The First Time I…Wore a Saree

I can count the number of times I have worn a saree on one hand. For most South Asian women, wearing a saree is a rite of passage. It is an entire experience that includes fiercely shopping for the one or trying on a beautiful, long-awaited hand-me-down that once draped your mother or nani. I have many fond memories shopping with my mother and her best friend (and her daughter). Parading down Main Street looking at all the bright cloth and sequined fabric. Back then, you would stroll into the store, sift through the racks, touch the material, and just have a feeling. Often shopkeepers would personally assist you, unravelling sari after sari in hopes one catches your eye. They explain how the saree was stitched and what region it came from and usually successfully sell you matching earrings and bangles to complete the look (after much haggling of course). I loved those trips, and often learned about language, culture, and fashion in just a single day. But. I was in no rush to wear a saree.

Women’s fashion is constantly changing. Like the Chanel suit, if there is anything that has remained classic, it is the saree. It is elegant and graceful and suits any shape and age.

The origins of the saree can be traced back to the Indus Valley civilization during 2800–1800 B.C.E. The word saree is derived from the word Sanskrit śāṭikā meaning ‘strip of cloth.’ And this unstitched 9 yard ‘strip of cloth’ has been literally draping South Asian women for centuries. Sarees were originally produced by hand with manual looming and dying but today the majority of this is completed by machines. Sarees range from cotton to silk to linen and from simple to intricate embroidery to embellishments of gems. Sarees vary from region to region as women across the sub-continent don them. It is for the young and the old, the poor and the rich, the humble and high fashion. Its versatility is timeless and has come to symbolize pride, tradition, modernity, fashion, and diversity.

I was 20 when I wore my first saree. Most of my friends had already donned a saree years earlier so perhaps I was a tad late. But as an introverted, self-effacing, Emily the Strange-loving girl, it was just never my thing. Suffice it to say a wedding in the woods was probably not the best place to start. Yet there I was, attempting to schmooze with the OG aunties, who were effortlessly mingling and gossiping in their timeless sarees.

My saree was light turquoise and lilac purple with stunning tie up back. This saree belonged to the daughter of one of my mother’s friends. I couldn’t be bothered to shop, nor was there an heirloom I was desperate to wear, but I have to admit, it was exciting. Really, I wanted to wear a saree because my mom was. She looked flawless, and I, of course, wanted to replicate that. It took two of my fuis to put the saree on me. I was not flawless. I did not understand what went wear and my pleats and pallu constantly threatened to slip out of place. It simply was not a smooth process. It took many pleats and even more safety pins. I stood like an awkward mannequin in one the Indian shops I used to frequent as a child.

Arms up. Arms out. Suck it in. Head up. I wasn’t sure if I was having a saree put on or preparing for a track meet. My fuis put me together and coached me on what starting stance to take and how to maintain balance. “Stand straight!” shouts one. “Stand tall!” yells the other. As I stood there, I wondered if I could somehow pull off my jeans with big jhumka earrings as back up outfit. “You’re too skinny,” said one. “Stick your chest out,” chimed the other. Like a coach, they analyzed my structure and where to improve. And of course, they assessed my speed. Once six yards of cloth adorned my body, it was the final test. The walk. Was I graceful? No. Was I smooth? No. But did I fall? No. Homerun.

My first feat was entering and exiting the car to the venue. I very clumsily hiked up the entire ensemble to climb into the car, definitely untucking something somewhere. When we arrived, as if I was the bride, I needed assistance getting out of the car. I want to say I was like a baby bird emerging from the nest ready to fly - but truthfully, I was like an uncomfortable puffin, often referred to as ‘clowns of the sea,’ exiting the water, and teetering side to side.

Once seated, I took a breath of fresh air. The ceremony was lovely. I remained seated as long as possible. Nonetheless, I earned many an approving glace from aunties and uncles alike. I took it in, I was both traditional and modern, the epitome of sophistication. That is, of course, until I needed to use the restroom. In the woods no less.

Look at my mom! Iconic.

When did you first wear a sari? Let me know your story below!