Where the Austerity of Islam Yields to a Yen for Chic

Nazila Fathi, The New York Times:

Racks of colored robes, with neat stitches and fitting marks, fill the workshop of this scholarly city's most famous tailor, the Giorgio Armani of clerical clothes, Abolfazl Arabpour. The tailor, 76, a smiley man in a buttoned white linen robe and a beige skullcap, stretched out an exquisitely made cloak on his worktable for a few finishing touches.

"It is important in Islam to be elegant," he said. "In fact, being chic is a religious duty and there are many sayings from Prophet Muhammad, who encouraged his followers to look good and smell fresh." READ MORE

The 1979 Iranian revolution, which brought the country's clerics into political dominance, has had a sartorial side effect, pushing clerics into garb that is both more comfortable and more overtly fashionable.

"Iranian clerics had to become more elegant since they assumed power," explained Mr. Arabpour. "They need to look good when they travel abroad and meet with Western diplomats, who are always chic." (The word chic arises often.)

President Mohammad Khatami offers an excellent example. Unlike his predecessors, he wears shoes, not the slippers known as nalein. Previous presidents wore loose robes that revealed white pajamas, as some clerics still do; Mr. Khatami's bespoke robe matches his pants. He pays attention to detail: his turban is small but beautifully wrapped, his beard carefully barbered. His wardrobe has long drawn attention in Iran. This city is the second most important in Shiite Islam, after Najaf, in Iraq; dozens of golden and turquoise tombs and minarets rise above the mosques. With tens of thousands of clerics here from Iran, Iraq and other Muslim countries to attend seminary classes, the new fashions are on vibrant display.

Once, virtually everyone wore the V-necked robe, known as a qaba, that comes down to the shoes, with a simple white knee-length shirt and pants underneath.

Now, many bustle about in the labbadeh, the far better tailored robe favored by Mr. Khatami. It has a round collar and slits on the side, which usually reveal matching pants, in green, blue, beige and light gray. The sleeves are tighter, and the robe has stiff paneling in the chest area. The shirt underneath is often white, collarless and high-necked.

"Elegant clerics insist to have matching pants with their labbadeh, and they like their pants without pleats," said Mr. Arabpour, who by all accounts makes the best labbadehs in town, charging 600,000 rials, about $70. He lived in the same neighborhood as Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini long before the 1979 revolution and sewed his clothes, even knitting his skullcaps. By now Mr. Arabpour can count the entire class of senior political clerics among his patrons, including Mr. Khatami.

The Qum students, some in slippers, some in shoes, tuck their books under their arms or carry them in modern briefcases. Most hold their outer cloaks, or abas, with their right hands, swinging them back and forth as they dash to morning classes. Pricey, lighter cloaks dance through the air, while the cheaper ones balloon out stiffly.

The aba is the most expensive part of the outfit, ranging in price from $50 to more than $1,000. The most costly ones, favored by Iranian politicians, are imported from Najaf; they are made of a delicate handwoven wool.

Turbans are limited in color - black for those who claim Muhammad as an ancestor, white for everyone else - but not in size. Older and more senior clerics use wide cotton and nylon material up to 60 feet long, but trendier dressers lean toward smaller ones, some requiring only 12 feet or so of cloth.

Wrapping them usually takes two people, but an expert can manage the task alone, winding the cloth around his knee. Turbans are usually rewrapped every few days, whenever they begin to lose their shape. "My wife says she prays for a day when electric turban makers are invented," said Taqi Fazel Meibodi, a cleric in Qum whose wife helps him make his turban.

President Khatami's friends say he wraps his natty turban by himself, tying one end of a 12-foot-long cloth to a door knob.

The urge to be elegant, comfortable and modern has prompted many clerics to defy traditional rules. Wristwatches, once banned, are common these days. For many years, clerics avoided Western shoes, because it was not clear whether the leather was from an animal killed according to Islamic ritual.

"My father used to get angry when he saw me wearing Western-made shoes," said Mohammad Ali Abtahi, the son of a senior cleric and a former vice president under Mr. Khatami. "Now he says it's all right, as long as I wear socks and the leather does not touch my skin."

Some clerics confide that they wear ordinary clothes when traveling to Iran's larger cities, or when not on religious duty. The long robes, they say, make it hard to get in and out of buses, and they attract insults from those who blame the ruling clerics for the country's endless problems, political, economic and otherwise.

"I try to ignore when people insult me," said Mohammad Baqer Ahadi, 35, "and I remind myself that this is the gift of freedom that clerics have brought for the country when people, especially women, freely say whatever they want to me.

"Sometimes they become annoying, and it is just easier to dress like the rest of the people."