The keffiyeh: a symbol of resistance
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| Photo: @oumayma el maadam |
By Aya.L
Origins:
A keffiyeh is a traditional Arab headscarf historically worn by communities across the region, including Palestinian farmers and Bedouins, primarily as protection from the sun and weather. The black-and-white Palestinian keffiyeh represents Palestinian identity. Its distinctive woven patterns are often interpreted as references to different aspects of Palestinian life: the bold black lines are said to evoke the historic trade routes that crossed Palestine, the fishnet-like motif is associated with Palestinian communities connection to the Mediterranean Sea, and the curved shapes are commonly interpreted as olive leaves, reflecting the importance of the olive tree to Palestinian culture and livelihood.
The Revolution:
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| Embroidery: Naama al Awawdah [Es Samu], Khalil District, Palestine |
During the Great Arab Revolt of 1936 - 1939 against the British Mandate in Palestine, the keffiyeh began to acquire the political meaning it carries today. Palestinian fighters, or fedayeen, a term meaning those willing to sacrifice themselves used the scarf to cover their faces and conceal their identities. As British forces attempted to identify and arrest those involved in the uprising, the distinction between fighters and civilians became increasingly important.
On August 27, 1938, Palestinian resistance leaders reportedly called on men across the country to wear the keffiyeh, making it much harder for British forces to identify the fighters within the wider population. What had traditionally been associated with rural and Bedouin communities thus became a powerful expression of collective solidarity and Palestinian nationalism.
Yasser Arafat, the Palestinian political leader who headed the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) from 1969, played an important role in transforming the keffiyeh into an internationally recognizable symbol of the Palestinian struggle. He famously wore the black-and-white scarf draped over his head and shoulder, with its distinctive arrangement often understood as deliberately evoking the shape of historic Palestine. Through his international appearances, the keffiyeh became a symbol of the Palestinian national movement and the struggle for Palestinian self - determination, particularly from the late 1960s and 1970s onwards.
From the streets of Palestine to newspapers and international media, the keffiyeh was therefore transformed into something far greater than a piece of clothing. By the 1970s, it had become a visual language: a way of communicating Palestinian identity, resistance and solidarity without saying a word.
A symbol around the world:
By the 1970s and 1980s, the keffiyeh had travelled far beyond Palestine. Its representation of the Palestinian struggle allowed it to become recognizable internationally as a symbol of resistance, anti-imperialism and solidarity with liberation movements. It appeared in political movements, among activists and on figures who publicly expressed sympathy for the Palestinian cause.
The keffiyeh also became particularly visible in the Western counterculture. It was adopted by anti-authoritarian, libertarian and anarchist movements, where its imagery could be detached from its specifically Palestinian context and interpreted more broadly as a symbol of political dissent. International political figures, including Nelson Mandela and Hugo Chávez, were also photographed wearing the garment in expressions of solidarity with the Palestinian cause.
Its presence in popular culture further accelerated its international visibility. The keffiyeh appeared in artistic and celebrity contexts, including a 1982 photoshoot featuring Madonna. It also found its way into television: in Season 4, Episode 17 of Sex and the City, Carrie Bradshaw, played by Sarah Jessica Parker, wore a keffiyeh.
Erasure of its symbolic in fashion:
This evolution illustrates an important shift: the keffiyeh was no longer appearing exclusively as a political symbol. It could also be encountered as a fashion choice, detached from the political context that had shaped its meaning.
This internationalization created a paradox. The wider the keffiyeh travelled, the more visible Palestinian identity became but its meaning could also become diluted. In the West, particularly from the late twentieth century onwards, the keffiyeh increasingly began to appear as a fashion accessory rather than an explicitly political statement. The black-and-white pattern could be worn simply as a scarf or incorporated into clothing without any reference to Palestine.
The transformation became even more explicit when the fashion industry began incorporating the keffiyeh into theirs collections.
In 2001, Raf Simons featured the pattern prominently in his Fall / Winter 2001 collection, Riot, Riot, Riot, a collection that was controversially described as “terrorist chic.”
By the mid - 2000s, the keffiyeh could be found simultaneously in Middle Eastern shops and in Western high - street stores such as Zara and H&M. Its popularity was comparable to that of the Che Guevara T-shirt: another image of political resistance that had gradually been detached from its original revolutionary meaning and transformed into a commercial fashion statement.
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| https://www.aljazeera.com/features/longform/2024/1/6/the-only-palestinian-factory-making-keffiyehs-is-going-strong |
The commercialization of the keffiyeh also raised questions about who benefited from its popularity. In 2008, journalist Rachel Shabi reported on the Hirbawi family, owners of what was then described as the last authentic Palestinian keffiyeh factory in Hebron. Despite the growing demand for keffiyeh-patterned products in Western markets, the factory was struggling to survive. The family criticized the increasing availability of Chinese - made imitations, which had become widespread since the 1990s, as well as luxury fashion brands that had transformed the pattern into an expensive fashion item. At the time, Shabi contrasted a Balenciaga keffiyeh reportedly sold for £3,000 with a locally produced Hirbawi keffiyeh costing around £3.
