Islamic Clothing History: From Early Textiles to Modern Fashion

How did clothing in Muslim societies change from the early centuries of Islam to the modest fashion labels and styles familiar today? A useful answer follows the people who made, traded and wore clothes. Faith belongs in that story, alongside regional craft, court culture, commerce and personal taste.

An inscribed textile, a richly woven silk and an embroidered dress offer different ways into that history. The examples below follow particular places and periods, showing how clothing traditions have continued, travelled and changed.

What does Islamic clothing history include?

Here, Islamic clothing history means the changing dress and textile traditions of societies shaped by Islam. It includes men's and women's clothing, ceremonial garments, regional styles and the skills needed to make them. A garment's date, place and purpose help us understand it more accurately than appearance alone.

The modern term modest fashion has a wider reach. In their 2011 research on modest dressing, Reina Lewis and Emma Tarlo examined clothing and online shopping across Muslim, Jewish and Christian communities, as well as among women without a religious motivation for their dress. Their work helps explain how similar styles can bring together people with different reasons for choosing them.

The early centuries: inherited skills and inscribed cloth

During the Umayyad period, from 661 to 750, artisans continued established ways of working while developing new forms of expression. The Metropolitan Museum of Art's account of this period describes Byzantine and Sasanian influences on textiles and other arts. This gives us a useful starting point: early Islamic textile production drew on skills and designs already present across the region.

One particularly revealing kind of textile is tiraz, associated with inscriptions woven or embroidered into cloth. These inscriptions could record a ruler's name, a production centre or a date. The Met's study of tiraz explains how textiles also served a political purpose: garments given as honours could signal a recipient's connection to a ruler. Clothing could communicate patronage and status as well as meeting practical needs.

A small surviving object makes this tangible. A textile in the Ashmolean Museum's Newberry collection, numbered EA1988.47, bears an inscription naming the workshop at Tinnis in Egypt and the year AH 288, given as AD 901 in the museum's catalogue. These details connect skilled work to a particular workshop and moment, giving us something firmer than a general impression of an ancient style.

For a closer look at the earlier period, explore our guide to clothing in early Islamic history.

Cloth on the move: India and Egypt

Clothing history also follows the routes taken by fabric. In a study of Red Sea textile trade, the Met examines patterned cottons made in India and found in Egypt, dating to the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Printed and dyed cloth travelled between regions, bringing the work of distant textile makers into new settings.

These fragments help explain why a clothing tradition cannot always be contained within a modern national border. A fabric might be made in one place and used in another. Its pattern can tell us about manufacture and exchange, while leaving questions about the wearer or the finished garment unanswered.

Survival shapes this evidence, too. Egypt's dry conditions helped preserve textiles that would deteriorate more readily in a wetter climate. Several examples in this article are also court luxuries or ceremonial clothes. They reveal particular lives and occasions; they cannot stand for the everyday wardrobe of an entire population.

Ottoman silks: dress, skill and status

The Ottoman examples bring the people who financed and made luxury cloth into sharper focus. By the fifteenth century, Bursa had established silk-weaving workshops producing fabrics for use within the empire and for export. The Met's history of Ottoman silks describes a trade connected to Iranian raw silk and European markets, alongside court workshops in Istanbul.

Rich silks, velvet and fabrics incorporating metal thread made clothing part of the display of wealth and rank. Garments presented as honours also carried political significance. In sixteenth-century Ottoman textile design, arrangements of tulips, carnations and other flowers gave woven surfaces a distinctive character.

Looking closely at these fabrics adds something that a general description such as “a long robe” misses. The cut is only one part of the garment. Its weaving, pattern, expense and intended occasion help explain what made it meaningful in its own setting.

The nineteenth century: familiar forms, changing fabrics

A late nineteenth-century example shows how change could happen within an established form of dress. The Met's purple Turkish entari and shalvar pair a front-opening robe with loose trousers. Their colour and decoration offer a glimpse of the relationship between local clothing forms and wider textile fashions.

The catalogue connects the shade of purple with a European fashion that followed the invention of the synthetic dye mauveine in 1856. It also suggests that the fabric was imported. Both points need care: the museum does not confirm that this particular cloth contains a synthetic dye, and the robe and trousers may not originally have belonged together.

The example invites a more precise question than whether an outfit looks “traditional” or “modern”: which parts of its fabric, cut or decoration were familiar, and which were changing?

Regional embroidery and living heritage

Regional names and makers deserve space in this history. Palestinian tatreez, the art of hand embroidery, offers a particularly clear example. The V&A Dundee exhibition Thread Memory: Embroidery from Palestine, held in 2025–2026, explored how regional differences in cut, colour, stitches and motifs could express aspects of a woman's identity and life.

