Her Silence Was Style

I recently stumbled upon a kind of treasure, not gold, not jewels, but something far more precious. A hard drive, one that had been sitting quietly for years, passed to me by my eldest sister. I finally opened it. Inside were photographs, dozens of them, some I had never seen before.

There she was, my mother in her youth, in her element. Dressed not just beautifully, but intuitively. The way she carried herself in each photo, the way she held her grace, it was quiet confidence. She didn’t wear fashion, she understood it.

There was one photo in particular that stopped me, black and white, soft with age, but her presence is unmistakable. She’s seated slightly to the side, wearing a crisp blouse with lace-trimmed cuffs and a dark flower pinned near her collarbone. Her hair is parted neatly, held back with a voluminous bow. In her eyes, steady, luminous, deeply knowing, the kind of gaze that holds a story without saying a word. That flower, bold and deliberate, wasn’t just an accessory, it was her. Always a touch of drama…

My Mother: Bold, Whimsical & Unforgettable; Image Source: Dania Khan

Her style was never about excess, but expression. For a New Year’s Eve party, I found her wrapped in a velvet jacket bursting with sequinned stars, waves, and a sleeping moon, bold, whimsical, unforgettable. She wasn’t afraid of color, or of experimenting with trends. She made them her own.

Always Experimenting With Her Own Style & Trends; Image Source: Dania Khan

Even in jeans and a tee, she had an instinct for balance and shape. A camel blazer, oversized sunglasses, a belt cinched just right, the pieces always felt easy on her, never overthought. I still wear her belts today. Not for nostalgia, for continuity.

And then there’s that other photo. She’s seated at home in London, getting ready for an invitation that wasn’t just any dinner or gathering. It was Buckingham Palace. She’s dressed in a pale pink Escada suit with a matching wide-brimmed hat, pearls draped at her neck, and her Lady Dior bag resting in one hand like it had always belonged there. One leg crossed, her posture relaxed but composed. The room glows softly around her, cinematic in its stillness. It felt like something out of Vogue. That pink hat now lives in my wardrobe. I don’t wear it, but I keep it close. It holds more than memory. It holds her.

Making Her Classic Statement, A True Natural; Image Source: Dania Khan

She taught me to notice, to edit, to experiment. When I started designing my own collections, she admired the imperfections and the boldness. She was quick to be honest, often blunt in that very Iraqi way. If something didn’t sit right with her, she’d just say, “oy mahlu.” It was sharp, but also kind of funny. And beneath it all, I knew somewhere in there, she believed in me. And that meant everything.

She had a wicked sense of humor, sometimes cheeky, always timed just right. She didn’t take herself too seriously, and when she laughed…..really laughed, the whole room changed. She loved making others laugh too. But only those closest to her got to see that side. That was her way: grace on the outside, fire just underneath.

Humorous, Cheeky & Graceful; Image Source: Dania Khan

She’s been gone 14 years now, June 20, 2011, and yet, some days, it feels freshly familiar. I miss her terribly. I miss her when I get dressed for something important. I miss her when I’m parenting my daughter and catch flashes of our old battles playing out again. I wasn’t an easy teenager, and now I have one of my own. My mother used to tell me, “I hope you get a child just like you.” Well, she got her wish.

And here I am, learning what she meant. This isn’t just a tribute to her style. It’s a way of holding on to everything she passed down without even meaning to. My eye for detail. My hands in fabric. My belief that beauty doesn’t have to ask for attention. It just is.

Mum & Little Me; Image Source: Dania Khan

Just because she’s unseen now doesn’t mean she’s unfelt. She’s there, in the way I finish a look, in the structure I reach for when I need strength, in the belts I wrap around myself like armor, and in the softness I’ve learned to wear too.

Style is what you leave behind when you’re no longer in the room.

My mother left plenty.