“When I look in the mirror it’s to make sure I’m covered from head to toe.”

KabulWhen I was a university student, between 2018 and 2022, I had a pair of blue jeans that I wore almost every day. They were simple and not very expensive, but to me, they were a part of me. Over time, the fabric softened, and the knees, in particular, were worn, but I felt comfortable in them. I always kept them on the top shelf of my wardrobe, knowing I would choose to wear them again the next day.

When the Taliban came to power in August 2021, I continued to wear the jeans for a while. I hid them under a chapana kind of long robe that reached my feet, and I thought that as long as no one saw them, not everything had changed. This was my small act of resistance to preserve something of my past self.

But one day at the university the Taliban announced that girls could no longer enter wearing jeans, even if they concealed them under a chapan"These clothes are no longer appropriate," they argued. At that moment, I zipped up my... chapan so my jeans wouldn't be visible, but I realized I couldn't keep bringing them along, even if I had to sneak in and keep quiet.

However, I didn't throw them away. I folded them carefully and placed them next to other clothes I can no longer wear because of the Taliban's restrictions. They're still there, on the top shelf. Sometimes I touch them to remind myself that I once walked freely without fear and could dress as I pleased.

After this, my clothes changed completely. Now I wear a long, black abaya, known here in Afghanistan as the "Arab hijab." The fabric is thick and heavy, making it difficult for me to move, and there's no room for color. I also wear a tightly fitted Islamic veil to cover every strand of hair, and I walk more slowly and carefully. When I stand in front of the mirror, it's not to see how I look, but to make sure that no one sees me—that I'm covered from head to toe.

For now, wearing the burqa is not mandatory in major cities like Kabul, Mazar-e Sharif, and Herat. But this week, Doctors Without Borders reported that since November 5th, it has been mandatory for women to wear a burqa to enter public health centers throughout Herat province in northwestern Afghanistan. It doesn't matter if they are workers or patients. The rule applies to everyone.

Reading this filled me with a silent but profound fear. I worry that one day the same rule could be applied in Kabul. Sometimes it seems that clothing not only covers the body but also reveals how dark the future can be.

The transformation of men

These changes haven't just affected us women. The men in my family have also had to change their appearance. For example, my brother has always had a short beard, just a few days' growth. However, with the return of the Taliban, my father advised him to grow it out to avoid problems. At first, my brother didn't say anything, but suddenly he started looking at himself in the mirror. He finally grew a beard, not out of belief, but out of fear.

In offices, men must wear traditional attire. shalwar kameezThat is, the loose blouse and the typical Muslim harem pants. Even those who have worked for years in international environments and wore tailored suits as part of their professional identity have now had to transform. The external changes seem subtle, but they are profound: no one tells you what to think, but they do tell you how to look, and gradually, your thinking also begins to change.

This academic year, children have also had to change their school uniforms. The little ones who used to run around in pleated trousers and colorful backpacks now queue up to enter school in traditional clothing, Muslim hats, and turbans. They have gone from having a childlike appearance to a religious and traditional one. When I saw it, I had the feeling that the school was no longer a place to learn.

The facades of Kabul are full of written slogans that remind us what we can and cannot do. "Observe Islamic dress" or "abandon Western culture," they say. Words in themselves are harmless, but in everyday life they become invisible threads that bind the body, behavior, and thoughts.

Even shop windows have changed. There are no more photos of models, and the mannequins have been beheaded. It's as if faces, gazes, the very presence of people have been censored.

Kabul remains the same: the same streets, the same buildings... but the feeling is different. When I walk past these facades with slogans written on them, my eyes often instinctively look down at the ground, as if the walls are watching me too.