Alongside historic clothing, the exhibition included newly commissioned work by Palestinian fashion designers drawing on inherited craft. This provides a concrete example of older techniques entering new design. It also gives that continuity a place and a cultural context: Palestinian embroidery has its own histories, makers and meanings.

That connection becomes more meaningful when a designer or curator identifies the source of a technique and explains what has been changed. It helps readers recognise the makers and communities behind a contemporary design.

Internet retail changed who could reach a customer

By 2011, researchers were already describing an expanding online market for modest clothing. Lewis and Tarlo's report on faith-based fashion and internet retail highlighted both e-commerce and the conversations about dress taking place on websites, blogs and discussion groups. The internet was becoming a place to buy clothes and exchange ideas about what to wear.

Fashion scholar Reina Lewis later stressed the work of independent designers and entrepreneurs who were already serving modest dressers before large international retailers became more visibly involved. Her commentary on developments in 2015 discusses the Hana Tajima collaboration with Uniqlo among that year's examples.

Following those earlier businesses and the people who bought from them gives the development of modern modest fashion more depth. Major brand launches sit within a story that also includes independent design, customer demand and the exchange of ideas.

Modern Muslim fashion has many forms

The exhibition Contemporary Muslim Fashions, shown at Cooper Hewitt in New York in 2020–2021, brought together examples ranging from streetwear and sportswear to couture. It examined fashion among Muslim women who cover their hair and those who do not, making the variety of approaches visible.

Its documented garments include a 2012 silk chiffon ensemble by Malaysian designer Melinda Looi; a 2017 outfit in a printed Ghanaian cotton and polyester blend by US designer Naima Muhammad for House of Coqueta; and 2018 sportswear by UK designer Yasmin Sobeih for UNDER-RÂPT. Different materials, purposes and locations sit within the same exhibition, giving a concrete sense of the range.

These examples also make it easier to discuss representation with care. A wearer or designer can explain their own intentions; a garment alone cannot tell us everything about a person's beliefs, freedom, tastes or circumstances.

Compare surviving garments as well as textile fragments

The examples above establish a broad sequence, but a closer comparison can reveal how much variety sits within any period. Choose a small number of objects whose records identify their date, materials and place. Begin with the museum's description, then distinguish what it establishes from the questions you bring to it. The following objects extend the discussion into South Asian and West African dress without treating every regional garment as a religious uniform.

A seventeenth-century jama: the surviving shape is incomplete

The Metropolitan Museum of Art catalogues a Fragment of a Robe (Jama), object 31.47, as dating to about 1628–58 and attributed to India. It describes a cotton garment embroidered with silk, crossing over the chest and fastening beneath an arm. The surviving piece has been cut above the waist. That last detail changes how its photograph should be read: the present outline does not represent the robe's original full length.

This is a useful example of separating an object's condition from its design. Before describing a historical garment as short, sleeveless or open in a particular place, check whether the relevant part survives. In this case, the catalogue helps prevent a cropped fragment from becoming evidence for an invented complete outfit.

Another jama: similar naming, different surface work

The Met's Man's Robe (Jama) with Poppies, object 29.135, is dated to the seventeenth century and attributed to the Deccan, specifically Burhanpur or Hyderabad. Its catalogue identifies painted cotton with applied gold leaf. The description relates it cautiously to a garment associated with Akbar and discusses long sleeves gathered on the arms.

Comparing the two jama records gives you specific differences to describe: embroidery on one, painting and applied gold on the other; a partial survival beside a more complete robe; different levels of geographical attribution. The shared garment name does not make their materials, decoration or histories interchangeable. Keep the catalogue's uncertainty when discussing an object's possible relationship to an earlier court style.

A later choga: read each part of the material description

A further Met object, the late nineteenth-century Choga, C.I.52.33.1, is recorded as made in India, with silk, metal-wrapped thread and sequins, and classified as embroidered menswear. These details identify several things worth examining separately: the main cloth, the threads used for decoration and the additional reflective elements.

When making your own comparison, begin with those recorded features. Ask where the decoration sits and how it relates to the garment's opening, sleeves and edges. Leave the original wearer's identity or the precise occasion open if the record does not establish them. A rich surface invites close observation, but it does not supply a complete biography.

West African robes: retain regional names and family histories

The Met's mid-twentieth-century Nigerian Agbádá, object 2014.751.1, is attributed to Hausa, Nupe and/or Yoruba artists. Its record discusses related regional names, including Yoruba agbada, Hausa riga and Wolof-derived boubou. It also identifies this particular robe as a family garment donated by designer Duro Olowu, having belonged to his grandfather.

