on March 18, 2026
Eid preparation used to begin a week in advance in our home. It was a quiet build-up that slowly turned into excitement. My mother and I would decide my outfit together, a ritual that felt both collaborative and comforting. One year, I remember it clearly, I was eight and completely devoted to Barbie. My Eid look was not a dress but a pair of flared blue jeans with pink and white stripes, a pink T-shirt, Barbie sneakers that lit up when I stomped, and matching hair clips. I would place the outfit next to my bed the night before Eid, as if keeping it close would make the morning arrive faster.
The night before Eid always felt a little chaotic. I could never sleep properly. My mind was already outside, thinking about playing, about the day ahead, about the simple joy of wearing something new.
In the kitchen, the signal that Eid had arrived was unmistakable. The smell of kaak and tea filled the house. Kaak stuffed with walnuts was always my favorite, the one I waited for all year. Back then, I did not help prepare anything. I was too busy waiting, circling the kitchen, and tasting when I could. A few years after my Barbie themed Eid I developed an allergy and had to say goodbye to walnuts. Nevertheless, I still reach for plain kaak with powdered sugar. The taste has changed slightly over time, shaped by different cities and bakeries, but the feeling remains.
As I grew older, Eid began to shift. The festive energy at the end of Ramadan stayed the same, but my relationship with it evolved. My style changed gradually, not suddenly. I experimented in my teenage years and early twenties, moving between edgy and more polished looks. At nineteen, I bought my first Eid outfit on my own, including a pair of chunky black platform boots. It felt different from what my mother chose for me. Hers felt loving and generous, like a gift. Mine felt earned.
Now, at twenty-eight, I find myself returning to what I loved first. Flared silhouettes, bright details, small elements that feel personal. Even as I write this, I am wearing striped ballerina flats with white socks, a combination my younger self would have approved of. Starting a couple years ago I have also found myself drawn to headbands. To my own amusement, headbands are popular again nowadays, resurfacing through the influence of Carolyn Bessette Kennedyβs style in the recent series Love Story. My approach to dressing for Eid today is simple. It has to feel fun. The excitement of wearing something new has never left me. This year Iβm choosing to wear our Tala Dress. I have been thinking about it since the first glance at the initial design deck. I found the sparkly beadwork on the dress to be Eid-perfect.
Eid today also carries a different emotional tone. Being away from home brings a sense of nostalgia, but not loss. There is something quietly exciting about experiencing Eid in new places and allowing it to take on new forms with new people. The desserts are different too. In Dubai, the abundance of pistachio-filled sweets adds another layer to the experience, yet I still find myself searching for kaak.
Showing up on Eid now feels more reflective. It is a moment to pause, to feel grateful, and to look ahead with hope. I dress for myself, but I am aware, as we all are, that how we present ourselves carries meaning beyond us.
If I had to describe it simply, the child I was approached Eid as a moment to be cool and have fun. The woman I am now approaches it with hope and gratitude. In lookbook terms, itβs shifted from Barbie pink to soft white, from glitter to silk. Still the same sweet occasion, just quieter.
Wishing all a joyful Eid, with peace in the heart, safety all around, and tender moments of celebration.
By the editor of Le Journal of House of Yamina
