e International Journal of

Int J Psychoanal (2012) 93:1357–1375 doi: 10.1111/j.1745-8315.2012.00658.x

The couch and the chador
Siamak Movahedi and Gohar Homayounpour1
252 Waban Ave, Waban, MA 02468, USA – siamak.movahedi@umb.edu 31 Roodsar Street, Tehran 15936, Iran – g.homayounpour@gmail.com
(Final version accepted 12 July 2012)

The authors present a clinical discussion of the psychic functions of the chador, a veil-like outer garment worn in public by some Iranian women. Drawing on Anzieu’s theoretical concept of the skin ego, the authors suggest that the chador does not just cover the body; it may also envelop the psyche and function as a second skin for the ego. The maternal function of a holding environment is symbolically displaced on any clothing that ‘hides,’ ‘covers,’ ‘veils,’ or ‘dresses’ the body. The skin’s containing functions are extended through sensory and metonymic mediations to clothes, thus providing an imaginary maternal sack for the person. The clinical vignettes presented here suggest that for some Iranian women the chador may work, on one hand, as a second skin ego and a shield against a perceived intrusive world. On the other hand, it may work as a punitive maternal superego, a ‘holding cell’ in a jail that paralyses the separation ⁄ individuation process. Operating in the service of the patient’s resistance and defense, the chador may also function as a psychic refuge and a place to hide on the couch.
Keywords: chador, fashion, second skin, maternal superego

This paper reports on our experience of working with Iranian women who begin treatment while covering themselves in a chador, the traditional Persian outer garment, and go through an unveiling and re-veiling process in line with the resistance ambiance of the analytic situation. We suggest that, although the chador as a social object is embedded in the sphere of culture and politics, in its psychic dimensions it carries multiple meanings and functions in women’s (as well as men’s) individual psychic economies. Depending on the clinical picture, it may be a considered as a residue of the maternal container, a part of the transitional space, a second skin ego, a psychic refuge in the service of resistance or defense, or as a coercive tool of a destructive super-ego. Even under the strictest Islamic code, there is no need for a woman to cover herself with anything in front of another woman, so there is no religious prescription that requires a female patient to remain behind her chador with a female analyst. A chador is part of a pre-Islamic dress code that many traditional, rural, or religiously devout women in contemporary Iran still wear. Its origins have been traced to the Achaemenian Persian Empire in 6th century BCE. The purpose of the chador was to keep women of high social status away from
1 An abbreviated version of this paper was presented at the 3rd International Congress of Fundamental Psychopathology at the Fluminense Federal University, Niterói, RJ ⁄ Brazil, 4–7 September 2008, and the Sigmund Freud Museum International Conference on the Force of Monotheism, Vienna, 29–31 October 2009.

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the gaze of commoners (El-Guindi, 1999; Zahedi, 2007). Interestingly, among the Tuareg in northwest Africa, men – not women – wear the veil; the higher the man’s status, the more he conceals his face. Usually, only a man’s eyes and the top of his nose are visible. The chador as an item of dress is the site for a multitude of social and psychological functions. It is a complex entity located within the public and private contexts at varying intra- and interpsychic axes. Nevertheless, the chador (or any form of veil) has captured only the orientalist’s gaze in the West, where any chador or veil-like outfit is seen as a sign of women’s oppression. Nothing seems as threatening to the illusion of women’s agency as wearing a chador. Sayyid (1997) has argued that femininity in Western views is authentic only when it is unveiled. This places the veiled subjects as ‘‘something lesser, not quite real, not quite the right thing’’ (Treacher, 2003, p. 69). The tradition of covering women’s hair in sacred rituals and places is shared by Judaism, Christianity, and Islam (Zahedi, 2007). It is the ideological imposition on women to cover their hair in public that is under attack by feminists and in many contemporary human right circles.2 The obsession with chador [Tchador] in France – and, more recently, in England – may speak to a much deeper, subconscious, guilt-ridden conflict over the country’s colonial past. It is interesting to note that, throughout the colonial period, the image of a veiled woman was highly exotic and presented as an erotic fantasy to European men. Veiling was claimed to create ‘‘a sense of mystery, danger and allure and accentuated the beauty of Arab women’s eyes.’’ ‘‘Alors on sent,’’ notes GØrard de Nerval (1984), ‘‘le besoin d’interroger les yeux de l’Égyptienne voilØe, et c’est là le plus dangereux … C’est derri›re ce rempart [the veil] que des yeux ardents vous attendent, armØs de toutes les sØductions’’ (Macmaster and Lewis, 1998, p. 123) [‘‘The need to question the eyes of the veiled Egyptian woman, this is what is most dangerous ... It is behind this wall that ardent eyes are expecting you, armed with all their seductive powers …’’ (our translation).] Decolonization and the Algerian War (1954–62) marked a major shift in the dominant, eroticized representation of the veiled subject. The shift stemmed from the role of Algerian women in their bloody anti-colonialism struggles with France, as described in Franz Fanon’s (1989) Studies in a Dying Colonialism. The erotic fantasy ⁄ image of unveiling the veiled, exotic ‘other’ female was transformed into a hyper-veiled object of fear, a signifier of political danger and terrorism (Macmaster and Lewis, 1998). This may explain at least some of the opposition in France to allowing the introduction of chador-like designs in Parisian fashion shows. Majida Khattari, an avant-garde Parisian ⁄ Moroccan artist, frequently introduces veil-like designs. In an October 2004 show, men and women were to wear chadors with the inscription ‘Tchador J’Adore’ and other logos imi2

