Supermarkets have wheeled out the 20kg bags of rice. High-street stores have popped hijabs on mannequins. Cosmetic companies are churning out products scented with pomegranate, cardamom, saffron and “sticky date” – at Lush you can buy Salam shower gel, Noor lip butter and a massage bar that apparently smells like a turmeric latte. All this can only mean one thing in our modern, consumerist world: Ramadan is upon us.
Ramadan, the holiest month in the Muslim calendar, begins this weekend. Like many Muslims, I find it is my favourite time of the year (and not because I can bulk-buy rice for the entire year in my local Tesco). It is a time of spiritual growth and reflection, of turning away from our own desires and egos to focus on God, and of letting go of the trappings of the earthly world – including food and drink in daylight hours.
Over the past few years, perhaps thanks to social media, Ramadan has become increasingly commercialised as major companies wake up to how lucrative the so-called Muslim pound is – estimated to be worth more than £20.5bn. But this year things feel more unabashedly consumerist than ever. For weeks now, my social media feeds have been inundated with influencers (sponsored by major corporations – one of which even manages to misspell iftar, the fast-breaking evening meal, on its website) telling us that getting ready for Ramadan means a new decor theme in every room, brand new personalised prayer mats for the entire family or a whole new wardrobe for visits to the mosque.
Of course, there has always been the concept of preparing ahead for Ramadan. Muslim mothers and grandmothers have spent the days before mass-producing samosas since time immemorial. But traditionally this has been about getting ahead of tasks such as cooking to maximise time spent on worship during the holy month. In the past, getting ready for Ramadan has never meant changing all the bedding to something more vaguely ethnic looking or restocking our lipstick collection in desert hues. We can thank capitalism for that one.
OK, you could argue that this is nothing new. We are used to what capitalism has done to anything with meaning in our superficial world. Look at what has become of Christmas. But it feels as though things are getting worse: as though spirituality itself – the cornerstone of the holy month – has become commodified.
It’s not only the push to be a better consumer that detracts from the spiritual meaning of Ramadan for me; it’s that I feel as though I am being turned into a product to sell. The fast-paced, goals-driven world we live in has turned productivity into the end goal. We are constantly tracking everything in our lives – our steps, our calorie intakes, our career wins – so that we can share our progress on social media for the world to consume. We are bombarded with the idea that we must constantly strive, always be improving. And this has seeped into Ramadan too. Instead of approaching the month with a focus on introspection and on our personal relationship with our faith, productivity culture is telling us we should track our prayer goals, map our fasting progress and be in constant competition (with ourselves, they say, but really with each other).
The concept of a quiet month spent escaping the trappings of our modern world is completely lost when we are being assaulted from all angles with the idea that we can productivity-hack a connection with God. And for Muslims like me, whose Ramadan can’t be about smashing targets (this will be my first as a mother of two, with a lively toddler and a newborn baby in tow), it can feel intimidating and isolating. Feeling as though I have failed before it has even started, I have had to remind myself that the holy month isn’t about buying new things or praying more than someone on Instagram – but it’s hard when the algorithms tell me otherwise.
It could be said that visibility is a form of progress. But all of these apparent celebrations of Islam come against a background of surging Islamophobia, with assaults rising by 73% in 2024. Since last summer’s riots, being Muslim in Britain feels more precarious than ever. And while the Ramadan ranges in stores may look like progress, they ultimately do nothing to challenge the Islamophobia that is embedded in the systems that govern our lives.
There was once a time when it seemed refreshing to see ourselves represented in supermarkets and high-street brands. Seeing a hijabi mannequin in Primark would have once stopped me in my tracks, and “Ramadan Mubarak” signs in Sainsbury’s used to make me smile. But now it feels devoid of meaning – and, if anything, disingenuous and even sinister. Even when I do finally see myself represented in mainstream culture, do I then have to worry about how that will enrage racists and certain sections of the media?
There is a difference between tick-box diversity on the shelf and genuine diversity and inclusion in a country. Meaningful change would be acknowledging the ways British Muslims remain disfranchised and afraid, rather than pacifying us with date-scented goods and vats of oil at discount prices.
