name is Chris, and I’ll be your host. I\'m an opinionated, snarky, gay academic with a predilection for the history, the Arab world, languages, photography, food, and music. I live in Austin, Texas. You can read more about me, learn 100 random things about me, and if you’re wondering what the heck a khowaga is, click here. Feel free to browse, read, and leave comments!

Tag: ‘fashion’



The problem with summerwear

Sunday, May 27th, 2007

Yesterday morning, I participated in the annual ritual that is second in importance only to the appearance of Puxatawny Phil on Groundhog Day. It’s Memorial Day weekend, and that means Memorial Day sales!!!

So like a good little gay boy, I wandered over to the outlet mall (which is two miles away) to see what they had on sale. More specifically, I wanted to go to Brooks Brothers, because even their factory store is more expensive than my wallet will allow for most of the year. I love the factory store because they have all of these logic defying deals: one pair of shorts for $49, two for $59. Gee, let me think this over. My favorite was the after-Christmas sale, where they were selling shirts at one for $59 or two for $60.

I found a couple of lovely shirts on the clearance rack … along with a plethora of items that, if I were the owner of the store, I would try to move out as quickly as possible, too. I wandered in circles past the polos … I have so many, and I really need to not acquire any more of them until I’ve gotten rid of some of the ones I have. And then I came across the Memorial Day special:

Seersucker.

For someone who is as allergic to the process of ironing as I am, seersucker sounds like a fantastic idea in theory: it’s a fabric that, not only does it not have to be ironed, it actually looks better when it’s wrinkled! Genius!

I’ve dabbled with seersucker before, but never purchased, but the trousers weren’t that much so I trotted off to the fitting room with a pair of trousers and a pair of shorts to see if maybe this time I could make it work. And so I dutifully tried them on, turned to face myself in the mirror, and I had the same thought I have every time I try on seersucker:

I look like an escaped extra from the set of The Music Man.

Seriously. I tried, I did. They’re lovely in weight, they’re kind of fun, but I can’t get over the fact that I look like I need a straw hat and an organ grinder. So, back on the rack they went.

And I bought a couple of pairs of shorts instead. I know they’re expensive, but they make my ass look fabulous!

God Bless Italy

Friday, March 30th, 2007

Yes, I am going for cheap thrills to boost traffic to my site. That’s the only reason that I’m posting these ads from Dolce and Gabbana’s latest ad campaign to feature members of the Italian football (soccer for us Yanks) team:

Dolce and Gabbana goes Italian - 1

Dolce and Gabbana goes Italian - 2

Just to refresh your memory from last year’s ad campaign, here’s a photo that Ray took of a billboard at Malpensa Airport near Milan while we were on our way back from Cairo last summer. Several people photographed it — all of them men.

Can you blame ‘em?

Dolce and Gabbana goes Italian - 2006 campaign

Happy Friday!

So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen …

Thursday, October 19th, 2006

It’s Thursday, which means that it’s time for the weekly re-cap of last night’s Project Runway. This will be the last re-cap because last night was the season finale, meaning that all of the bitchiness and drama has come to one culminating moment of reality TV goodness.

But I’ll be nice to those of you who haven’t seen it yet and perform my recap after the jump…

(more…)

Random Round-up

Wednesday, October 18th, 2006

I’ve been feeling uninspired to write anything recently. I could write about politics, but everyone writes about politics. I could write about Kim Jong-Il, but he’s crazy (sorry, he’s a non-rational actor) and everyone’s talking about North Korea (and not enough people are talking about how we can’t take North Korea on because we’re overextended elsewhere … oops, did I say that?).

I’m not giving Mark Foley another thought. There comes a point in your life when claiming that you were abused by a priest in no way makes up for discussing penis size with one of your 16 year old pages. (Check it out over at Towleroad if you haven’t seen the unedited version of that little bit of correspondence…) He’s now a disgrace to gays and people who were molested as children.
What’s a blogger to do when faced with being a Writer’s Blockhead?

Time for another random round-up. (For the record, I don’t know anyone who uses the term ’round-up’. This is Texas, but I grew up in Ohio, and I’m doing it for the alliteration.)

What the hell is up with the Argentine death cult?

If you’ve seen Evita (and don’t deny it — even I’ve seen Evita, and I’m not that big a fan of Madonna) you’re probably aware that the Argentines sure do love their Peróns. In fact, they’re moving Juan Perón to a big new $1.1 million crypt away from the center of Buenos Aires where he can rest in peace … until the next time they decide to dig him up and move him around. Juan Perón died in 1974. Just so we’re all clear on this. Loyal Perónists want to move his beloved wife (Eva, not Isabel, and certainly not his first wife whose name no one seems to know) to be out there with him. Evita’s family seems to think she’s been through enough already (what with her body having been moved to Italy under an assumed name for a few decades), and would like her to stay where she is, in the family crypt.

I suppose that the title that I just gave this section might be a little misleading — the Argentines don’t have a death cult so much as a slightly bizarre (to the outside observer) obsession with two dead people. Someone was so obsessed with Juan’s corpse that they broke into his crypt in the late 1980s and stole his hands. WTF? We have some pretty revered folks in our history, too, and as far as I am aware, George Washington, Abe Lincoln, and Ben Franklin still have their hands. What on earth would possess someone to decide that their life wouldn’t be complete unless they owned Juan Perón’s hands? I mean: ewwww.

All I’m saying here is: let the poor couple rest in peace. Haven’t they been moved about enough? Or do we need to do it one more time, just for old time’s sake?