Shirin Neshat is an internationally known New York-based Iranian photographer who has mastered the artistic presentation of Iranian women in chador. As expected, she has generated a great deal of controversy (Rounthwaite, 2008; Vitali, 2004). Some writers look at her work as a form of postcolonial allegory, and as attempts at the interrogation of gender identity in Islam (Dadi, 2002). Others view her work as a neocolonialist project of presenting the veiled woman as a non-individuated exotic other for Western viewers (Moore, 2002; Shaw, 2001). Copyright ª 2012 Institute of Psychoanalysis

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tating Dior and Louis Vuitton. However, the communist mayor of Montreuil, France, stopped the scheduled show. The argument behind the city ordinance was that ‘‘the integration of the veil in a fashion discourse presents the danger of banalizing’’ the gender-segregated object of veiling (Balasescu, 2005, p. 20). The controversial law forbidding veil-like clothing that hides the face in public came into effect in France on 11 April 2011. From the first, many Muslim women have challenged the law in public and in the courts. Balasescu (2005) has argued that the veil dispute in France is primarily about the disruption of the free flow of the gaze, which implicitly questions the French cultural obsession with visibility and transparency. The veil has become a major French preoccupation; its removal as an obsessive object, ideologically ‘‘would mark the success of the ‘civilizing process,’ the fetish of the colonial enterprise, and, later on, the apple of discord in metropolitan France’’ (Balasescu, 2005, p. 20). The chador is seen as the insertion of a private space in the public arena. We believe it is, rather, the confrontation of two different patriarchal orders, in which the transparency of one unwittingly hides the false opacity of the other. One way of portraying a patriarchal system as less patriarchal is to denounce another that is transparently more so, while at the same time denying the pseudo-opaque patriarchy that breeds and tolerates attitudes and practices exemplified by the scandalous sexual escapades of men such as Dominique Strauss-Kahn in France or Silvio Berlusconi in Italy. The chador is both a social symbol and a psychic object, albeit there is no sharp distinction between, on the one hand, the sociopolitical and religious dimensions of the chador and, on the other, its psychic dimension. Social objects become personalized, and their psychic functions move beyond their status as social symbols. In what follows, we will eschew an analysis of the chador at a cultural level, and instead primarily address the chador as a psychic object that comes to life in relation to others within a particular cultural context. In other words, we are interested in the private meanings and functions that this item of clothing comes to hold for a particular psyche.3 Our focus will be on the subject’s relationship to a particular object of fantasy that cannot only contain, cover, or dress the body as a second ‘skin–ego’ (Anzieu, 1989; Anzieu, Houzel et al., 1990; Bick, 1968; Houzel, 1990), but can also veil the mind, control the woman’s sexuality, or coerce the ego into concealing a body which is perceived as erotic, dangerous, and sinful. The chador is a carrier of the symbolic representations of both the maternal and paternal functions that at times may come into conflict with one
3 Caputi (1993) finds the psychoanalytic discourse as a distinguishing feature of contemporary feminist scholarship that displays much indebtedness to psychoanalysis for shifting the site of political scrutiny from the public arena to the human psyche and, consequently, to restructuring the feminist agenda for change. She argues that: ‘‘Because psychoanalysis highlights the distinction between psychic and institutional forms of power, it radically alters the direction in which feminist scholarship proceeds. The empirical concerns over women’s rights and social standing – typical of liberal and radical feminism – now yield to more internalized analyses: hence the focus is less on the political, social, and economic concerns of women than on the human psyche’s (re)production of gender archetypes’’ (p. 309).