The example makes two distinctions useful to this wider history. Regional dress names deserve their own context, and a surviving garment can have a documented family history as well as a textile description. Neither its generous shape nor its West African origin establishes the wearer's religion. When discussing clothing traditions that intersect with Muslim lives, preserve that distinction instead of assigning every related garment a single religious meaning.

Read a museum record in a consistent order

A short research note can keep an attractive image connected to reliable information. Record the institution and object number first, so you can return to the same item even when several works have similar titles. Then separate the following fields:

• Date: keep a range or an approximate date as given. Do not turn “seventeenth century” into a specific year without further evidence.
• Place: distinguish where an object was made, where it was found and where it was later collected. These may answer different questions.
• Materials and techniques: record the stated fibre and the process separately. A floral design alone does not tell you whether it was woven, printed, painted or embroidered.
• Condition: note whether the item is complete, fragmentary, altered or assembled from pieces.
• Use: distinguish a documented wearer or occasion from a proposed interpretation.
• Remaining questions: write down what the record does not establish rather than filling the gap from another object's story.

Use this note when returning to an image shared elsewhere. A shortened caption may omit an attribution or the fact that a garment is incomplete. Reconnecting the image with its catalogue record gives you a firmer basis for describing it in an essay, conversation or design reference.

Follow change through a defined comparison

Choose one question before building a large collection of pictures. You might compare how two garments fasten, where embroidery is placed, which materials appear in a particular group or how a designer describes an inherited technique. A narrow question makes differences easier to explain and reduces the temptation to arrange unrelated objects into a simple story of progress.

Keep the comparison fair. Two objects with a similar date may come from very different settings. A ceremonial robe and a piece of everyday clothing need different context; a complete garment and a small fragment offer different kinds of evidence. Record those differences beside the features you want to compare.

Then write the strongest conclusion your evidence supports. “These two records describe different methods of creating floral decoration” is more defensible than “all clothing changed from embroidery to painting”. The second statement would need a much larger body of evidence. A carefully limited conclusion can still reveal skilled choices, local preferences and connections between places.

For a contemporary design inspired by older clothing, identify the actual reference. Has the designer discussed a particular garment, family technique, regional motif or museum object? Explain the documented connection and what has changed in the new work. Visual resemblance can suggest a question, but it should not be presented as proof that one garment directly descended from another.

Keep different kinds of dates separate

A record may contain a production date, an acquisition year and dates when the object was exhibited. Put each in the appropriate part of your notes. The choga described above is catalogued as late nineteenth century, while its credit line records a museum purchase in 1952. Those statements concern different stages in the object's history.

The same care helps with contemporary fashion. The year a garment was designed, the date of a photograph and the year it appeared in an exhibition need not coincide. When building a timeline, state which event each date represents. If the making date is uncertain, keep the uncertainty visible. A neat sequence should not make the evidence appear more exact than it is.

Make room for personal clothing histories

You can apply the same care to a family garment or a piece in your own wardrobe. Begin with the information its owner is comfortable sharing: what they call it, who made or bought it, when they remember wearing it and what alterations they recall. Ask open questions and keep the speaker's words separate from your interpretation.

A useful account might identify the person who embroidered a cuff or explain why a hem was changed before a particular occasion. If the date is remembered approximately, record it that way. If two relatives remember differently, keep both accounts attributed until further evidence clarifies the point. Uncertainty does not make the garment's history uninteresting.

Ask permission before photographing, publishing or passing on personal stories. Avoid assuming that a meaningful garment must be displayed publicly. You can make a private record with a description, photographs where permitted, dimensions and any labels or receipts the owner wishes to include. Follow appropriate care advice before handling something fragile; research does not require washing, unpicking or altering it.

These small histories can add makers, wearers and decisions to a discussion that might otherwise concentrate only on celebrated designers or court objects. Keep them specific to the people who shared them. One family's account adds a perspective; it does not stand for every household or community.

Additional object references: Metropolitan Museum of Art collection records 31.47, 29.135, C.I.52.33.1 and 2014.751.1. The comparison and research-note methods above are editorial suggestions for reading these records carefully; they do not add undocumented claims about the objects' original wearers.

Reading the history with a closer eye

The most rewarding way to explore this subject is to keep returning to specific clothes and the people connected with them. A dated inscription can reveal a workshop or patron. A traded cotton can connect distant places. Embroidery can preserve regional knowledge while giving a new designer material to work with.

When looking at a historical garment or a contemporary design inspired by one, ask three questions: where and when was it made, what do we know about its use, and whose account helps us understand it? The answers leave room for faith, skill and personal expression while keeping the history grounded in evidence.