Barakah Beauty Collective

Interview with Michaela Corning by Erica Faison, Slow-Fashion Editor

Dress: Michaela Corning, made in Ukraine | Model: Binta Dibba | Photographer: Alex Lim

Erica Faison: What services does Barakah Beauty Collective offer?

Michaela Corning: We offer all kinds of beauty and wellness services, along with the Showroom which hosts modest fashion from the brand Michaela Corning. We have Asiya, a nurse practitioner, midwife, and acupuncturist graduate from Bastyr, doing hijama, the Arabic word for blood cupping, massage, and acupuncture. She prescribes herbs and offers community acupuncture in addition to her individual private sessions and services. Necia, an esthetician, offers facials, dermaplaning, microblading, lash lifts and extensions, facial waxing, etc. Noura of NR Beauty does cut, color, smoothing treatments, makeup, and lots of bridal stuff. Elicia of Edges by Elicia works with textured hair–she does locs, braids, twists, wigs, and makeup services as well. That's pretty much it on the beauty and wellness side.

We also offer a number of community focused events, such as community acupuncture, and events during the month of Ramadan like Iftar–the dinner we break our fast with–every Friday, for women only. We host healing circles with women from our community focused on spiritual health, beauty, and wellness. Every healing circle is unique. We do pop-up markets in our space, including special pop-ups to help promote Muslim women businesses. Other events have included a Friendsgiving with about 30 women, a Chai event, and a Galentine’s event which we put on in partnership with Pacific Northwest Muslim Mamas. 

Erica: What inspired the creation of this space?

Michaela: Working in corporate American hell for 20 plus years, and realizing how performative it is, and how tiring and exhausting it is to work your tail off for a CEO–usually a white man who doesn't give two nickels about you as a person. I was working in my corporate career, and I had my modest fashion brand as a side project for over 20 years–when it took off during COVID I realized that if I focused all my time and energy on the brand I could make something of it. When I lost my job in July of 2020 I decided to go all in. After a year of focusing on the fashion brand I outgrew my space at home and wanted to open a retail space, but couldn’t afford one. So I invited other women into the space. We have a cost-sharing model, which is easier to manage financially. We also benefit from each other's expertise and clients. 

One of my biggest motivators was the fact that those of us who wear hijab struggle with finding a place to get our hair cut and other services in an environment that respects our beliefs and accommodates what we need, including hairstyles, hair types, and a private space where we don't have to worry about a man walking in.

Erica: You’ve described some of your collection as “American-style hijab,” which struck me as an organic form of resistance to Islamophobia, propaganda, and related wars which, unfortunately, have been a part of America for decades. The culture that has developed, and the existence of Muslims living their best lives in the U.S., is an act of resistance to those inequities. In contrast to discriminatory attitudes, the visible presence of Muslims in America serves as a powerful reminder of the religious freedom defined in the Constitution. Can you describe the style of American hijab? 

Michaela: American Muslim hijab is unique because you can't necessarily pinpoint its country of origin. A lot of times with my clothing, people might ask, “Oh, is that Moroccan? Is that African?” I do a lot of cultural fusion. American Muslims are a very diverse group of people. In fact, we're the most diverse religion in America. 

So if you think about all the different places that Muslims come from, their parents and grandparents, you're talking about Bosnia, Africa, the Middle East, Asia, they could be Russian, Chechen, you name it. They could even be from places like Fiji, but originally of Indian descent. So this eclectic mix of people live in the U.S., second and third generation kids that are growing up here, they're Muslim, but they identify more as American. They live American lives, and also have specific Muslim religious and cultural identities.

I have a jersey hijab with surfers on it–you're not gonna find something like that overseas. And I call them things like “Saved by the Bell,” or “So Rad,” references that you wouldn't know unless you grew up here. So that's what makes the style distinctly American hijab–it weaves in cultural elements that any American would relate to, and it's also tied with a hijab, a kimono, or palazzo pants that look modest and are more specific to Muslims. But a lot of my clothing does appeal to people that aren't from the Muslim faith. I sell lots of palazzo pants and tunics and kimonos to people who are not Muslim. 

In a lot of ways, this idea of being an American Muslim does fly in the face of Islamophobia, because people do not fully understand what it means to be Muslim, let alone the fact that we can be fully American, fully Muslim, and still be in keeping with our faith and adherent to certain American values. 

People that are racist or bigoted or xenophobic or Islamophobic are not going to understand some of the intersectionality of what I'm talking about, or what you're asking me about. For people like myself who converted to Islam, people will look at us and because we have the hijab on, they otherize us and will ask us, “Oh, where are you from?” And then when you tell them that you're from Seattle, they think you are the children of immigrants or you're an immigrant yourself, which is just very ignorant in not understanding that Islam is a religion for everybody. And this is part of the way people view Islam versus Christianity or Judaism, even though they all originated in the same part of the world. 

In addition to the fact that my modest fashion brand is very much an American Muslim brand, I also have everything made in Seattle, which is very unique. Most people in this space do a lot of importing of styles from overseas versus actually making something that's specific to American Muslims. 

Erica: When many people think of hijab, they focus on the idea of covering a woman’s curves, skin, and hair. I’ve worn hijab a couple of times to attend Muslim events, and I experienced a sense of freedom, along with a unique solidarity with other women and men. Could you explain some of the lesser-known benefits and principles of wearing hijab and Islamic modesty?

