Not everyone is buying in. A small but vocal movement—call it jilbab seadanya (whatever jilbab)—is emerging among Gen Z activists and rural women. They argue that the EQ obsession is riya (showing off), a minor sin in Islam.
“The Prophet’s wives wore patched cloaks,” says Fatimah, 29, a community organizer in Lombok. “They didn’t have anti-slip silicone. If your jilbab slips, adjust it. That’s modesty: the act of fixing yourself, not buying a better product.”
Some designers are experimenting with a middle path: ethical extra quality—jilbabs made by local seamstresses from natural, breathable fibers, priced affordably. But scaling such models is difficult against the mass-production might of China-sourced polyester labeled as “premium.”
The extra quality jilbab also reshapes body politics. Unlike the thin, revealing krudung of the 1990s, an EQ jilbab is engineered to erase shape—draping from the shoulders to create a tent-like silhouette. It flattens the bust, obscures the waist, and conceals the hips. video jilbab mesum extra quality
For many women, this is liberating. “I no longer feel looked at,” says Aisyah, a university student. “The EQ jilbab makes me feel like a moving cloud. Anonymous. Safe.”
But for others, it becomes a new prison. A 2024 qualitative study in Jurnal Perempuan found that EQ jilbab wearers reported heightened anxiety about “breaking the silhouette”—having their clothing cling, or showing the outline of an ankle or wrist. Some admitted to avoiding bending down in public or sitting cross-legged for fear of revealing a shape.
“The extra quality jilbab is so structured that any deviation feels like failure,” notes fashion anthropologist Melani Budianta. “Women are policing themselves more rigorously than any polisi syariah ever could.” Not everyone is buying in
The first tension is economic. A single extra quality jilbab costs roughly a day’s wage for a minimum-wage worker in Surabaya or Medan. A weekly rotation of five EQ jilbabs represents a month’s rent for many.
“My friends would notice if I wore the same EQ jilbab twice in a week,” says Dewi, 24, an office administrator in Bekasi. “But they’d also notice if I wore a non-EQ one. You can’t win.”
This phenomenon—call it gengsi hijrah (prestige of piety)—creates a hidden debt crisis. Micro-finance apps in Indonesia report spikes in “sharia-compliant” loans for modest fashion, often used to buy EQ jilbabs and matching gamises. A 2023 study by the Center for Islamic Economics found that 17% of young urban Muslim women had taken on debt specifically for hijab upgrades. That’s modesty: the act of fixing yourself, not
“The rhetoric is that hijab is simple and modest,” says Dewi. “But the reality is: modesty is expensive. And visible modesty is a competition.”
Indonesia, the world’s largest Muslim-majority nation, has witnessed a dramatic evolution in hijab (jilbab) fashion over the past two decades. What was once a plain, often white or black headscarf associated with santri (traditional religious students) has become a multi-billion dollar creative economy sector. Within this landscape, the label “extra quality” (often abbreviated XQ) has emerged on e-commerce platforms like Shopee, Tokopedia, and Instagram boutiques. Unlike mass-produced, low-cost jilbabs, “extra quality” implies superior fabric, reinforced stitching, opaque linings, and exclusive patterns. However, this paper contends that beyond material quality, the term serves as a socio-economic and moral signifier, creating new tensions in a society already grappling with modernization, inequality, and religious expression.