Dressing the body is never just about covering skin \u2013 it is a deeply symbolic act. Clothes \u201cmediate between the body and the social world,\u201d making our identity visible and inscribing social expectations onto us . In other words, the suit, the dress, even the veil, carry meaning far beyond function: \u201cgarments\u2026 are imbued with meaning and have a deeply symbolic character,\u201d as Roland Barthes noted \u2013 clothing forms \u201ca system of signification,\u201d a true code through which society communicates status, gender and ideology . I know this keenly, growing up in Iran: the simplest piece of fabric can become a political statement or a personal confession. As Joan Twigg observes of dress, clothing fixes identity in the visual realm, letting \u201csocial expectations act upon [us] materially and culturally\u201d . Every time we don a suit, skirt or veil, we enter that cultural script. Even social psychologists have coined a term for this: enclothed cognition, the idea that clothes influence how we think and behave . Virginia Woolf put it vividly nearly a century ago: \u201cVain trifles as they seem, clothes\u2026 change our view of the world and the world\u2019s view of us\u2026. Clothes that we wear, they mould our hearts, our brains\u201d . In short, we do not merely wear clothes \u2013 clothes wear us, reshaping our subjectivity in subtle, powerful ways.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Anthropologically and historically, subverting dress has long been a way to subvert power. Cross-dressing and gender play show up in the pagan rites of Dionysus, medieval carnivals and Elizabethan drama, moments when society briefly topsy-turvies its own rules . As Mikhail Bakhtin described carnival, such events are a \u201ctemporary liberation from the prevailing truth and the established order\u201d . In those liminal moments \u2013 a masked parade, a drag show \u2013 hierarchical codes are suspended and even mocked. When men wear skirts or women wear suits, it reveals the fluidity of gender and undercuts the idea of fixed categories . Peter Ackroyd puts it plainly: \u201cwhen one social code is breached, they are all at risk\u201d . My work lives in that breach. By dressing in a way that straddles conventions, I aim to expose how arbitrary those conventions are.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Even beyond such dramatic moments, the history of the suit and dress shows how clothing has coded masculinity and femininity. In the 19th century, the men\u2019s suit became the uniform of patriarchal authority. Observers have noted that the Victorian black suit was a \u201csignifier of middle-class masculinity, authority, respectability, and self-discipline\u201d . The suit jacket and tie emerged as symbols of corporate, colonial and bureaucratic power. In response, women began wearing suits as acts of rebellion: the 1980s \u201cpower dressing\u201d trend saw businesswomen in padded-shoulder jackets and neat pant suits to claim their own respectability . (The same period saw rock icons and new-wave artists donning pinstriped jackets and skirts, rewriting codes yet again.) In the 1970s, even lesbian feminists adopted what they called an \u201canti-fashion\u201d to resist the male gaze . As one retroactive fashion account notes, feminists in that era deliberately paired bowties, suit jackets and loose silhouettes to \u201cdress against\u201d sexist expectations . In each case, the suit or dress was weaponized \u2013 either to uphold the status quo or to subvert it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This political nature of tailoring is doubly intense in my own context. In Iran, clothing is legally enforced; garments carry the weight of religion and state. For many years, women here were literally forced to wear the ch\u0101dor, a full-body cloak, as a symbol of modesty. Even today, as the Mission magazine reports, \u201cwomen are still required to wear head coverings in public, and immodest dress\u2026 is not acceptable for a person of any gender\u201d . In other words, the veil has been politicized as an instrument of control. But as a queer, nonbinary designer, I see an opening in that imposition: if covering is compulsory, what happens if one chooses to cover in a new way? If a woman is told \u201ccover up,\u201d the very act of covering becomes charged. If a man dons a veil or skirt, he becomes a provocateur. The meaning of the veil flips when removed from compulsory contexts. My designs play with this flip. For example, one of my recent works incorporates a headpiece reminiscent of a chador but in sheer fabric and rainbow embroideries \u2013 a statement that the veil can be re-read as art and identity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For instance, in a recent magazine cover I presented myself wearing a suit-like ensemble made of glossy black vinyl and strappy harnessing (left). The silhouette nods to a classic double-breasted jacket, but it is deconstructed \u2013 the chest is bound, shoulders are overstated, the body is both armored and vulnerable. This visual is meant to make the viewer ask: what does it mean for a queer person to stand in a \u201csuit\u201d that exposes rather than conceals?