Cultural appropriation? How westerners have worn Indigenous clothing for a variety of reasons throughout history
The concept of cultural appropriation, or “the act of taking or using things from a culture that is not your own”, is a controversial topic guaranteed to provoke polarising debate.
Recently, the National Portrait Gallery added a trigger warning to its photographs and portraits of T.E. Lawrence, also known as Lawrence of Arabia. Visitors are now advised that these reflect “attitudes and viewpoints of the time”. Two Daily Telegraph columnists voiced contrary opinions, though both ultimately subsumed the issue into an attack on Free Palestine activists, impeding our understanding of the historical context.
If we restrict ourselves to looking at the images alone, they can indeed be classed as acts of cultural appropriation: there was, after all, no obligation for Lawrence to wear the costume when posing.
Read more: What is cultural appropriation, and how does it differ from cultural appreciation?
But there is also Lawrence’s personal reality to consider. In the Seven Pillars of Wisdom, Lawrence recounted being given the clothing by the Arabian Emir Feisal, the leader of the Arab revolt. The emir felt that British army khaki was uncomfortably close to that worn by the Turkish colonial soldiers, and that his followers would be more willing to accept someone dressed like themselves.
And Lawrence’s loyalty to the Arab cause did not end in 1918. In 1919, he lobbied the British government – unsuccessfully – to back them at Versailles. The most famous painting of Lawrence in Arab robes, from the same year, was a radical act of solidarity with another culture.
In this light, Lawrence was not simply engaging in frivolous cosplay. His choices should be distinguished from those of contemporaries such as Margaretha Geertruida Zelle, also known as Mata Hari, the Dutch courtesan, dancer and convicted spy whose performances revolved around discarding the slendong veils worn by Javanese temple dancers. Yet beyond such surface-level engagement, I have come across documentation showing how and why many others donned Indigenous dress in the countries they visited, as opposed to simply wearing it, in effect, for show.
Practical considerations
Wearing native dress for more practical purposes was part of a longer tradition extending back many centuries. For starters, it had practical benefits. Turkish dress was particularly popular; it was composed of layers which could be added or removed as needed. It was also looser than standard European clothing, so better suited to a warm climate. And it was no small advantage that it could actually be obtained locally. Those venturing to Egypt and Palestine frequently wore it.
In the 1810s, the British sailors Charles Irby and James Mangles, quickly realised that western dress tended to attract a little too much attention. They recalled how local people, intrigued by their appearance, “used to flock to gaze at us as if we had been wild beasts”.
Witnessing a play in Cairo in 1815, the Italian adventurer and Egyptologist Giovanni Belzoni was surprised to see a character in western dress “who served as a sort of clown”. Under such conditions, it is unsurprising that Irby, Mangles and Belzoni all opted to change out of western clothing.
As I point out in my recent research, travellers were often advised by local people. Sadic Gibraltar, the son of an Egyptian admiral, told the British Egyptologist Gardner Wilkinson that Egypt was safe, “but costume of Turk is better”. Gibraltar sent Wilkinson to Osman Effendi, who led Wilkinson around the city to buy the recommended clothing. He also fitted out Edward William Lane in the same way; this dress allowed Lane to conduct a study of Islamic culture that would now be classed as participant observation.
A couple of decades later in 1839, the Scottish artist David Roberts was only permitted to enter mosques after he promised Cairo’s governor that he would wear local dress.
Two centuries later, it is difficult to assess whether any of these people were in any real danger. More likely, the dress simply made the wearer less conspicuous, so reduced unnecessary stress. William Rae Wilson probably also spoke for many when he wrote that his hosts “look upon it as a sort of compliment to imitate their dress”.
Resistance to wearing local dress came primarily from other Europeans, not Indigenous people. Early 19th-century British embassy missions abroad always wore military uniform. Even Lord Byron – well-known for donning Greek national dress in the Greek war of independence – chose full-dress uniform for meeting Albania’s ruler, Ali Pasha. At an official level, there was an expectation that every Briton should behave similarly.
In one extreme episode, the British consul in Egypt, Henry Salt, sought to disavow Britons who continued to wear native dress. Charged by Britain’s growing power during the Napoleonic wars, Salt envisaged a future in which western clothing would mark his compatriots out for special treatment.
An objection by the Britons themselves meant the order was rescinded, though eventually a trend developed toward tropical kit being used as a marker of difference in the late 19th century.
It has become almost a stock-in-trade to suggest that Britons, from the Arctic to the Sahara, failed to copy local customs more appropriate to their situation. Paintings from the past are complicated artefacts, but it is perhaps time to reclassify them as examples showing that some Britons actually did adapt.
Robert Frost receives funding from The Leverhulme Trust.