On Tony Blair and the Veil

British Prime Minister Tony Blair has an opinion on Muslim women’s fashion. This may surprise many of you, as it did me, given that I was previously unaware of Blair’s academic background either in Women’s and Gender Studies or in Islamic Studies, but since he has issued an opinion, I guess I must be wrong. After all, no political leader would stand up and make an assertation that they weren’t qualified to make, would they?
At the heart of Blair’s newly revealed talents is a national debate raging in Britain about the Muslim population and the alienation and ostracization that’s been taking place since the July 11, 2005 bombings (which, as you will recall, were carried out by members of the British Muslim community). There’s a lot of talk about the need to integrate and assimilate the Muslim community into the greater population and society (resistance is futile), which can be a good thing, so long as Britain (and other western nations) realize that this is a two-way street–the host populations are often just as unwilling to assimilate the newcomers as the newcomers are to be assimilated.

However, as is usual with debates like this that become highly politicized, the national dialogue appears to have run off the road and into a tree. At the center of this particular tangent is the niqab, the full face veil with the slit for the eyes that ultra-conservative women wear in the Middle East and some other Islamic countries. A couple of weeks ago, Jack Straw, ex-Foreign Minister and now leader of the House of Commons, said that Muslim women visiting his office need to remove their veils. A teaching assistant in northern England has been suspended for refusing to remove her veil while she works because it ‘impedes her ability to perform her job.’ I’ve seen women in grocery stores in Saudi Arabia juggle three children and a useless husband all while wearing a niqab, but I suppose that’s different.

Check this out:

And any woman who prays or proclaims God’s message in public worship with nothing on her head disgraces her husband; there is no difference between her and a woman whose head has been shaved. If the woman does not cover her heard, she might as well cut her hair. And since it is a shameful thing for a woman to shave her head or cut her hair, she should cover her head.

That’s not from the Qur’an, by the way. (I have the source here in invisi-text: 1 Corinthians 11:5)

I get the idea behind a veil being some sort of symbol of respect for a higher power. I also happen to find the niqab a little creepy, and I’m all for fewer women wearing them as a general rule of thumb. (Of course, I also happen to be gay and am not treating the women in question like a sex object, which is the whole raison d’etre for the thing in the first place.)

The following quote from Dr. Blair is what gets me:

People want to know that the Muslim community in particular but actually all minority communities have got the balance right between integration and multiculturalism … when people do integrate more, they achieve more as well. There is a reason why minority communities that have integrated well then end up doing better, achieving more, attaining more.

The question here is this: how does a government ‘encourage’ integration without doing something like legislating which languages we speak at home? Or passing a national dress code? Or — wait for it — regulating public and private behaviors?  If we start down this road, where does it end?  And does anyone else see how this could easily become an issue for other communities than British Muslims?
As Chandler Bing once said: Can–open.  Worms–everwhere.

I raise the question because there are no easy answers.  I don’t have the answer.  I recognize there’s an issue that needs resolving, and I am happy to stand here and say: this is a tough one. I don’t know what the answer is.
And you, my friends, would do well to mistrust any politician who tries to tell you otherwise.

About the Banner: Istanbul

Thursday, October 12th, 2006

Turkish novelist Orhan Pamuk was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature today, and this has inspired me to create a new banner:

Istanbul

The original photo is here, not much different from the cropped version used in the banner:

IMG 4583

This is Istiklal Cadessi (Independence Avenue) in the heart of Beyoglu, Istanbul’s fashionable European inspired neighborhood. Istiklal is the wild heart of cosmopolitan Istanbul, where cultures, races, creeds, nations, and genders all come together in a loud bizarre mishmash the likes of which you haven’t seen unless you’ve rewatched Tales from the City recently.

I went to Turkey in 2004 for the first time on a Fulbright program that took us first to the troubled island of Cyprus. Coming from a Greek-American family, I’d heard all of the horror stories about both places, about what “they” did to “us.” For the record, both halves of my family are from Greece proper, and we have no relatives in Cyprus, so I’m not sure who “us” is, but that’s another story altogether. As I had begun to suspect, after some time in both places, I realized that most of my relatives had no idea what they were talking about.

On the other hand, there are skeletons in the closets of all three nations: Cyprus, Greece, and Turkey, and so far it seems that Cyprus is the only one of the three that has even remotely begun to take a hard look at itself (even though it’s also the only one that has reason and motive to place a good chunk of the blame for its current situation on outsiders).

When I suggested at a recent family gathering that Greeks and Turks have more in common than they do in difference, my aunt began speaking in tongues and crossed herself so much that I was afraid she’d develop carpal tunnel syndrome. Her Greek sister-in-law (by which I mean that she’s actually from Greece, not of the diaspora) was far less troubled by this statement. And so the struggle continues.

Which brings us back to Orhan Pamuk. He’s been in trouble in Turkey recently for taking his government to task for not allowing open discussion of That Which We Shall Not Discuss: namely, the issue of what happened to Turkey’s Christian minorities in the waning days of the Ottoman Empire (whether it be genocide or not), and the issue of Turkey’s Kurds, for whom the problem can best be summed up in a statement that I heard in a lecture in Ankara: “There is no Kurdish problem. There is no problem for the Kurds at all. They can be anything they choose, as long as they choose to be part of the Turkish nation.”

Pamuk’s greatest achievements, though, as Svenskaakademien recognized in their choice, have to do with his writing. His books play off the conflict and union of cultures as East and West have combined to create something new. Anyone whose read any of his novels recognizes that he’s also taken a uniquely western form of writing (the novel) and made it into something new. (My personal favorite is My Name is Red, set amongst intrigue and murder in 16th century Istanbul).

Pamuk is only the second writer from an Islamic country to be awarded the prize, the first being Egyptian writer Naguib Mahfouz, who died in August. Where Mahfouz was a popular writer, Pamuk seeks to re-define writing on his own terms. Both of them have loads to offer us in the West by way of introspect into how a part of the world that we view only in terms of difference and conflict really thinks, feels, and acts.

 

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