Shopping and More

There are fashion demands here, and I don't currently meet them. So off we went to the mall to find a manteau (long but fitted coat that is the new chador) and other proper coverage for me. This experience was such a bizarre juxtaposition of the ostensible conservative repression of women's bodies here. The first store had totally adorable young guys working the counter, and as I tried on a manteau (fashionable, fitted coat that is the acceptable outer wear) I found myself in the odd position of having these two men peer closely at me to estimate my size. The dressing room door didn't close all the way, and I kept forgetting to re-don my headscarf between rounds. Also Pari just popped the door open at one point to check on me! So weird and ironic that this is all in the pursuit of covering up my body, but to get there I find myself more exposed than I ever would be in an American store. The fashion is exact and fascinating; as tight as possible wherever possible while maintaining the illusion of looseness. Pari had fun picking things out for me, and I think the two of us will go again. I managed to get a coat that fits the bill.

Before coming home we stopped for ice cream; I got one scoop of saffron, one scoop of pomegranate w/chocolate. As with the clothing store clerks, as we sat eating Dad engaged the two fellows behind the counter and before long had them laughing. Such a lovely difference from American culture; the assumption of relatedness.

The woman that helps out with Maman (above) has told Pari she will leave at the end of the month. Pari was sitting with me teaching me the alphabet today when she came over and they started talking. It got more and more heated—the woman was on the verge of tears, then shouting. I scrupulously studied my alphabet. The interaction stopped abruptly when Dad came in, as she had to get up to put her headscarf back on. Dad sat down with Pari and started speaking quietly in English, Dad saying something about talking to this person at work about some woman, but some other woman may be better because she is known to the family but she is in the north and doesn't want to come without a commitment because she has to sell her cow. At this point, I couldn't keep a straight face any longer and their ensued a series of jokes about me caring for the cow since I know how to milk, or the cow moving into one of the spare bedrooms in Dad's apartment or staying on one of his balconies.


Shopping part 2

Dad dropped Pari and I in the Tajlis district this afternoon, where there were just as many fashionable Manteaus as chadors walking around.  We went into a few shops that were more on the chador side than the fashionable side, and Pari dismissed them quickly with a wave of her hand. Then he dropped us at the bazaar and we checked out a few stores before finding one with something more like what I was looking for; loose enough to be legal, but fashionable enough to where after leaving Iran. And enjoy while I'm here. I found one I liked which met the approval of the salesman, Pari, and another woman and her daughter who were also shopping there. I love how everyone just assumes connection; when this girl came out of the changing room with her garment, she asked us all including me if we liked it. I asked Pari how much it was and she muttered quietly, “40, but i'll pay 35”. (That's toumans; comes out to about $13). Then the 3 of them engaged in an INTENSE bout of high quality bargaining with the salesmen, complete with the full range of emotions: shock, horror, dismissiveness, reassurance, gestures and glances, side conversations amongst the three ladies, attempts to leave the store, and finally acquiescently reaching for wallets. The dialogue escalated to mild shouting and then we left. Later she said she'd ended up paying $38, which she felt was a rip off. 

We went back outside to meet Dad and the car; on the way we passed a bevy of cops giving out tickets. When we found Dad double parked a half block up, he jumped out of the car to go check on the price of transcribing some video tapes in a nearby shop. Pari told him the cops were close, but he said he would hurry. Of course, 2 minutes later, there they were; foot on the bumper making out a ticket. Pari shouted and leaped of of the car, then put it in neutral and coasted forward still shouting (she doesn't drive). The cop chased us down and she kept on rolling; finally Dad appeared and we shouted at him to get in and DRIVE! laughing and recounting what had just happened. 

khomeini and khameni mural on the side of a building; their paired pictures are everywhere!

On the way home Pari out of nowhere asked me if I was interested in Lasik eye surgery, and then asked if I wanted to get a nose job!! Apparently “there is no-one in Iran who doesn't have one”. They told me, what if you are interested in someone and they didn't like you because of your nose....and after attempting to explain that I have no problem with the way I look, finally I had to just explain straight out that I've never been seriously interested in someone who was not interested in me. That stopped things cold and Pari said, “Of course, it's only if you want it.” 

I'm starting to get into the swing of Persian conversation; lively, with lots of interrupting and talking over each other, lots of emotional expressiveness and a mix of pushiness and acquiescence. Feels pretty natural actually.