This contrast exposed a deeper tension within the fashion industry's relationship with the keffiyeh. The pattern could generate significant commercial value for international brands while the Palestinian manufacturers preserving the traditional garment struggled to compete.
The debate has continued into the luxury industry. In 2021, Louis Vuitton, under the creative direction of Virgil Abloh, released a blue scarf featuring a keffiyeh-inspired pattern and the brand's LV monogram, priced at $705. The design was criticized online for contributing to the commercialization of a symbol that represents Palestinian identity.
Palestinian responses: between heritage and fashion
The transformation of the keffiyeh into a fashion accessory did not receive a unanimous response from Palestinians. For some, seeing the traditional black and white scarf reproduced in different colours and sold as a trendy accessory represented a troubling disconnect from its history. In Beirut, where coloured versions of the keffiyeh began appearing in fashionable cafés and boutiques, some Palestinian refugees saw the trend as a trivialization of a symbol deeply connected to their identity and history.
For older generations in particular, the keffiyeh carried meanings that extended far beyond fashion. For Palestinians who had grown up with it as part of everyday life and political struggle, changing its colours or turning it into a decorative accessory could feel like stripping the garment of its significance. One Palestinian refugee interviewed in Beirut described the traditional keffiyeh as a symbol of honour and masculinity, recalling how wearing one had once been an important rite of passage for young men. Others objected to its transformation from a symbol of resistance into something worn simply around the waist or as a fashion statement.
Yet this reaction is far from universal. Some younger Palestinians have welcomed the keffiyeh's growing popularity, arguing that its wider circulation can also mean greater visibility for Palestinian culture. For them, a coloured or contemporary version does not necessarily erase the original symbol.
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| Photo: @Hirbawi® Official |
This tension becomes particularly visible when looking at the people who continue to produce the keffiyeh in Palestine itself. The Hirbawi family, whose factory in Hebron was founded in 1961 still produces the iconic black and white version, while also developing contemporary colour variations. This complicates the idea that every departure from the traditional black and white design is necessarily a rejection of Palestinian heritage: Palestinian makers themselves have experimented with colour and design.
For Hirbawi and those who wear its keffiyehs, however, the object remains inseparable from Palestinian history. The factory's continued production has become a form of cultural preservation in its own right. Each scarf is woven on mechanical looms but still requires considerable manual work, including trimming threads and individually sewing the finished scarves. The survival of this production therefore represents more than the survival of a fashion accessory: it preserves a Palestinian textile tradition.
The question of authenticity is also an economic one. As the keffiyeh became popular internationally, inexpensive versions manufactured outside Palestine increasingly competed with locally produced scarves. The contrast could be striking: while Western luxury brands could sell keffiyeh-inspired pieces for hundreds or even thousands of dollars, an authentic Palestinian-made keffiyeh remained comparatively inexpensive. For Palestinian producers, the global popularity of the pattern did not necessarily translate into economic security.
This is one of the central contradictions surrounding the keffiyeh today. Its popularity can help spread Palestinian culture and create a sense of solidarity, but it can also separate the symbol from the people who have historically produced and worn it. For some Palestinians, seeing the keffiyeh everywhere is a form of cultural visibility, for others, seeing it transformed into a trend without its history is a form of erasure.
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| Photo: @elyanna |
Perhaps the most important distinction, then, is not simply between wearing or not wearing the keffiyeh. It is between wearing it as an empty aesthetic and understanding what it represents. For Palestinians and members of the diaspora who continue to wear it, the keffiyeh can embody heritage, connection to the land, resilience and collective memory. Its continued presence, whether in Palestine, at demonstrations around the world, or in contemporary fashion shows that the symbol has not lost its meaning. Rather, it has acquired new meanings that exist alongside, and sometimes in tension with, its original ones.
But beneath its fashionability lies a much heavier history. The keffiyeh carries the memory of displacement, dispossession and the destruction and attempted erasure of Palestinian communities and cultural heritage. For many Palestinians, it is therefore inseparable from the ongoing struggle over Palestinian identity, land and self - determination, and from opposition to any forms of Zionism and Israeli state policies that they understand as contributing to their dispossession and marginalization.
This history also means that wearing a keffiyeh is not always an innocuous fashion choice. For Palestinians and members of the diaspora, wearing it can be an unapologetic way of saying: this is where I come from, this is who I am, my culture has not disappeared. For others, it can be a visible expression of solidarity with Palestinians and their rights.
