I need a dress. A formal dress, for a big bash. I’m excited to be invited, but the black-tie dress code has me worried. As a hijab-wearing woman looking for formal wear, I know that when it comes to clothing, things can get complicated.

My usual go-to formal wear is South Asian salwar khameez — a long tunic with pants. I have an entire closet full of them, collected over years. They are bright blue, black, hot pink, red, green, with silver and gold embroidery, lace, beads and tassels, all gifts from my parents, in-laws, and family in India who send me clothes via family courier. It would be so easy to pluck one out and accessorize with a few of the approximately 1,000 glass bangles and costume jewelry I have in a drawer somewhere. But for this party I want to buy something new. Shopping while hijab-ing is a challenge, but I feel up to the task.

Every woman has their own personal checklist when it comes to dress shopping and Muslim women are no different. Results and requirements may vary, but here are my rules:

The dress must be long — I’m talking ankle, if not “sweeping the floor majestically” length. And no slits up the side, for the love of all things uncomplicated by leggings!

Long sleeves are a must — wrist length or longer. I was once asked, on a particularly scorching-hot day, why I always wore long sleeves. I considered sharing my two-word truth: chicken arms. But I settled on a secondary, also-truth: as a Muslim woman, my interpretation of hijab includes long sleeves. Other Muslim women may have different interpretations, which is cool. This isn’t a holier-than-thou competition.

The dress has to be colourful. This has nothing to do with wearing hijab, and everything to do with culture. My Hyderabadi genes dictate that every time I look at a Little Black Dress, my first thought is: “That would look great in fluorescent pink.”

No sheer fabric, a high neckline and a loose fit. I don’t want any surprise appearances when I wear the dress.

Some people might wonder: That’s a lot of fabric. Aren’t you hot in all that?

Me: *picks lint off shoulder* Yes. Yes I am.

These requirements fall under what has become known in fashionable circles as “modest” fit. I’m not into labels; all I know is, the search for my mythical dress will require an all-out effort. I resolve to stop cooking, cleaning and paying attention to my kids until my prize is found.

The first place I look is online. I’ve bought dresses from Modeste, a Montreal-based retailer, now rebranded as Balbea after a stint on Dragons’ Den. The collection is lovely, but too casual for my requirements. Next I check out Toronto-designed Hayah Collection, where a floor-length lace dress catches my eye; I make a mental note.

U.S. Olympic fencer and modest fashionista, Ibtihaj Mohamed, has more options at Louella. I spy a pretty dress, but it’s not in my size.

It’s time to poll my friends. Annah Hariri has some beautiful dresses, as does Modanisa, a giant Turkish-based retailer. I’m also informed that Hudson’s Bay, Banana Republic, Zara, Melanie Lyne and H&M all carry options that might be appropriate, with some alterations and a bit of luck.

Turns out “modest fashion” is enjoying a moment. In February, U.S. chain Macy’s made headlines when it partnered with Verona Collection. According to a March 2017 Forbes article, the modest clothing market is a multibillion-dollar business, fuelled by young, fashion-conscious clientele who live around the world and hail from a rainbow of faiths.

In the end, I decide to shop local and settled on the lace dress from Hayah Collection in deep red berry colour. Next I buy some heels — gold coloured, because why not? Now all I need is a co-ordinating hijab, and for someone to explain, with pictures, how and why to put on false eyelashes.

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Women’s dress is sometimes political, often controversial and always personal. Loose, tight, short, long — whatever the flavour, ultimately the way a woman chooses to dress is her business alone.

To quote the cool kids: You do you, boo.