Jamilla, Jamilla, Jamilla! (That's my Arabic for "Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful!")

My first week in Riyadh I spent a few hours engaging in the Saudi woman’s national pastime: shopping. There’s no much to do out here, so hoards of black-clothed women slowly walk through malls with expensive shoes, jewelry and handbags. For a culture that requires women to cover themselves with a black abaya every time they leave the house, I understand spending a fortune on anything that you can possibly show off.

What I didn’t understand, though, was all the fancy clothes. My practical side wondered why anyone would ever buy the one item that seemed to occupy more window space than anything: super fancy evening gowns. Why were there so many evening gown stores, and when would anyone ever wear them? I can’t imagine a Saudi prom, and even prom dresses aren’t as fancy as the dresses shown in the windows. They look like a whole bunch of eight-year-old girls got together and designed their dream dresses. I've almost been here a year now, and I’ve never seen anyone wear these dresses, but really these women could be wearing anything under those big abayas!

I recently went to a wedding and the evening gown obsession made sense. Needless to say, weddings here are a little different than in America. For starters, women and men go to separate rooms for the occasion. Without any peering men around, the women were able to strut their stuff and flaunt their cleavage. The abayas came off and I felt like I was surrounded with Arabian Nights Barbie dolls. The evening gowns actually DO get worn, and these women doll up as only repressed women can!

Their hair looked like Jasmine’s from Aladdin, thick, shiny and flowing down their backs, or piled on their heads with jeweled pins keeping it in place. Bling was definitely in at this party, and even knockoff jewelry of that size and quality costs more than I spend in groceries in a month. Their makeup could outdo even the most flamboyant of drag queens, and my four squirts of perfume was easily masked by perfume worn by women standing three yards away.

Instead of alcohol, people get drunk off of chocolate and Arabic coffee. After ingesting a pound of each, I felt confident enough to hit the dance floor. Marjukka, my Finnish friend, and I tried to dance like Arab chicks but no one was fooled. At one point a lady came over to me and asked me if I was American. Yup! She then busted out the classic John Travolta finger pointing move! Hahahaha! That’s how all of us dance in America, so I did it with her. All the women watching loved it!

As the women danced the night away, I climbed into a cab. I left at midnight, two hours into the party. At that point the couple still hadn’t said their vows, the dinner hadn’t been served and only one woman had fallen down from tripping on her gown. Too bad I had to work the next day. Even though I missed out on a lot of the fun, I’m glad I got to see all those fancy dresses put to good use!