The Dearborn Designer Jilbab Wars: Sequins, Side-Eyes, and Supermarket Runways

Welcome to Dearborn’s unofficial Fashion Week, otherwise known as “Grocery Shopping on a Saturday.” Forget Milan, Paris, or even Beirut; the real haute couture is happening in the aisles of Greenland Market, where Auntie Fatmeh struts past the olives section like she’s walking the runway at Dior.

And what’s the hottest trend? Designer jilbabs and abayas—bedazzled, sequined, embroidered, and imported from Dubai at triple the price. Each one screams, “I may be buying discounted Ziyad olives, but don’t you dare mistake me for poor.”

The Abaya Arms Race

The competition is brutal. Aunties treat it like war.

• Round One: Who has the most rhinestones that can blind another auntie under the fluorescent supermarket lights?

• Round Two: Who whispers louder, “Oh, it’s just something I picked up from Dubai” (even though it was bought from a stall on Warren Ave)?

• Final Round: The side-eye death match at the checkout line, where two women stare each other down, silently calculating whose jilbab looks “cheaper.”

Meanwhile, these same fashionistas will argue for 15 minutes to get a discount on tomatoes: “You want $1.29 a pound? Wallah, in Yemen they give you the whole farm for that price.”

Luxury on a Budget

The funniest part? The flex stops the moment they get home.

The same woman who just paid $700 for a hand-embroidered abaya is now:

• Storing Ziyad olives in a reused yogurt container.

• Filling her “exclusive Dubai perfume bottle” with watered-down Sadaf rose water.

• Complaining that her husband’s EBT balance ran out because “these kids eat too much cereal.”

Nothing says “class” like pairing designer clothes with Costco-brand hummus.

Jilbab Justice: Who’s Watching?

Of course, this isn’t really about fashion—it’s about status. Dearborn aunties dress for one thing only: other aunties.

Their husbands? They wouldn’t notice if the abaya was from Chanel or from the clearance rack at Sahara Market. But heaven forbid Auntie Mona sees you in the same jilbab you wore last Eid. That’s social suicide.

So next time you see an auntie in a jilbab dripping with sequins, rhinestones, and enough glitter to decorate a whole mosque, remember: that’s not just a garment—it’s a declaration of war.

Conclusion: Dress to Impress (Your Enemies)

Dearborn, the message is clear: You are what your abaya says you are. Forget education, kindness, or humility—the real Arab resume is embroidered on your sleeves.

So, congratulations, habibti. You’ve won the Jilbab Wars… until next Saturday, when Fatmeh shows up in something even shinier.