WEARING SCARF IN FRANCE AND KASHMIR
No single inventor can claim the scarf, for its origins are as old as the need for warmth and distinction. In Ancient China, soldiers of the Qin Dynasty wore lengths of cloth about their necks as early as 230 BC, not for style but to denote rank amongst the ranks of the Terracotta Army. Rome, too, had its sudarium, literally a “sweat cloth” donned by legionaries and labourers alike to keep clean in the heat. The scarf’s leap into fashion, however, owes much to 17th-century France, when Louis XIV, taken with the knotted neckerchiefs of Croatian mercenaries, formed his Régiment de Royal-Cravates. From “Croat” came cravate, and with it the ancestor of both the modern tie and the silk scarf. Thus, whilst countless cold and dusty lands devised their own versions , from Kashmir’s woollen muffler to Egypt’s linen headdress , it was France that gave the scarf its name and turned necessity into allure.
French people love scarves because they blend function with identity and have become a true fashion symbol. Winters in much of France are damp and windy, so a wool or cashmere 'echarpe' keeps you warm, but it’s also worn by leading actors, statesmen, artists, sports personalities and others across generations. You’ll see them on young and old, boys and girls, men and women alike. From childhood, French kids hear ,'mets ton echarpe' before going out, and that habit sticks. The scarf instantly elevates a simple outfit and signals polish without looking like you tried too hard , that effortless chic.
Plenty of French icons made it part of their look: Alain Delon wore slim silk scarves with open collars in ' Le Samouraï ' and off-screen, making it part of his cool, detached style. Albert Camus was photographed constantly in chunky knit scarves and trench coats . It became part of the existentialist uniform. Serge Gainsbourg rarely appeared without a thin silk scarf knotted loose, Yves Saint Laurent wore his signature black scarves year-round, and François Mitterrand had his wide felt hats and wool scarves as president. Catherine Deneuve and Brigitte Bardot turned the Hermes carre ( Hermes Silk Square scarf) into a global status symbol, Jean Paul Sartre bundled up in thick wraps at Cafe de Flore, and even Zinedine Zidane is known for tailored coats with a draped scarf on match days. Dalida herself wore flowing foulards on stage in the 70s. So it’s part weather logic, part style reflex, and part etiquette ; worn indoors and out, from the Elysee to the Metro.
In Kashmir, the scarf or muffler held equal claim during the long winter months, yet the logic behind it was uncompromisingly practical. Forget silk and elegance ; here it was heavy, hand-knitted wool, often in muted greys, browns, or deep maroons, wrapped not for the mirror but for the elements. The muffler was pulled high over the mouth and nose, tucked into the neck of a pheran , built to blunt the sting of Himalayan winds that cut down the valley from December to March. It belonged to office goers waiting for the bus at 9.30 in the morning, to shopkeepers in Lal Chowk, to old men warming their hands over a kangri. There was no pretence of fashion, no flourish for the café. It was armour against the cold, nothing more.
And when the chill lifted, the mufflers disappeared entirely. You would not see a Kashmiri wearing one in May or August, nor draped indoors as a flourish. No silk carrés, no summer linen. The scarf lived by the season ; a winter tool, packed away with the Kangri and the heavy blankets the moment the chinars began to bud.
( Avtar Mota)
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