Two mysteries solved

Between our family vacation in the middle of nowhere (which was lovely) and our long plane ride and subsequent killer jet lag, I just haven't had a minute to post. However, in my time of absence, I've managed to solve two cultural mysteries I've wondered about for months.

1. The mystery of the black abaaya: Over the summer, I saw a documentary by MTV's True Life about young people in Saudi Arabia. (p.s. let me know if that link works. I can't access that page from over here.) The show follows four stories of "revolutionaries" in Saudi: a death metal band seeking a place to rock out, a man shunning arranged marriages and looking for love on the Internet, a man fighting for women's rights to attend city council meetings, and a woman starting up a business selling colored abaayas.

At one point on the show, the female entrepreneur asks, "Why black? Why is black the prescribed color? Why only one color?" I always wondered the same thing.

So two days ago, I hung out with Saudi and American friends of mine. I'm not shy about asking all my cultural questions, so I asked my Saudi friend, "Why black?"

"Why do you wear black to a funeral?" she asked.

"Because black is a color for sadness!" I said.

"Then why does a man wear it on his wedding day?" she asked. Ay-yi-yi.

"I guess it's the color of formality" (then I realized she doesn't have the word "formality" in her vocabulary) "...uh, like, a color for being serious."

"You see? Black is the color of respect. We wear it because it's the color of respect."

Then my American friend piped up that she read somewhere that traditionally the black abaaya came about because, in ye old Bedouin days, when everyone ran around on camel-back, the women wore black because that made them visible against the backdrop of sand. If they wore white, they might get left behind when the caravan took off.

The mystery of why it's so hard to buy lingerie here: Buying lingerie here has got to be the most awkward and frustrating situation on the planet. Lingerie stores only employ men. There are no dressing rooms. And there are no returns.

So you go. A strange dude sizes you up and recommends a size, color and style. You buy it (quickly, I imagine, so you can get out of there) without even trying it on, and if you get home and it doesn't fit, well, too bad. Money and time wasted.

Okay, so quick side story that I swear relates: Last year, I was visiting an Omani friend, and she complimented my purse. She asked me how much it cost (not a rude question in the Middle East), and I told her $1. She marveled and exclaimed--until I told her that I'd bought it used. She then looked at me like I'd just said I'd picked the purse out of the dump. She went from saying my purse was "nice" to saying it was "dirty." (This particular friend doesn't exactly tiptoe around your feelings.) I refrained from telling her that nearly everything I own/wear comes from a thrift store.

Okay, so the tie-in: Here, used clothing is considered dirty, apparently. So, if a woman buys a bra and takes it home to try it on and then returns it, it's seen as "used." If a store were to accept returns, they'd go out of business because local women would not trust that what they were buying was actually new.

For an American parallel: It'd be like finding out that a store re-packages underwear that's been returned. Ewwwww.

But why lingerie stores can't be staffed strictly with women is still a complete mystery.