The danger of that politicization became painfully visible in November 2023, when three Palestinian - American college students: Hisham Awartani, Tahseen Ali Ahmad and Kinnan Abdalhamid were shot while walking in Burlington, Vermont. The students were wearing keffiyehs, and their families called for the attack to be investigated as a possible hate crime. At the time, however, authorities had not established a motive, and prosecutors later said there was insufficient evidence to classify the shooting as a hate crime. What is undeniable is the fear that followed: a garment that can signify heritage and solidarity can also make that identity visibly legible in a climate where anti - Palestinian and anti - Arab hostility exists.
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Hisham Awartani, Tahseen Ali and Kenan Abdulhamid |
That is perhaps the greatest contradiction of the keffiyeh today. Fashion can turn it into a pattern, a trend or a luxury accessory, politics can turn it into a statement of solidarity, but for Palestinians, it remains something much more intimate. It carries a history that cannot simply be removed from the fabric. To wear the keffiyeh is not necessarily to make a political statement but for those who choose to make one, there should be no need to hide the identity, history or heritage that it represents.
The Keffiyeh in contemporary fashion: 2024 - 2026
If the history of the keffiyeh shows how a traditional garment became a political symbol and, later, a fashion object, its recent appearances show that these meanings have never truly separated. Between 2024 and 2026, the keffiyeh has continued to move between the red carpet, the runway and the streets, sometimes as fashion, sometimes as political expression, and often as both.
In May 2024, Bella Hadid brought this tension to the Cannes Film Festival. While in the city for the festival, the model was photographed walking along the Croisette in a striking red-and-white dress made from keffiyeh fabric. The dress was not created specifically for Cannes: it had originally been designed in February 2001 by New York-based duo Michael & Hushi. For a little bit of context, just before the festival opened in 2024, Cannes director Thierry Frémaux reportedly called for a festival “without controversy”.
Bella Hadid's choice nevertheless carried particular significance. She has repeatedly spoken publicly about her connection to Palestine, and fashion has become one of the ways in which she expresses that identity. By wearing a garment constructed from keffiyeh fabric at one of the world's most photographed film festivals, she placed a distinctly Palestinian symbol within one of fashion's most visible international spaces. The dress was not simply using the keffiyeh as a print: in this context, it brought the history and identity attached to the fabric with it.
Bella Hadid was not the only celebrity to use clothing to communicate a political message at Cannes that year. Cate Blanchett appeared on the red carpet in a black-and-pink Jean Paul Gaultier gown designed by Haider Ackermann. When she lifted the skirt, its green lining appeared against the festival's red carpet, creating an image that many interpreted as evoking the colours of the Palestinian flag. Blanchett did not explicitly confirm that this was her intention but the look generated widespread discussion, particularly given her previous public calls for a ceasefire in Gaza.
These moments illustrate something that fashion has always done particularly well: communicate without necessarily speaking. When political statements are contested, restricted or simply difficult to articulate, clothing can become a language of its own. A colour, a silhouette, a pattern or a familiar textile can carry a message that does not need to be written out.
The keffiyeh has also returned to the streets. Throughout 2025, it became a prominent element of protest dressing at pro-Palestinian demonstrations, appearing alongside Palestinian colours, watermelon motifs, political slogans and portraits. In this context, wearing the scarf is rarely about following a trend. It becomes a deliberate visual expression of solidarity, identity, grief or political conviction.
The contemporary fashion industry has also continued to reinterpret its distinctive pattern. It can be transformed into dresses, skirts, tops, bags or accessories, sometimes retaining the original textile and sometimes simply reproducing its geometric motif. For Palestinian designers and wearers, this reinterpretation can be a way of keeping Palestinian culture visible and allowing the tradition to evolve. For others, particularly when the pattern is reproduced without acknowledging its origins, it can represent another stage in the detachment of the keffiyeh from its history.
That tension is precisely what makes the keffiyeh so unusual as a fashion object. Unlike an ordinary seasonal print, it carries a history that precedes its appearance on the runway. Its geometric pattern is instantly recognizable, but its significance cannot be reduced to its visual appeal. Behind the pattern are generations of Palestinian identity, memory, resistance and cultural heritage.
The keffiyeh therefore occupies a peculiar place in contemporary fashion. A fashion editor may see an arresting textile, a designer may see an opportunity for reinterpretation, a Palestinian may see heritage and collective memory and a protester may see solidarity. None of these meanings necessarily cancels out the others.
The keffiyeh has not simply moved from politics into fashion. It exists in both worlds simultaneously. And perhaps that is why it continues to provoke such strong reactions: because even when fashion tries to turn it into a pattern, the history woven into that pattern refuses to disappear.
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