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another. The chador may elicit the fantasy of shared skin with the mother. It may also come to stand as a ‘second skin’ for the ego, as a boundary, or, concretely, as a skin. The narcissistic fantasy of securing a thick skin–ego can be transferred through the metonymic mediation to clothing such as the chador. The chador may also entail some remnants of a transitional object that conjures up the sensation of the mother’s presence, enabling the daughter to tolerate the mother’s absence or find a symbolic form that represents that absence (Winnicott, 1951). When things go awry, the chador may become a fetish that, in its defensive function as a concrete substitute of the mother – in a part-object relationship – may interfere with the development of the ego and superego and give the child only a faÅade of normality (Greenacre, 1969; Sperling, 1963). In the paternal register, the site for the law of the father, the chador may carry the representation of the superego. The nurturing and policing functions that originate at different developmental or structural levels and oscillate between different psychic zones may frequently operate at cross purposes. This is particularly true in a cultural context in which the remnant of the maternal container, the chador, may be used to repress desire and inhibit open emotional expression. Here, the imaginary object of a soothing container may come to entangle the subject in a symbolic prison and operate, as Freud (1930, p. 123) stated, ‘‘like a garrison in a conquered city.’’

Some clinical vignettes Ms X
Ms X came to analysis with concerns about her marriage, but mostly wishing to free herself from certain thoughts and feelings that she found inappropriate and shameful. She was in her mid–30s at the time, and suffered from many anxieties about becoming impulse-ridden and sexually out of control. In the course of a twice-weekly analysis, some of her anxieties subsided and she overcame some of her severe inhibitions of emotional expression. The analysis seemed to be going well when she came to her session one day covered in an all-black chador. She said hello in a very stiff voice, carefully situated herself on the couch, and, without looking at the analyst, started talking. Her face was barely visible from where the analyst was sitting. The week before, Ms X had come to her analysis wearing a red scarf that had been loosened (both literally and symbolically) during the session. The openness and authenticity of her discourse during that session had suggested that we were close to touching on some of her conflicts. But now, garbed in her chador, she began by saying that: ‘‘In the name of God I would like to start my session today.’’ She then continued:
I was talking to a friend of mine this week about my analysis with you and how well it was going and then recommended psychoanalysis to her. She told me that she had two very close women friends who were chadory [the type of person who wears a chador], very religious with very fine marriages that had started psychoanalysis, and their lives had gone all to hell. They took off their chadors, filed for

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The couch and the chador divorce from their husbands, and the rumor goes that one of them has started an affair with a married man. I am convinced that you yourself were chadory at one point in your life and then psychoanalysis blew your chador away [chadoretoono be baad daad].

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Holding on very tightly to her chador, she said: ‘‘I care about you and our work together but I will always choose God, my husband, and my religious beliefs over you. So whatever you do, stay away from myself.’’ Here she makes a slip; she wanted to say: ‘‘Stay away from my God [Khodaam],’’ but instead she said: ‘‘Stay away from myself [Khodam].’’ The words in Farsi, as you can see, are very similar. It seems that she felt the analyst had become too close to her, entering into an intimate psychic space that she experienced as dangerous. The analyst suggested that Ms X was afraid of what might be unveiled about her as a result of their recent work together, and of possible disastrous consequences of such revelations. Ms X was silent for a few minutes, and then responded to that interpretation with a dream:
I dreamt that I was having sex with my husband’s 12 year-old nephew. He had an extremely large penis. In the dream I was experiencing so much sexual pleasure, but then I woke up and the anxiety of the dream has not left me. Why on earth with a 12 year-old boy? The only other thing that has stayed with me is that I had very long nails and I was wearing red nail polish. I have never worn nail polish since I cannot pray with nail polish on, yet in the dream I had his large penis in my hand with long red nails. You see these thoughts and feelings are all new to me; how could I not be afraid? You have to help me stop these fantasies.

