Overcoming picture day in Salwar Kameez and 'Uptowns'

“Before photos could be sent over iMessage or Whatsapp, immigrant families would send physical photographs to each other - they were the only way your relatives could grow abroad with you.”

Words by Ramshah Kanwal, edited by Shayma Bakht

I was born in Pakistan and moved to New York with my family at age 7. My childhood routine was a constant clash of cultures: I’d go to my Quran classes after school, then come home to watch The Simpsons with my brother. I’d speak English with my friends and then switch to Punjabi with my family. I ate french fries and pizza during school lunches, and then devoured daal and roti for dinner. The only time these worlds mixed was on dreaded Picture Day.

I was raised by a mother who, like most immigrant moms, urged us to keep our culture alive - despite Pakistan being oceans away from our hometown in Brooklyn. Which is why, on annual school Picture Day, my mom would always dress me up in traditional Pakistani clothes.

These photos were mailed back to Pakistan and ended up pinned to my grandmother’s bedroom wall. Picture Day was revered because, before photos could be sent over iMessage or Whatsapp, immigrant families would send physical photographs to each other. They were the only way your relatives got to follow your life and grow abroad with you.

I went to a NYC public highschool - and a salwar and kameez was not standard uniform. As the South Asian population at my schools grew smaller, I became self-conscious walking into Picture Day. I worried I would be made fun of.

Each year, I felt the same nervousness. Weird stares and comments came from my classmates. I would pack “American clothes” in my bookbag so that, once my portraits had been shot, I could rush straight to the bathroom to change. My teacher would ask why I did this, reassuring me that my “other clothes looked so pretty.” I couldn’t explain that I was trying to seek acceptance from my friends, and these garments were another thing that made me different.

I didn’t hate salwar-kameez or any part of my Pakistani heritage. I never protested my mom picking clothes for me because I understood their importance - their symbolism. School was not a place where I was comfortable sharing this part of my identity. I compartmentalised that part for home.

On my 8th grade Picture Day, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I was given a black salwar-kameez with purple and pink polka dots to wear. This year, I did not pack an extra set of clothes to change into. Instead, I decided to pair it with my white Nike Air Force 1’s - or "uptowns". As a tomboy whose style was heavily influenced by my brother, I felt no greater comfort than wearing a sneaker, and this was the sneaker of choice for any New York kid.

These shoes allowed me to balance my two cultures: the part of me that grew up with bodegas, and the other part that watched Bollywood movies and wore a pendant that said "Allah."

My Picture Day clothes went from being something my mom picked out for me, to being an outfit I styled and chose myself. I felt a new great ownership over my outfit. It no longer mattered if my classmates made comments because this was a conscious choice by me and one I was ready to defend.

I felt a new found comfort in knowing that although I was showing up to school in a salwar and kameez, at my base, I was wearing the New York City staple. I was fresh.

At that young age, I learnt how to balance who I was. I made a promise to myself to not erase either of my identities, finally allowing myself to be in unison. I no longer had to pick, I could be both, and I am both. Just like that - the white Air Force 1’s become the most important sneaker in my life.

Ramshah, ironically, is pursuing a career in photography - her latest project is based on the lessons learnt from overcoming her Picture Day anxiety by combining Pakistani culture with NYC’s choice footwear, which can be seen below:

Overcoming Picture Day in Salwar Kameez and my ‘uptowns’