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Behind such images are theoretical currents: fashion theorists remind us that dressing is a practice of self-formation. Joanne Entwistle, for example, calls dressing a form of \u201ctraining,\u201d a \u201ctechnical and practical accomplishment\u201d that draws on our cultural knowledge to shape how we see ourselves and others . By learning how to wear a garment \u2013 how to sit, walk, or even gesture in it \u2013 we rehearse our social role. Marxist or feminist readings would say we internalize power in the cut of a coat or the hem of a skirt. But I\u2019ve seen also that we can undo that training. When designers play with cut and cloth, they re-train us to see anew. I design with that in mind. Each stitch is deliberate: am I reinforcing a rule, or cracking its foundation?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This play with codes is evident among many contemporary queer designers. Take Rad Hourani, a Montreal-based innovator often credited with inventing \u201cgender-free\u201d fashion. Hourani\u2019s philosophy is blunt: society\u2019s \u201cpredetermined declarations of gender\u201d impose rigid dress codes that \u201climit individual expression and reinforce inequalities\u201d . He asks: why should a cut or color belong only to \u201cmale\u201d or \u201cfemale\u201d? Rad argued that clothing began purely functional but got overlaid with symbolic meanings of nobility, religion and especially gender . So he set out to demolish those overlays. In 2007 he launched what he called the first fully gender-neutral ready-to-wear collection . This line used a new sizing system (no \u201cmen\u2019s\u201d or \u201cwomen\u2019s\u201d sizes) and featured draped, minimalist garments in black-and-white. It was, as the designer put it, a liberation of costume from social constraints . The silhouettes were ageless \u2013 neither overtly masculine nor feminine \u2013 inviting people to project their own identity onto the clothes. Rad\u2019s project redefined what a \u201csuit\u201d could be: no longer a male uniform, it became a fluid canvas.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Charles Jeffrey is another maker I admire. His Loverboy label grew out of London\u2019s club scene and takes its cues from punk and drag. Jeffrey\u2019s runway shows are a riot of color, pattern and wit \u2013 a deliberate refusal of sober tailoring. As one writer describes, Jeffrey deliberately \u201cbreaks gender roles by combining them, conveying androgyny like a young kid going crazy in a dress-up box.\u201d Look, for example, at a recent Loverboy ensemble: a structured gray pinstripe jacket, cut like a traditional men\u2019s blazer but cinched at the waist with an exaggerated buckle, paired with a pleated skirt beneath. The model\u2019s lips painted bright red and cheek adorned with a sticker, the effect is both subversive and playful \u301033\u2020\u3011. There\u2019s no polite code here \u2013 he will tear open a trench coat, layer tartans, ruffles and even wings over a tailored suit jacket . He\u2019s essentially saying that a garment signified as \u201cmen\u2019s\u201d is just as much a playground for carnival as a \u2018women\u2019s\u2019 dress is. (Charles\u2019s own story \u2013 leaving traditional CSM pattern-cutting to design how he actually dressed himself \u2013 mirrors this ethos .)<\/p>\n\n\n\n
New York-based Harris Reed takes a similarly theatrical approach. Reed came to fame at Central St. Martins, and their graduate collection went viral because it was so extravagant. In one look, Reed layered a dainty white bridal veil and lace top over black bellbottom trousers \u2013 \u201ca new take on the modern bride,\u201d one report noted . In another, a bright pink tulle tutu bursts from beneath a sharp black tuxedo jacket, asymmetrical and flamboyant. Reed himself explains that the goal is to blend Victorian formality and glam-rock fantasy; the result looks like \u201ca tutu over a tuxedo; a hoop-skirt cage over bellbottoms; [and] a lace veiled hat in supersized-parasol dimensions\u201d . Notice the juxtaposition: the tuxedo (traditionally male, somber) is folded into a joyful disguise of fabric. Reed says the contemporary scene is dominated by \u201ca feminine, theatrical spirit\u201d \u2013 meaning that many queer designers now take traditionally masculine clothes and make them lush and over-the-top . Indeed, Reed points out that fashion today is moving away from strict \u201cmen\u2019s\u201d and \u201cwomen\u2019s\u201d wardrobes altogether: \u201cWe do not want seasons. We do not want men\u2019s and women\u2019s categories\u2026 not this person wearing Versace\u2026 but reinventing the garment