Comments
For Ms X, the chador seemed to function as a psychic refuge and a place to hide on the couch. Overwhelmed by the anxiety of self-awareness, she retreated and took cover under the chador, hoping to run away from the analyzing instrument, the analyst. Ms X’s anxiety was related to the exposure of the hidden self that could be unveiled in analysis, leaking out both her sexual and aggressive impulses. The analyst began to wonder why the patient was holding on so tightly to her chador at that phase of the treatment. Why was she placing analysis and the analyst in opposition to God (the supreme superego)? She must have been terrified of her own sexuality and of finding out what kind of a woman she might have been beneath her chador – psychically naked, with little control over her sexual desires? She must have been shocked by her exciting fantasy (the dream) of actively and passionately controlling a large penis. Having a 12 year-old boy as a sexual partner makes the encounter less frightening and allows the woman to take the lead.4 This is particularly significant in a culture where a ‘good’ woman is not supposed to initiate or enjoy sex. She needs her God to stay separate from her passionate desire; if she were to pray, she would have to forego the sense of agency over her sexuality, and the fantasy of long, polished nails that
4

Stoller (1979) writes about the prevalence of such fantasies among many women. Int J Psychoanal (2012) 93

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enable her to hold and enjoy a large penis. Why did she want the analyst to stay away from her and what did her dream and her slip – replacing ‘‘my God’’ with ‘‘myself’’ – communicate about any transference to the analyst? Was she defending against her own homoerotic feelings in the transference? Frightened by the dangerous loss of boundaries in the previous session, Ms X withdrew into the protection of the chador to keep her emotional distance from the analyst – and all in the service of resistance to self-discovery.

Ms Y
One recurring fear reported by women who struggle with throwing away the chador is that of becoming a prostitute. This fear (and, at times, wish) stems largely from internalization of the voice of the mother. But there seems also to be an illusion that the chador – a type of transitional object – somehow magically protects one from falling into a moral abyss, no matter what fantasies one may entertain or what actions one may take. Here, the chador seems to give the woman the illusion of a sanctuary or an envelope that keeps the contradictory parts of the self together. In this sense, the chador also begins to mimic the illusive quality of a transitional object, in that it is interposed between the self and the environment. She operates under the illusion that she will be immune to all dangers as long as she operates within that potential space (Winnicott, 1967). This is a fantasy that emerged in the treatment of Ms Y, a 30 year-old woman who had been in treatment with one of the authors in Tehran for a number of years. Ms Y was a charming, bright, well-dressed and articulate young woman who came from a well-to-do and highly cultured family and had a postgraduate degree and an important job. She was the only one in her family who wore a chador. Her presenting symptom was conflict over having an affair with a married man. The sessions began as a twice-weekly, face-to-face analytic psychotherapy at the university clinic affiliated with a medical school in Tehran. Ms Y came to the session covered in many layers of clothing, which created a space for herself with all the visual privacy of an analytic room. It would take her three to four minutes to situate herself in relation to the woman analyst, making her invisibility quite visible. One day she came to the session with a great deal of enthusiasm, saying that she was going to expose herself to the analyst. She began the session by reporting that all her life she had been the subject of a one-eyed gaze. At first, she felt it was the gaze of the mother; she later felt that the gaze had been replaced by that of the father. She now felt that she was subject to the superior gaze of God. What would happen to her should the eye stop watching her? She then reported seeing an Indian movie about a group of criminals being taken by the master Buddha to a retreat in order to be reformed. Near the end of the movie all the criminals become wonderful, saint-like men, but they fear that they might lose whatever they have gained as soon as their master dies, because he would not be there to watch them. But when he does die, to their surprise, they remain saint-like; looking up to the sky, they see the eyes of their master still watching them.