Michaela: So there's two parts to this–there’s a religious and cultural view of hijab and there's a fashion view, and these things can definitely intersect. There’s a verse in the Quran that first addresses men to lower their gaze, and then addresses women to lower their gaze and to draw a covering over their chest (because women were wearing a veil on their head that wasn't covering their chest). It says to do this so that you may be known–that’s the first purpose of wearing the hijab, so that you may be known as a believer.

In a lot of ways, women are the flag bearers of this religion, which I think is a testament to our strength over men. It's interesting that men can blend in more than women can, because once you put the hijab on your head you become a lot more visible to people, so that's the first purpose of it. Part of it is also a middle finger to other people's ideas of objectifying women's bodies–you're putting up a barrier, saying that's not just for anybody to see. 

And yes, solidarity is definitely a part of that meaning. When I walk on the street and I see someone who wears hijab I know they're Muslim and I say, “Salaam,” a greeting of peace, and this creates a bond in our community. If the other person doesn't wear hijab, they will know that I'm a Muslim and say “Salaam” to me, then I will respond back with “Salaam.” There's definitely a solidarity and community aspect of being identifiably Muslim. And I would say that even with certain disenfranchised communities that aren't Muslim–with people of color, especially Black men and women–even though I'm a white woman wearing hijab, and they might not be Muslim, they see the hijab as a kind of solidarity with them. I've had this experience a lot over the last 25 years because there's a recognition of what you're a part of, even if that person's not a part of it. It’s very interesting as a whole—it could be someone's doctoral thesis. 

As for the lesser known benefits and principles of wearing hijab, from a religious standpoint, it's a covering. A curtain that divides people could be considered hijab, so it's not just the colloquial meaning of a headscarf. Modesty applies to men and women. There's six parts to it, five of them are the same for men and women, there's only a small difference between men and women in terms of meeting that religious requirement, which is the extent to which we have to cover. Men have specific clothing requirements as well, which many people don't know because it's less obvious.

Dress: Michaela Corning, made in Ukraine | Model: Binta Dibba | Photographer: Alex Lim

Outfits & Hijabs: Michaela Corning

Erica: Our mutual friend Mahdiyah Asiya modeled and shared photos of an amazing jacket you designed, featuring keffiyeh fabric on the back and framing a mystical, ancient-looking portrait. I love this piece aesthetically, and more importantly, I appreciate how it amplifies the Palestinian struggle, raises funds for Palestinian children, and helps others express their solidarity. Arabs, Muslims, Africans, and many in the global south have been dehumanized, harshly stereotyped, and unalived en masse time and time again for economic and power gains. Could you share your feelings and process behind creating resistance pieces like your handmade-to-order keffiyeh jackets and your Freedom Collection? Are there any additional resources you’d recommend in support of liberation movements?

Michaela: I've been making what I call resistance fiber art for probably 15 years now. I started with the keffiyeh, I just really fell in love with it for a lot of reasons. I started making pouches and different things out of the keffiyeh fabric and I felt it was a more artistic expression–most of my friends who were buying them were Palestinian because they love to show off their heritage and it was a talking piece. Someone might ask, “What is that?” And then a person can say, “Oh, this is a keffiyeh and I'm Palestinian,” or “This represents the struggle.” 

That's how it started. It didn't start October 7th–I've been doing this for quite a while. I also make pouches out of vintage silk sarees. But with October 7th I amped up what I was already doing. I was also making jewelry using real vintage postage stamps from Palestine before occupation. I make them from many different countries, primarily Muslim countries, and I felt it was a historic representation of cultural heritage. So I just want to make art that's meaningful. I've been a fiber artist for a long time, so it just kind of made sense. 

I didn't really know anything about the Palestinian struggle until I became Muslim 25 years ago. I have a lot of intentionality around making those pieces. The portrait on the back is actually a vintage postcard that I bought over 20 years ago on Ebay. The postcard itself is from the 1930s, before occupation, of Palestinian women, and it’s a painting printed on a postcard. I was originally interested in the painting because of the textiles the women are wearing, and then as I started to understand it better, I realized it was a very Orientalist take on Muslim women. So for me it’s taking back the narrative and then putting it on the keffiyeh. If you look at what it says in French, English, and German, it says, “Turkish women,” and “Mohammedan women,” neither of which is correct. Pretty sure they're Palestinian women based on research I've done. It's been hard to pinpoint because the artist is unknown, and the company that made the postcard doesn't exist anymore, so it's really really hard to trace the details. But I started to print off copies of it–I have it printed on bags, stickers, and on canvas that I then sew onto the jackets. The keffiyeh that I use on the back of my jackets is an actual real keffiyeh, it’s not a print, it’s real and I only get them from Palestine.

Outfits & Hijabs: Michaela Corning | Creative Director: Mariam Shibly | Models: @bibiyadeee @sincerelysarahrx @coach_menna_hammad @mahdiyaasiyamed

I think it's really important to continue to buy directly from Palestine. Although a lot of the people who make them in Jordan are Palestinians, I like to support the last manufacturer of keffiyehs in Palestine, the Hirbawi Factory. In fact, they've shared several of the things that I make on their own Instagram, which was such an honor. I've also made patchwork bandanas and different things using the scraps of the keffiyeh. A few years ago I made kimonos with the keffiyeh as a border, again using the real keffiyeh and not replicas or prints. Every year I make a donation to Palestinian Children's Relief Fund and we hold Barakah Healing Circles for Palestine. My brand has always been focused on amplifying people's voices, and I feel that the Palestinian struggle is all of our struggle, and it's important for me to highlight that in my work.