Halter Top

While I ridicule those who asked the inevitable, "Are you going to have to veil?" or some variation of it, of my moving to Syria, I at times am shocked by what ladies be wearing.

Spring came in unseasonably warm, and while it has cooled down to the pleasant, temperate spring that Sham is known for, I grew quite used to the sight of tanktops. I even saw a few short skirts with no leggings underneath. I had understood the general rule of dressing for success in Syria that tight in any form is ok, but showing skin can not be. Thus muhajibbas think nothing of wearing ass-tight jeans and lycra long-sleeved shirts. Like New York, many girls have also arrived to the erroneous conclusion that leggings are pants. I still maintain they are not, and you should go home and put some damn pants on, as I can see camel toe and we're not in the desert.

And then, among the tanktops and above-the-knee skirts, I actually saw a halter top. A halter top! In Bab Toma. She looked like a highschool girl, and was giggling about boys with her tank-top befitted friend.

I don't understand how these ladies go about in this kind of dress. In my rather wide clothes, I get stared at. In terms of looks, I can kindof pass for Syrian, with clothes and accent usually giving up the game, so it's not that I'm the blond foreigner. My friends seem unperturbed by guys constantly checking them out the street, maybe they just get used to it. But in a halter top? I imagine the intensity of staring could reach the point where the object of affection explodes into flames.