*Author's Note: The title and article are satire. (Duh! *rolls eyes*)

It’s been a part of me for almost 10 years now (7 to be exact). I wasn’t even nervous when I first put it on. It started out as this addition to my everyday style, however now it has slowly started to morph into my hairline—literally you can see where cloth and skin meet. The sun has even been so gracious as to make a visible line around my jawline just in case I forget the borders that I need to stay within on days when I’m running late for school or suffering from a bad hair day (God forbid!).

Like most living creatures, it changes every day—a new chance to make a name for itself. Some days it is soft and gentle: flowing in the wind and sparkling in the sunlight (depending on the adjournments). Yet other days, it doesn’t want to be bothered. Or maybe one side was favored over the other the night before while sleeping, leaving one side wrinkled and the other less so. Unfortunately hijabs are underrepresented in the beauty department: there’s no wrinkle reconstructive creams at the moment to repair the fine lines and regain the elasticity of their youth.

There are different kinds of hijabs of course. The popular hijabs are annoying AF. Normally these ones are made from satin or silk or any material soft and slippery—like lingerie. Sure, they’re pretty and sparkle and smell nice. But bitches be flaking on you. You think you can depend on them but they just loosen up from their position, falling out from the knot you tied earlier and kicking out the safety pins from their inner cliques. If you’re lucky, you won’t have to wear one for more than an hour. Like I said before, nice to look out, not dependable for long term relationships.

Then there are the sporty hijabs. They’re defining characteristics tend to be their muscle definition: the hem lines are jacked! Definitely ones you can depend on especially when you got to get down in the dirt. Very disciplined creatures.

The slutty hijabs have as much sense as a personified piece of clothing—you need to use your imagination to make them seem interesting. You normally see these ones in pornography films. They are normally the ones that hike up their hem lines to show “ankle” or “wrist” or gasp! “hair strands”. But hey, porn in all its forms is a billion dollar enterprise—can’t blame habibti for trying to make a living.

There are also emo-hijabs. Fox media will have you believe that connected to these hijabs are explosive devices, but in fact they are actually attached to speakers that play trashy pop songs and heavy metal cover bands. You know, those songs with all the “Ahhs” and “Heeyyys” and chorus lines filled with “Allahu-akbar” over the newest dub step beat. Sometimes sound effects, like guns, are played over the lyrics, but trust me, the music videos are much less appealing.

But you see, regardless of the type you want to hang out with, there will never be any hijab more intimate than the one you choose to be with for the rest of your life. This is a very hard decision for most men to make for the women in their lives. Especially since that hijab will have to see you in your most vulnerable states, like showering. Back when I first started to wear hijab, I made the mistake of wearing a normal cotton scarf when I went in the shower. You see the problem with regular cotton scarves is that although, yes, they allow more air flow to my hair follicles, they don’t lather shampoo very well. And if you are in the unfortunate need of medicinal shampoo such as Head and Shoulders, well, just remember to use your fingertips in a circular motion, applying moderate pressure to the area-- “Lesson 2: How to apply conditioner” will be covered next week.

After showering, one must dry the head scarf, which, depending on the thread count, can force an individual to forego normal drying methods. This frustration conjures all sorts of colorful words in my mind, yet when I get mad, I prefer to verbally express one of the most popular colloquialisms used during the Bush administration, “Fuck it! Let’s see what happens.” Going outside in public with a damp scarf can then interfere with outfit options. You see, most times when cloth is wet, it becomes a different shade than when it’s dry. This then leads me to wearing darker clothes to match the already wet scarf and then embarrassingly walking around the rest of the day with different shades of blue once the scarf dries. I am sure that Tim Gunn would be shaking his head in shame.

More than often, I am stared at—but not for mismatching shades of blue. No, rather the look on people’s faces indicate that they are not quite sure how to interact with this part of me. Should they pet it? Say hi to it? Feed it? These are very reasonable questions for those who’ve never visited an exotic zoo and have interacted with one before. Some television programs would have you think that they live in certain habitats, but no, this is false. In fact the hijab is warm-blooded and adaptable to most climates. In colder climates, some may adapt a thin lining of fur or wool inside to keep its host warm from harsh climates. In warmer climates, it is almost like a thin skin—there’s just enough to make you sweat: a biological reaction to cool the host down. How very considerate!

But like most celebrities, I have learned to embrace the staring—to an extent at least. It’s incredible how celebrity-obsessed our culture has become. There is a silent awe and fascination awarded to me by people’s stares: I am the other, the non-human, the Beyoncé in a world of Michelles. By the looks of certain strangers, you’d think I was the guest terrorist on the previous night’s episode of Sean Hannity. But no, alas (le sigh) I am just one of those rare, boring, never talked about non-violent Muslims. I suffer from social anxiety, ADHD, depression, acute procrastination and yet somehow I have friends (and a possible secret fan base). I over-estimate the tasks that I can get done on a weekly basis and look to Buzzfeed quizzes on how to identify and rectify this issue. On occasion, I order pizza when I am too lazy to cook, stay in on Friday nights to catch up on Game of Thrones (I pick at my nail polish during the opening credits—a habit I am slowly breaking) all while making a mental note, that later, I need to write myself a reminder to apologize profusely for not texting/calling back friends, family and colleagues sooner. In times of distress, the only thing I can do is repeat the mantra “I am the hijab, the hijab is me”. I am oppressed.