narrative,\u201d he told GQ . In other words, we the people (or users) are actively rewriting the code that designers used to dictate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My own work dances in this space between codes. I take classic tailoring \u2013 lapels, waistcoats, double-breasts \u2013 and twist them. A recent piece might feature a sharply cut suit jacket in luxurious silk, but worn with a floor-sweeping tulle train; or a velvet bridal-style veil attached to a menswear hat. The meaning shifts instantly. For a straight observer, a man in a veil is reading queer identity; for a queer, it\u2019s an affirmation of choice. The suit itself becomes political: a symbol of sovereignty or protest, depending on who wears it. \u201cClothes are powerful,\u201d Rad Hourani once said. \u201cThey codify masculinity and femininity, race, age, wealth\u201d . I take that to heart: as a queer Iranian, my suits often riff on both Western power dressing and Middle Eastern tradition. Sometimes I drape a Persian calligraphy print across a jacket, or embroider the words \u201c\u0628\u0631\u0627\u0628\u0631\u06cc\u201d (equality) onto a lapel. These acts reclaim clothing as an instrument of freedom, not coercion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Philosophically, I am drawn to the idea that gender itself is a costume we wear \u2013 not something innate. Judith Butler famously argued that all gender is performed, akin to drag taken daily. In that sense, a tailor\u2019s mannequin of a \u201cman\u201d or \u201cwoman\u201d body is just one of many theatrical props. When a designer stitches a skirt onto a suit, or cuts a tuxedo jacket for a woman, they expose the performance. As Butler might say, they parody the myth of an \u201cinner truth\u201d to gender. And I see that in my street: a youth wearing a hoodie over a skirt under a trench coat, mixing everything, dismantling the idea that clothes have only one stable meaning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Culturally, the stakes are high: what we wear can align us with power or make us vulnerable. In Iran\u2019s strictly segregated society, I once made a unisex dress for male and female models alike, knowing that in public it would confuse onlookers and perhaps offend authorities. (It did both \u2013 I was labeled a \u201cpervert\u201d on state TV .) But it also illustrated how futile it is to police bodies. When someone of any gender dons a veil or a suit unexpectedly, it \u201creveals the fluidity of gender,\u201d as the literature says . The very sight unsettles the viewer\u2019s assumptions \u2013 which is often my goal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
From a sociological angle, dressing this way is also about community. Gay and queer subcultures have always used style to signal belonging. The famous examples \u2013 Oscar Wilde\u2019s green carnation, leather subculture, rainbow flag pins \u2013 all show that even simple accessories become secret language . Myriads of us know the thrill of being understood by a look. The recent revival of women\u2019s suits on runways (Yves Saint Laurent\u2019s Le Smoking, or Lady Gaga\u2019s neon suits ) ties into a larger trend: mainstream fashion recognizing what queers have known for decades. As Refinery29 observes, suits aren\u2019t a new queer invention \u2013 they\u2019ve long been part of our wardrobe \u2013 but now non-LGBTQ designers are co-opting that style . For me, each collection is both personal expression and participation in that lineage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Psychologically, wearing a subversive suit can transform the wearer. I\u2019ve felt it myself: pulling on one of my sharp custom suits puts me into a kind of battle readiness. This is the famous enclothed cognition: studies show people act more confidently or calmly depending on their garments. Virginia Woolf\u2019s poetic line\u2014\u201cthey mould our hearts, our brains, our tongues\u201d\u2014captures it . A suit shapes posture and attitude; a ballgown changes one\u2019s self-perception; a veil might engender introspection or defiance. I intentionally design with that psychological shift in mind. I once made a suit with lettering from protest posters. When a queer client wears it, I know they feel they carry an idea as much as an outfit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Anthropologists would say I am engaging in what Marcel Mauss called the techniques of the body. Every gesture becomes charged: the way one buttons a cuff, the way a tie is loosened or a skirt sways. In effect, I train new gestures. One of my most talked-about pieces was a coat rigged to swing open and reveal a contrasting lining when the wearer extended their arms. It literally turned a movement of welcome into one of confession. In an interview, Rad Hourani pointed out that clothing \u201ccodify masculinity and femininity\u201d through cuts and colors , but when we animate garments ourselves we can recode them. This aligns with the view that fashion is a continuous negotiation between body and society . In my shows and exhibits, I often invite audience participation \u2013 changing lapels, removing veils \u2013 to stress that identity is malleable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
