My first exposure to a Middle Eastern style of music was as a pre-teenager, when my virgin suburban ears first heard, of all things, Duran Duran’s Tel Aviv. My untraveled mind was immediately transported to a faraway land where, presumably, impossibly attractive young men draped in Vivienne Westwood couture spent their leisure time. I was hooked.
My interest was further piqued when, in college, I lived across the street from the International exchange students’ boarding house where I met a woman from Turkey. Though our friendship got off to a turbulent start, mostly because we couldn’t agree that her new boyfriend was not, in fact, mine; we eventually formed a bond that continues to be one of the most significant personal connections I’ve made. Some of my favorite memories are of sipping Turkish coffee in her kitchen, dancing foolishly in her living room, and foraging one another’s closets for items that would make her more western and me more eastern.
It wasn’t until many years later, after she had gone back home and I had stayed, that I could look around and everywhere see her influence. I came to realize how much this experience had affected my aesthetic preferences—from cuisine, to décor, to fashion, to music. And, more importantly, how much it taught me to explore and embrace my femininity in a way that is quite different than the American way.
Belly dancing, which I’ve been practicing for almost two years now, is one way I respond to this. And as I’ve improved my craft, my library has become stacked with Arabian drums, Egyptian beats, and many a Turkish delight. These days, I gravitate to this music more than any other style. Because when I listen to it, I am moved to dance. And when I am moved to dance, I am in another place.
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| Though I am nowhere near performance ready, I bought this costume to inspire my continued improvement. Someday, maybe... |
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