Second-generation British-Bangladeshis; How South-Asian clothing is navigating the tightrope of Bengali, British and Muslim identities

As the colourful sarees and shalwar kameez of the 70s are being replaced by more religious hijabs and abayas on the streets of Tower Hamlets, we look at how second-generation British Bangladeshi women are embracing and evolving their cultural clothing.

It’s the 1970’s. With the first wave of migration of British Bangladeshis settling in the East End, Bethnal Green became a home for many migrants. 

Walking down the streets of Whitechapel High Street, Brick Lane and Bethnal Green Road, where migrants from Bangladesh came to live at the time, the vibrant colours of sarees and shalwar kameez worn by Bengali women were a common sight. These traditional garments, rich with colour and hours of delicate embroidery, represented the identity and heritage of the first-generation Bengali immigrants. 

The shalwar kameez is a three-piece suit that consists of trousers (salwar), a long shirt (kameez), and a scarf (dupatta). The saree is typically a five to nine yards long piece of material. It’s draped around the waist, with one end over the shoulder or head. The end can be used to cover the hair or left hanging over the shoulders. These sarees often feature decorative edges and come in various styles across different regions.

Mrs Parveen Ahmed, who migrated to Bethnal Green in the 70s, fondly recalls, ‘Back then, sarees were not just clothing; it was a way to know “Oh that person is Bengali.” My favourite was a silk saree, deep red with golden embroidery, which I got as a wedding gift and I wore it nearly every day.’

The rise of the abaya

Fast forward to today, the scene on Bethnal Green Road has changed. The number of shops selling traditional South Asian attire has dwindled. Sanjeedah, a store selling religious wear at 306 Bethnal Green Road, used to be a South Asian store till it changed in 2020. Another prominent clothing store, Keya, closed in 2018 and is now a barber shop. 

The few remaining stores are slowly being replaced by religious clothing stores selling abayas, the long, loose-fitting cloaks worn by many Muslim women in the UK today. It covers the body except for the face, hands, and feet, and is often black. It’s usually worn over regular clothes and paired with a hijab headscarf as a mark of modesty. The close-fitting nature of the clothing makes it easier to achieve modesty than the free-flowing sarees that need to be draped.

Younger generations, including Zara Khan, a 19-year-old from Bethnal Green, are choosing to prioritise their religious identity over the more traditional Bengali clothing, which they saw their parents or grandparents wearing in the past.

When asked whether Khan identifies more as British or Bengali, Khan responds, ‘I’d say I was Muslim first and foremost. Then British. Then Bengali. I feel more British because this is where I’ve grown up. It’s not that I don’t love my culture. My religion is a big part of me. And I think that’s the same for a lot of Bengalis around here.’

Social media plays no small part in this complex evolution of Bengali identity. Platforms like Instagram and TikTok, led by hijabi influencers, are key in presenting religious clothing as fashionable and modern, blending faith with contemporary style. Influenced by social media and popular British Bangladeshi hijabi influencers such as Sabina Hanan, Khan sees religious attire as a way to navigate her dual identity as a British Muslim. 

‘I like wearing abayas too. I don’t wear them all the time, and I never used to wear them last year, but recently I’ve been seeing girls pair them with jeans, and I think it looks really cute. I think that’s a way for us young girls, who sometimes feel like outsiders with our hijabs on, to feel normal.’

Is there a risk of losing cultural identity?

This shift raises important questions about the cultural and religious identity of the Bengali community in Bethnal Green. Is the move towards religious attire simply a fashion trend, or does it signify a deeper transformation within the community? Has clothing changed from cultural to religious from first-generation to second- and third-generation?

Posing this question to Dr Fatima Rajina, an academic in British Bangladeshi history, she explained she was cautious about designating things between religion and culture. 

‘Bengali women started arriving in droves in the ’70s, wearing sarees with long trench coats. When men came, they wore whatever the latest trend consisted of: waistcoats, shirts with big collars, massive platform shoes, which were big in the 70’s, and panjabis.’ Panjabis are three-quarter-length tunics.

They blended their cultural and religious clothing seamlessly, adapting to their new environment while staying connected to their heritage. This mix of styles from the 70s shows the same ability to adapt that we see in today’s shift towards more religious attire.

Despite the shift towards religious clothing, traditional attire is not disappearing. Instead, it’s being reimagined, says Dr Rajina. 

