I had heard it dozens of times and said nothing: “You’ll have to ask my wife, that’s really not my area.”

“Yeah I really don’t know what my kid had for breakfast or when they pooped last, that’s my wife’s job.”

“I don’t know how to do that, but my wife does. Must be those maternal instincts, right?”

This time there was a dad in front of me whose kid walked gleefully into my preschool classroom without saying goodbye to him. She would interact with us, the teachers, in meaningful ways. She would ask questions, volunteer information that started conversations…


I had seen her before. The model with bare shoulders and chest presented forward, heavily bronzed and made-up, her lips parted just slightly. As an American, it was intimately and painfully familiar: the woman of color commodified, fetishized, and marketed. As a Muslim, this magazine cover, complete with flowery silk scarves clearly meant to recall the Muslim practice of hijab, made my heart sink. In an exhibit on contemporary Muslim fashion, the first exhibit of its kind the world over, I had hoped to see more of the women I recognized. …

Amani Marie Hamed

Film critic, blogger, feminist. Hufflepuff. Professional cat-snuggler with a severe addiction to chocolate and a disturbing fascination with true crime.

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