A few months back, I stood in my workshop in Istanbul, running a finger over the edge of a custom-designed chiffon hijab—soft, lightweight, and dyed in the muted sage tone a customer had requested for her sister’s graduation. The workshop hummed with the sound of sewing machines, and three of my employees wore different styles of hijabs, each one tailored to their taste and daily life. Later that week, I received an email that stopped me cold: a woman from Berlin, a regular customer, wrote that she’d been pulled over by police while driving, her hijab visible through the car window. She’d been told to “adjust it” to match local “standards of decency” or face a fine. That incident wasn’t an isolated one. It made me realize that while I’ve built my business around creating hijabs that honor identity, many women who wear hijabs are navigating legal minefields that most people never even see. Hijab
I started this company 12 years ago, after my niece—who’d just started wearing the hijab—was turned away from a job interview in a small German town. The hiring manager told her the team “didn’t need any distractions for clients.” At the time, I sewed the first 50 hijabs on my own, using fabric I sourced from a local textile market, and sold them to women who messaged me through a small social media page. What began as a way to support my family quickly turned into something more: I listened to every story, every barrier, every adjustment women told me they needed to make to feel both comfortable and compliant. Those conversations taught me that legal challenges for hijab-wearing women aren’t just about “rules”—they’re about systems that force people to choose between their faith, their freedom, and their livelihood.
One of the most widespread legal challenges I’ve encountered in European countries, particularly France and parts of Belgium, is the 2011 ban on face coverings in public spaces. That law was supposed to apply to any full-face veil, but for many women, it’s become a tool to target the hijab. I’ve had customers tell me they’ve been asked to remove their hijabs in grocery stores, at government offices, or even on public transit—spaces where the law says it’s only meant to ban face coverings that completely obscure the face, like the niqab. The line has always been blurry. Last year, a customer from Lyon emailed me saying she’d been stopped at a city library because her hijab covered her neck and chest; a security guard told her it “looked like a face covering” and threatened to call police if she didn’t leave. She had to pick up her books the next day, wearing a bandana over her chest just to avoid a confrontation.
This isn’t just about public spaces, either. Employment discrimination linked to hijabs is rampant, and much of it is legal because of vague “neutrality” laws. In France, for example, the 2004 ban on conspicuous religious symbols in public jobs like teaching, police, and healthcare has been extended over the years to include roles in private companies that serve the public. A customer who works in customer service in Brussels told me she was demoted from a front-desk role to a warehouse job after a manager said her hijab “clashed with the company’s image.” She tried to file a discrimination claim, but the company argued that their dress code was “neutral”—no one had said anything about her blue hijab specifically, just that she “couldn’t wear any religious items that customers might notice.” She lost the case, and her former employer even told her she’d be blacklisted in the city’s retail industry. I sewed her a couple of high-necked hijabs after that, hoping they’d help her feel less self-conscious when she goes grocery shopping, even if they didn’t fix the discrimination.
Education is another space where legal limits on hijabs create harm, especially for teenage girls. In Austria, recent laws have banned hijabs for girls under 14 in public schools, a policy that was framed as protecting children’s “freedom of choice” but which activists say is actually aimed at policing Muslim identity. A 16-year-old customer from Vienna wrote to me last year, saying she’d been sent home from her gym class because she refused to take off her sports hijab. The school told her that “physical activity requires no clothing that covers the head,” but they’d allowed non-Muslim girls to wear baseball caps and headbands the same week. She started skipping school to avoid the argument, and her mother told me she’d lost 10 pounds because she wouldn’t eat at the cafeteria—too nervous someone would comment on her hijab. I sent her a set of lightweight, moisture-wicking sports hijabs for free, but it broke my heart to know that a 16-year-old should have to fight just to go to class.
What’s even more insidious is the way these laws create a cycle of invisibility for hijab-wearing women. When women fear being fined, fired, or excluded just for wearing something that’s central to their faith and identity, they start hiding parts of themselves. I’ve had customers tell me they started wearing baseball caps or scarves that cover their hair entirely, not because they wanted to, but because it was the only way to keep their jobs. A customer in Amsterdam, who’s a graphic designer, told me she stopped wearing her silk headscarf to client meetings because a partner had once commented that it “made the team look unprofessional.” She now wears thin, neutral-colored scarves that blend in with her blouses, even though she owns a dozen colorful hijabs that make her feel like herself. That’s not choice—that’s survival.