‘There is a decline in saree shops in Tower Hamlets. However, even in the saree-buying world, they give you a sleeve-buying option now because they know there is a demand. There is an awareness that Muslim clientele are moving towards a more modest look. The idea of modesty was always there but people have managed modesty in different ways over the years.’ 

Along with the move towards abayas, Dr. Rajina notes that more young Bengali girls are incorporating elements like lehengas; long, ankle-length, skirts paired with fitted blouses, into their wardrobes. This attire was first introduced during the Mughal empire in India and has become key cultural wear throughout the South Asian continent including Bangladesh.

‘More young Bengali girls are wearing lehenga which wasn’t common before. Bengalis are reimagining their mother’s sarees and integrating them into their own version of the Bengali culture. People are being very creative. People are changing the culture and re-engaging their heritage creatively and differently. It won’t disappear. They are flipping it in the diaspora.’ 

‘When you look at pictures from 70’s/80’s even 90’s it was always colourful; hot pink and mustard. What is interesting is its muted colours with religious clothing. It fits in with British society where people wear dull, muted colours.’

Dr Rajina

Perhaps the change to dull and muted colours is a reflection of the integration of multiple identities; Bengali, British and Muslim. 

Dr. Rajina notes, ‘There’s a fascinating interplay between cultural and religious identities. For instance, the shalwar kameez is often seen as more modest compared to sarees, influenced by Bollywood’s portrayal of the latter.’ 

‘The cultural significance of clothing has always been profound in the Bengali community. Traditionally, married women wore sarees as a rite of passage, while unmarried women donned shalwar kameez. Clothing was a marker of various life stages and statuses.’

While modesty has always been valued in Bengali culture, how it is expressed has changed. Traditional Bengali attire like the saree can be modest depending on how it is draped, but the move towards abayas and hijabs represents a more overt expression of modesty, one that is closely linked to religious identity.

‘Not too long ago actually, there was that incident at a school where they banned “religious” clothing on culture day.’

On 7 June 2024, Mulberry Academy Shoreditch put out a letter to parents stating that ‘religious items such as thobes or abaya are not permitted’ for culture day. Responding to the community’s concerns, local councillor Asma Islam said, ‘I don’t think clothes are religious, I think people are religious but clothes aren’t.’

Whilst it has become standard to assume the abaya and thobe as religious items, for the East Ends minority Arab population, these garments are cultural, not religious.

Navigating dual identities

Many young British Bangladeshis, like Zara Khan, have never been to Bangladesh and have little connection to how people dress or live there. This loss of a cultural touchpoint is significant, as it represents a shift away from the traditional markers of Bengali identity.

This disconnect is also evident in the declining relevance of traditional Bengali clothing, such as the panjabi—a loose tunic and trousers often worn by men for prayers. While Khan’s grandfather still wears a panjabi to the mosque, Khan herself does not see it as a religious garment. When asked why she thought wearing a panjabi was not religious whilst her grandfather considered it religious, Zara admitted, ‘I didn’t even think about that if I’m being honest. That makes a lot of sense actually. Again, for them (people like her grandad) they came to this country with the proper Bengali traditions because they actually lived there. For us younger people, it’s harder.’

Despite these changes, the shift towards religious clothing does not necessarily mean a loss of cultural identity. Instead, it can be seen as an evolution — a way for the Bengali community to navigate and balance their dual identities in a multicultural Britain.

Young Bangladeshis like Azhar Ashraf, who has created a clothing line inspired by Bengali roots called ShipluInc, are proving that cultural heritage can coexist with modern religious expressions.

‘As I got older, I understood the story my dad had told me,’ Ashraf recalls, referring to his father’s experience of being attacked and called a derogatory name. ‘As South Asians, we were being undermined, and I don’t think that should happen anymore.’ Ashraf’s efforts to educate and inspire young British Bangladeshis about their heritage demonstrate the growing interest among Gen Z in embracing and celebrating their culture, even as they adopt more religious attire.

While the move towards religious clothing in the British Bangladeshi community in Bethnal Green might seem like a loss of cultural identity at first glance, it is more accurately described as an evolution. The vibrant cultural attire of the 1970s may have given way to more religiously influenced garments, however, this change represents the community’s ability to adapt and blend their Bengali roots with their Muslim faith and British identity.

This process is not without challenges, but it offers a path for the younger generations to remain connected to their roots while expressing their identities in ways that resonate with their contemporary lives.

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