The hijab in 2024 is no longer the elephant in the room. It is the costume of the hero, the uniform of the anchorwoman, and the accessory of the influencer. By centering these stories, Arab popular media is doing something revolutionary: telling the truth about its own people.
For example, the character of Mariam in the hit series Kamel El Adad (2023) portrayed a hijabi dentist navigating love, family pressure, and career ambition. Crucially, her hijab was never the "problem" to be solved, nor was it a symbol of oppression. It was simply a visual fact of her character, normalized by the narrative. Following the lifting of the public driving ban and cinema ban, Saudi Arabia’s MBC Studios has aggressively funded content featuring hijabi leads. Shows like Rashash and Al-Akhir (The Last) treat hijabi characters with nuance. They are detectives, mothers, and revolutionaries. This state-backed content is strategic: it promotes a vision of modern, tech-savvy, religiously observant citizens engaging with global pop culture. Reality Television: The Hybrid Identity Reality TV has always been the truest mirror of societal tension. Arab adaptations of The Bachelor (known as The Queen ) or The Voice have had to grapple with the hijab.
Netflix’s Dubai Bling (2022) offered a fascinating portrayal. While most of the cast is glamorously unveiled, the inclusion of Loujain “LJ” Adada (who wore a hijab briefly in earlier life) and the conservative families of the cast highlight the hijab as a choice within privilege. Meanwhile, the Saudi reality show Elite deliberately features women who choose to wear the hijab in professional settings, challenging the Western assumption that Gulf wealth equals Western secularism. The Music Industry's Quiet Compromise Music is the final frontier. For a long time, the hijab was absent from Arab pop music videos (think Haifa Wehbe or Nancy Ajram). But the digital landscape has birthed "Nasheed-pop" and "conscious Hip-Hop." hijab arab xxx full
When an Egyptian director films a hijabi CEO, or a Saudi influencer posts a luxury haul in a sequin hijab, they are reclaiming the narrative. They are saying: "Our religiosity is private, but our existence in pop culture is public."
Artists like Asayel from Saudi Arabia and Al-Rawabi (the group behind the school drama AlRawabi School for Girls —a Netflix hit) have normalized the hijabi lead singer. In AlRawabi , the antagonist is a hijabi, and the protagonist removes hers—a controversial plot. However, the show’s success proved that audiences crave stories about the complexity of the hijab, not just its absence. The hijab in 2024 is no longer the elephant in the room
Enter the influencer economy.
This pushback is evident in the backlash against shows like Elite (Netflix Spain) or Ramy (Hulu), which, while critically acclaimed, often center the hijab as a source of trauma or confusion. In contrast, Arab-produced hijabi content treats the garment as neutral —sometimes spiritual, often practical, but never a tragedy. Despite the progress, the industry is not utopian. For example, the character of Mariam in the
On The Voice Arabia , when a hijabi contestant turns her chair, the visual is powerful. She is judged solely on vocal ability, defying the visual biases of the music industry (where dancing and revealing outfits are historically linked to pop stardom). However, controversy remains. In 2022, a hijabi winner on Arab Idol sparked debate: Can she star in a music video without removing her hijab? The industry's answer is slowly evolving, with the rise of "muted music videos" (visualizers without sensual choreography) catering specifically to this demographic.