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In response to the analyst’s comment that no critical eyes but her own were watching her, Ms Y threw away the chador and, for the first time, talked about her compulsive urge to masturbate with hardcore pornography. It turned out that her initial presenting conflict was not, in fact, over having an affair with a married man, but instead about maintaining control over her desire for sadomasochistic sexual play. This posed a major moral conflict. She reported that her favorite movie was The Silence of the Lambs, which she had seen more than 15 times. The movie gave her much sexual excitement. Toward the end of the session, she showed her bag – a large, expensive, designer leather bag with a lot of hardware – to the analyst. She said: ‘‘I don’t want you to think that I am a ‘chadory’ [the type of person who wears a chador]. I have the most expensive shoes and bags.’’ The analyst felt that in Los Angeles or New York, this young woman could have easily become a permanent fixture at ‘S & M’ bars. But, in Tehran, her fear was that, if she let go of the chador, she would end up becoming a prostitute. A few weeks later there was a long holiday, and the office at the clinic was closed. The analyst agreed to a phone session with Ms Y, curious to see how talking on the phone in the complete privacy of her own room at home would affect her free association. She called at the scheduled time and said that she had thought of talking about many highly personal things, but could not find herself free to talk about them, even on the phone. The analyst commented that, like the story in the Indian movie, the eyes of the master must have still been watching her. Ms Y then reported that, when she was 5 years old, her mother had left her home alone while she went to the grocery store. She forbade her to open the door for anyone and said that she would be watching her from a distance. After a few minutes her uncle had come knocking at the door. She knew her mother would have enthusiastically opened the door for her brother. Nevertheless, Ms Y could not open the door because her mother’s eyes were watching. As the uncle continued to knock at the door, she had panicked, felt paralyzed, and wet her pants. She said those eyes had continued to follow her like the mythological Titanides. After two years of analytic psychotherapy, Ms Y asked to get into a thrice-weekly analysis and take the couch. Although the analyst did not wear a chador or even a scarf in the analytic room, Ms Y oscillated between veiling and unveiling during the session. After eight months on the couch, Ms Y’s cover gradually began to diminish. Her exhibitionistic ritual of concealment shifted into one of self-exposure. Upon entering the room, she would take off her chador, then her scarf, and then situate her hair in a seductive manner on the couch pillow and talk about how visible she had become to others. ‘‘They notice me, they want to talk to me; I know they are looking at me in the street.’’ Being seen and being watched was a major preoccupation with Ms Y. Her rituals of making herself invisible under the chador were in the service of exhibitionism. She made her invisibility at the clinic quite visible to everyone. Patients who had run into Ms Y in the office before or after her session were obsessed with her. They complained of the patient’s exhibitionism in
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hiding. The following excerpts from another session with Ms Y may speak to a chronic need to watch and be watched, to see and be seen, and also to an obsession with the literal skin.
Do you remember when I told you how much I loved watching The Silence of the Lambs? . . . I am reminded of that movie, for I am like the FBI agent. She was disgusted, horrified, scared, and yet she liked Hannibal. She liked his character; she could not stay away from him. There was something she liked about him. She found the experience of disgust and horror attractive. He was like a magnet. She would become powerless when it came to him and she could not stay away. You know, the movie in my opinion is the modern society’s revolt against the feminist movement. It is about destroying women and their bodies. No matter what I do I cannot escape the horror and excitement of the scene in the movie [in which] the serial killer, due to having been hypnotized by Hannibal and now having become a slave to his master, would plan to kill and rape women – but, more importantly, skin them and sew clothes out of their skin. He would stuff socks in their now empty, shriveled breasts to make them look like real breasts. It is neither the rape nor the killing that have made these scenes become part of my nightmares, the scenes that bring me excitement mixed with pain, very similar to what I often experience on the couch. … Do you think the serial killer wanted to be a woman, or hated women? But why skinning them and covering his body by their skin? And tell me why those scenes do not leave me?

Comments
There are different ways of looking at Ms Y’s material. Although her wishes and fears belong to some other time and place, they have come to the session via transference. Her ritual of veiling and unveiling in the session has a strong defensive function against sexual and aggressive impulses. The chador seems to work in her fantasy as a protective shell or second skin that could block the unwanted internal and external intrusions. She was not wearing the chador out of family or religious obligations; neither her mother nor anyone else in the family wore the chador. The ‘one-eyed gaze’ that Ms Y initially felt was the gaze of the mother, then the gaze of the father, and finally the gaze of the superior God, is an anthropomorphic exemplification of the functioning of the superego, a tyrannical internal object that traps the mind with a corresponding selfexperience of being constantly observed and judged by an intrapsychic agency. She was afraid to open her soul up to the analyst even on the phone, out of a fear that her mother’s eyes were watching. In this case, one may also take the position that the severity or harshness of Ms Y’s superego reflected the projection of her own hostility and murderous anger toward the mother (and toward the analyst through transference), and of her misperception of the danger of the mother’s retaliation. It is important to add that Ms Y’s mother was a seamstress and had sewn all Ms Y’s clothing as she grew up. It is equally important to note that many of Ms Y’s sessions would begin as a confessional, in which she declared, ‘‘I have been a bad girl and you can now de-skin me [poostamo bekaneen].’’ In

