A Woman´s Body in Istanbul

Nisa and Humeyra. Friends from university in Istanbul

Between gazes, faith and freedom

The Marmaray is packed to the brim. At Sögütlüçesme station, amongst the crowd pouring into the carriages, a young woman boards wearing a cropped top with the word “Metallica” printed in red letters. Her eyeliner is bold; she has piercings and tattoos; she carries a book by Virginia Woolf. She finds a seat next to another young woman who is texting on her phone, wearing headphones over her hijab, loose clothing in dark tones, her deep blue tote bag. Both are headed to Istanbul University, where they study psychology and hospitality, respectively. Two different worlds, part of a shared universe.

In Istanbul, a woman's body is never just a body. It is an element that is read, interpreted, and positioned based on the place, the context, and who is looking. In a city molded by centuries of history, religion, and constant transformation, young women are confronted with multiple—sometimes contradictory—expectations about how they should look, move, and inhabit public space.

This report explores the perspective of young women from different cultural, national, and religious backgrounds, all of them students living in Istanbul. They were all asked the same set of questions regarding their relationship with their bodies. Their testimonies reveal how the female body can be understood, experienced, and negotiated in very different ways within the same city.

Learning to look at oneself

The way young women perceive their own bodies is closely shaped by their surroundings: family, friends, social spaces, and the environments they move through every day. In Istanbul, these influences often shift, opening up new ways of relating to the body.

For Fiza, a 19-year-old Pakistani student who has been living in the city for three years, moving to Istanbul marked a turning point. “Before living in Istanbul, I had a very poor relationship with my body. I didn’t give it the importance it deserved,” she explains. Growing up in Pakistan, she adds, women often follow repetitive routines, with little attention paid to their physical well-being. “When I arrived here, I realized how sacred the body is.”

The change, however, is not always radical. For Malika, a Kazakh student who moved to Istanbul three years ago, the shift came in the form of relief rather than transformation. “My relationship with my body is good here — better than in my home country,” she says. “It’s harder to express yourself there, because people gossip too much, especially relatives.”

Humeyra, a Turkish nursing student who grew up in a religious family in a small town, describes a different experience. “My body image was based on the idea that if I was healthy, that was enough,” she says. Moving to Istanbul and encountering other women’s concerns about appearance led her to a simple realization: she had always been at peace with her body.

Being seen: streets, neighborhoods, safety

Istanbul observes, judges, makes you feel one way or another. The energy that Istanbul can transmit to its female citizens is highly varied; while some neighborhoods inspire confidence, empowerment, and security, others can feel restrictive, uncomfortable, or even dangerous. Nisa, a fourth-year Turkish university student, explains it clearly: “When I’m in a more liberal neighborhood, I feel better wearing tight and nice clothes. It feels good to both attract attention and not be judged. But walking through another street in the same outfit can make me feel unsafe. That’s when it turns into a negative kind of awareness.”

For Fiza, the Pakistani student, Istanbul feels like a relief: “Here I feel much more freedom. For example, to be on the street at 2 a.m. and not be constantly worried about being kidnapped. In Turkey, I feel I can live much better as a woman: much safer, much prouder, and with much more freedom.”

Malika, a Kazakh student, describes a more ambivalent experience as a foreigner. “As a foreigner, I feel like people stare at me more than they do at local women. The city can be dangerous, especially for curvy women. Harassment is a problem here and all women I know have been harassed here at least once. Some Turkish men have sick stereotypes about foreign women which doesn’t help the situation at all.”

Alessandra, an Italian Erasmus student who has been living in Istanbul for five months has a similar perspective: “Women are judged — mostly by men. The worst experience for me was in the Grand Bazaar, where people commented, stared, and followed me.”

Humeyra’s words bring these experiences together: “If you’re very thin or very overweight, if you dress very provocatively or very conservatively, or if you don’t fit the specific mold that people have in mind, you feel judged — through their looks, their behavior, or their words.”

Dressing as a negotiation

One of the most visible axes regarding the perception of women's bodies in society is the way they dress. This can represent or reveal a certain set of ideals or attitudes with total clarity, especially in countries where tradition has historically dictated dressing—or not dressing—in a specific manner. In the case of Islam—the dominant religion in Istanbul—women's clothing is one of the most distinctive symbols, aiming to preserve modesty and privacy with loose, long, and opaque garments that seek to conceal as much skin as possible. On the other hand, the most avant-garde styles around the world concerning women's fashion often tend to reveal more, with daring designs and cuts. In Istanbul, these two styles—and everything in between—coexist and blend together on a daily basis, resulting in a diverse city full of contrasts.

For Humeyra, a nursing student raised in a religious household, clothing is closely tied to faith and place. “The factor that most influences my style of dress is my faith,” she explains. “Another factor is where I am going; my style changes slightly depending on whether I am going to a more secular area or a more conservative one.”