What is the political suit in all this? It\u2019s the suit worn without apology, or worn deliberately against the grain. We see politicians in suits as symbols of the establishment; I wear them (or parody them) to signal resistance. In Iran, a male official\u2019s suit enforces gender norms by its absence \u2013 women cannot wear men\u2019s suits publicly. I once displayed an entire male tailoring kit beside a woman\u2019s dress form, to question who is allowed to \u201csuit up.\u201d On a broader stage, I remember when famous men like Billy Porter or Jaden Smith appeared in ballgowns on red carpets \u2013 the media frenzy proved just how loaded a suit or dress can be when the wearer is \u201cout of place.\u201d Each of those moments was a sociological experiment: it briefly collapsed gender codes for everyone watching. The fallout is mixed (criticism and praise), but it forces a conversation about why we care about clothes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In some ways, this is the ultimate goal of queer tailoring: to render the garment neutral, or to create a new meaning altogether. Look at how some designers treat the veil. A veil in Western bridal tradition means purity and patriarchal promise; in Middle Eastern practice it has meant piety (or compulsion). Queer designers have begun reimagining veils \u2013 lace headpieces, cages over faces, mesh layers \u2013 not as devices of concealment but of revelation. Harris Reed\u2019s wedding-inspired looks, for instance, turn the veil into a couture spectacle under a sky-high hat . By placing a veil over a man\u2019s face, or using it in protest art, we reclaim its power. Similarly, I have designed masks and hoods with florals and graffiti as brazen veils that say: here I choose to hide or to be seen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Through all of this, the core idea holds: clothing is symbolic language. My job as designer (and the calling of my peers) is to play linguist. We unpack the old syntax \u2013 the strict rules that \u201csuit equals man\u201d \u2013 and introduce new grammar. In doing so we urge society to read clothing as a dialogue, not a decree. Anthropologists tell us no culture leaves the body entirely unmarked ; sociology reminds us attire is entwined with power. So we wield the suit, the dress, the veil precisely because they are powerful objects.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
To illustrate, consider this look by Charles Jeffrey. The model\u2019s jacket is a classic double-breasted pinstripe \u2013 a symbol of masculine business wear \u2013 but it is tailored tight and paired with a short pleated skirt under the jacket\u2019s hem. The oversized, padded shoulders and red lipstick signal queerness. The image demonstrates Jeffrey\u2019s camp strategy: take the language of the suit and infuse it with drag and romance .<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In concluding, I would say: fashion can be an engine of liberation. Every stitch can knit together anthropology, psychology and politics. When I see a queer reinterpretation of a suit or veil on the runway, I see a question posed to culture: \u201cWhat if this code were broken?\u201d And by doing so, we often discover that what we assumed was natural was only deeply social. As I quote Adam and Galinsky\u2019s idea of enclothed cognition and Woolf\u2019s portrayal of clothes shaping our mind , I remind myself and others: the threads we choose to wrap around our bodies are threads we use to weave new identities.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The revolution in my field is, at its heart, a philosophical one. Radically rethinking the suit (or dress, or veil) is akin to reimagining the self. It is a deeply queer enterprise: we disrupt gender binaries not for novelty, but to illuminate how narrow they\u2019ve become. I stand here \u2013 a queer Iranian who must blend cultures \u2013 believing that every suit I design can be a manifesto. In the words of the late fashion philosopher colette, \u201cIt\u2019s not just clothes we\u2019re talking about: it\u2019s the self.\u201d And if a suit can challenge a regime or a veil can dance on a runway, then we have begun to reclaim the power of identity one garment at a time.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Dressing the body is never just about covering skin \u2013 it is a deeply symbolic act. Clothes \u201cmediate between the body and the social world,\u201d making our identity visible and inscribing social expectations onto us . In other words, the suit, the dress, even the veil, carry meaning far beyond function: \u201cgarments\u2026 are imbued with … <\/p>\n