I know some critics will say these laws are about “secularism” or “gender equality,” but when I talk to women who are affected, it’s clear that these policies don’t empower them. They push them to shrink, to compromise, to leave parts of their identity at the door. Last year, I attended a small conference for Muslim entrepreneurs in Paris, and one speaker, a woman who runs a catering business, told me she’d lost a big corporate contract because the client said her hijab “would make their guests uncomfortable.” She couldn’t prove discrimination, because the client had said the decision was “based on team culture,” but she’d already spent thousands on custom uniforms that included small hijab pins. I sat next to her at lunch, and she pulled out her phone to show me photos of her young daughter, who’d been wearing a tiny satin hijab for her cousin’s wedding. “I want her to grow up never having to hide who she is,” she said, her voice shaking. That’s why I started this business—not just to sell hijabs, but to help women feel seen, even when the world is telling them to disappear.
Of course, it’s not just Europe. I’ve worked with customers in Southeast Asia, where laws around hijabs are different but just as restrictive. In some parts of Indonesia, for example, local governments have issued regulations banning hijabs in public spaces, a move that disproportionately affects non-Muslim ethnic minorities who choose to wear the hijab as a sign of solidarity or personal expression. A customer from Aceh wrote to me last year saying she’d been fined $50 for wearing a hijab to a market; the local sharia police told her she “wasn’t a good enough Muslim to wear it in public.” She told me she couldn’t afford the fine, so she worked extra shifts at a local café to pay it off, and only wore her hijab when she was at home or around other Muslim friends. That’s the same fear, the same barrier—just in a different place.
The thing I want people to understand is that hijabs aren’t just fabric and thread. They’re a part of a woman’s identity, her faith, her way of connecting to the world. When laws target hijabs, they’re not targeting clothing—they’re targeting women’s right to be themselves in public, to work, to learn, to move through the world without being policed. I’ve spent years researching the legal landscape, talking to lawyers and activists, trying to understand how these rules are written and enforced. What I’ve learned is that most of these laws were drafted without consulting the women who will be affected by them. Politicians talk about “securing national values” or “protecting freedom,” but they never ask the women who are having those freedoms taken away.
This is why my business isn’t just about selling hijabs. We also work with small organizations that advocate for the rights of hijab-wearing women, providing free hijabs to girls who’ve been sent home from school and supporting women who are fighting discrimination in the workplace. Last year, we partnered with a group in Berlin that offers free legal consultations to women who’ve been fined for wearing face coverings, and we donated 50 hijabs to their collection for women who need them for job interviews. Every time I get a photo back from a customer, wearing a hijab that fits her perfectly, smiling in a job interview or at a family event, it reminds me why this work matters.
I know there are still so many fights to win. Laws are changing slowly, and discrimination is still widespread. But what keeps me going is the women who reach out, who tell me they want to keep wearing their hijabs, even when it’s hard. They don’t want to hide. They want to be seen, to work, to learn, to live their lives on their own terms. If you’re a business owner, an organization, or someone who’s looking to support women who wear hijabs, I’d love to talk. We offer custom hijabs in a wide range of fabrics, styles, and sizes, designed to honor every woman’s unique identity, and we also partner with organizations that work on legal advocacy for hijab-wearing women. Let’s collaborate to create spaces where every woman can wear what she wants, without fear of judgment or discrimination.
It’s been 12 years since I sewed that first set of hijabs in my small workshop, and I still get nervous every time I send a package out to a customer. I never know what story she’ll have to tell, what barrier she’s facing that week. But I also know that every hijab we send is more than a product—it’s a small act of resistance, a way to say that a woman’s identity is worth protecting. And that’s a fight I’ll never stop being part of.
Embroidered Scarf References:
- European Council on Refugees and Exiles. (2022). "Hijab Ban and Discrimination in EU Public Spaces."
- United Nations Human Rights Council. (2021). Report on Religious Discrimination Against Muslim Women in the European Union.
- Indonesian National Commission on Violence Against Women. (2023). "Local Sharia Regulations and Gender-Based Discrimination in Aceh."
- International Labour Organization. (2022). Discrimination in Employment Against Women Wearing Religious Symbols.
- French Observatory of Secularism and Religious Freedom. (2021). "Impact of 2004 Religious Symbol Ban on Muslim Women’s Employment."
Deqing Boliya Silk Co., Ltd.
Deqing Boliya Silk Co., Ltd. is one of the most professional hijab manufacturers and suppliers in China, featured by quality products and good service. Please rest assured to wholesale the newest hijab in stock here and get quotation from our factory. We also accept customized orders.
Address: Baibiao Industrial Zone, Xinshi Town, Deqing County, Zhejiang Province, China
E-mail: boliya@boliyasilk.com
WebSite: https://www.boliyasilk.com/