Sometimes, the negotiation becomes more about avoiding judgment. Nisa, Turkish student, points to small but constant compromises: “My comfort is the most important factor for me. But sometimes I don’t want to wear a bra, and I do anyway because I’m afraid of being judged.”

Fiza describes dressing as a contextual decision rather than a fixed rule. “If I’m going to a religious place or event, I’ll obviously be much more covered,” she says. “If I go out at night with my friends, I’ll wear something different. It depends on where I’m going and who I’ll be with.”

Others, like Alessandra and Malika, approach clothing in a more pragmatic way, basing their choices on factors such as the weather or the specific context of the occasion.

Being a woman here — does it fit what is expected?

Living as a woman in Istanbul often means navigating a landscape of expectations that are neither fixed nor shared by everyone. What is considered “appropriate” varies depending on the neighborhood, the social environment, and generational background. For some women, this plurality creates room to exist comfortably; for others, it becomes a constant negotiation.

Fiza describes this tension through a clear generational divide. “I feel like in Istanbul there’s a big gap between generations,” she explains. “Young people value equality and move away from traditions, while older generations expect more traditional roles, ways of acting, and ways of dressing.” Caught between these perspectives, she adds: “Nowadays it’s not easy to feel like you fit what is expected of a woman, because it’s not even clear what that is.”

For Humeyra, who was raised in a religious household, her experience partially aligns with social expectations. While she feels comfortable with many of the norms she encounters, she acknowledges that some cultural expectations—particularly around clothing—can also carry implicit ideas about how women should behave or present themselves.

Others experience expectations more through contrast than pressure. Nisa points out that while Turkey can feel conservative at times, Istanbul’s scale and diversity offer alternative spaces. In certain areas, she explains, the atmosphere feels more relaxed, allowing women greater freedom in how they express themselves.

From an external perspective, defining a single model of womanhood becomes even more difficult. Alessandra, an Italian Erasmus student, admits she struggles to identify what is truly expected of women in the city. “I don’t really know what is expected here,” she says. “There are so many different types of women in Istanbul that it’s difficult to talk about one single standard.”

Mothers and grandmothers: the body that was not spoken

Looking back just one or two generations, many of the women interviewed have experienced a radical turn on how their families perceive a woman's body, and not only their body, but their role in society. These conversations were often shaped by silence, control, and strict preconceived ideas.

In Nisa’s family, older generations lived under far more restrictive conditions. “Many men believe they have authority over women's choices,” she explains. “My grandmother was married young without education. She never learned how to read or write and was never able to move to another city on her own. My grandfather controlled her life entirely.” Her mother grew up with the same pressure, but after marrying Nisa’s father, she experienced more freedom: “She finished high school and later university. She never pressured me. I am different; I am a feminist, and my career is my central focus.”

In Humeyra’s family, the absence of conversation around the body was normalized. “People didn’t have any knowledge, and these topics weren’t discussed,” she explains. “It was considered shameful.”

Fiza describes a similar silence growing up in Pakistan. “I definitely think there is a huge difference between my mother and me regarding our bodies,” she says. “I feel prouder of mine, embracing scars and marks, while she has a more traditional idea of a woman’s body. I learned body care and mental understanding in Istanbul, not Pakistan.” She adds that menstruation remains a strong taboo: “It’s never discussed at home. But I talk about it openly with my friends, which I am proud of.”

For Alessandra, the generational gap in Italy has been more openly discussed. “My mother grew up thinking that a woman with many sexual experiences was a bad woman, and that women had to take care of the house and children,” she explains. “I think I changed her mind a bit.”

What would they change?

When asked what they would change about how women’s bodies are perceived in Istanbul, the answers vary in tone and scope, but converge around a shared rejection of judgment and imposed roles.

For Humeyra, the change must begin by accepting different types of beauty and moving away from stereotypes: “It’s hard to choose just one thing,” she says, “but my priority would be to change the perception that beauty is defined by a single body type.”

Fiza points to deeper, structural expectations attached to the body. “I would try to break the prejudices that assign certain roles to each body,” she explains. “These roles shape the expectations placed on women and men, and lead to constant judgment and criticism.” For her, the solution is simple in principle: “I wish people would mind their own business more and stop worrying so much about how a woman’s body should—or shouldn’t—be.”

Nisa’s response is shorter, but no less direct. “I would make people more open-minded,” she says. “Everyone should mind their own business.”

Malika places the issue in a broader, global context. “I’d say: leave women alone,” she states. “It honestly applies to every country and city. With what’s happening in France, or the opposite in Iran, I have nothing else to say.”

From a more openly ideological position, Alessandra frames the issue as one of individual freedom. “I think women should be able to choose freely how to live and how to use their bodies, without religion or society deciding for them,” she says. “Personally, I find it wrong to cover up.”

Taken together, their answers do not point to a single solution, but to a shared desire for less judgment and greater freedom — shaped by very different voices, experiences, and ways of inhabiting the same city.