The wind whipped my navy-blue jilbab like a sheet on a clothesline as I wrangled a shopping cart. If I was aware that all eyes were on me, I gave no signs. Growing up in the ’70s in Southern California, I had learned that freedom for me meant, among other things, fewer clothes, and that I could be anything—and still look good in a bikini. I believe that the now-ubiquitous bikini hurts me. Wearing a bikini shuts down his ability to see me as a person. In order to preserve my personhood, I should dress more modestly. The modern me is not prudish about my body. I just may not want to put my erogenous zones on display.