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Persian, de-skinning [poost kandan] is an expression for inflicting severe punishment for major transgressions. Removing her chador and her scarf a bit at a time belongs to the encounter between lovers. She wanted to ‘expose’ herself to the analyst – to show the analyst her large, expensive designer leather bag with a lot of hardware so that the analyst would not think of her as a chadory. Her obsession with the gaze – eyes – of the other also has an exhibitionistic character. In the session, as Ms Y proceeded to ‘expose’ herself to the analyst, she was stopped by the [m]other’s gaze, which was then quickly neutralized by the analyst’s interpretation opening the floodgate of sexual and violent fantasies about masturbation with hardcore pornography and violent scenes from The Silence of the Lambs. In reference to Ms Y’s erotic interest in this movie, we see an obsession with the sexually aggressive or sadistic fantasies of de-skinning that accompany the image of a man literally wearing a woman’s skin. She reported a terrifying violent fantasy that was painfully pleasurable. The erotic fantasy of the destruction of the woman’s body, especially an attack on the breast, seems to be tied to getting inside the mother ⁄ the analyst in response to a desperate need for containment. This need is urgent because it may have been denied or frustrated by a mother who was distant and felt to be impenetrable – a charge that Ms Y often leveled against the analyst. The serial killer in the fantasy was enraged: ‘‘You denied me entry and containment, but by God I’ll get inside you all right!’’5 However, we can see that Ms Y did not relate to the movie in terms of identification with the phallic female FBI agent, Clarice Starling. Ms Y’s sadomasochistic excitement stemmed from her identification with the terrifying and humiliating experience of Clarice and the kidnapped Catherine, who was the subject of the serial killer’s gaze in the dark. She could not escape the horror and excitement she found in the film’s depiction of the murders and rapes of the women – and, even more importantly, in the killer’s ritual of skinning his victims and sewing clothes made of their skin. Ms Y’s excitement reportedly was mixed with pain similar to her experience on the couch.6 The analytic space is a place for the patient to be seen and for the analyst to remain invisible. Similar to Clarice Starling, the patient is seen but does not see. Being seen may, at times, come to feel like being touched, or even like being de-skinned. On the couch, the internal eyes may work as a soothing glance of recognition that holds the fragmented self together, or may penetrate as an impinging, intrusive, and devouring object subject to the
5 In explaining the dynamics of sexual perversion, McDougall (1972) makes a distinction between neurotic and psychotic personality organization based on the level of symbolic ability. Following Segal (1956), she remarks that: ‘‘The transvestite who wants to merge into his mother’s identity will play at being in her skin by dressing up in female clothes; he will then play out the fantasy of attracting to himself the phallic father, thus accomplishing, symbolically, a double desire. In contrast to this, the man (whose case made newspaper headlines) who killed his girlfriend in order to wear her skin for erotic purposes was psychotic, not perverse’’ (p. 383). 6 The arousal associated with horror, fear, disgust, and danger may become attractive when it is experienced within the protective frame of an analytic situation or dramatic fiction films. Similar emotions aroused by documentary films are found to be disturbing, because they are loaded with reality cues that prevent them from functioning as events in transitional space (Apter, 1992; Goldstein, 1998).

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patient’s oscillating paranoid–schizoid and depressive positions. On the couch, when covered by the chador, she may feel as if she is not being seen, or being seen as not-being-seen. For Freud (1915), masochism – for example, being looked at, tortured, and de-skinned – is the passive complement of sadism: of looking, torturing, and skinning. Freud (1900) made references to the phallic significance of the eye. But it was Fenichel (1937) who gave an all-important role to looking as a weapon of oral sadism. He argued that the act of looking had the unconscious significance of devouring, destroying, and penetrating. Ms Y’s eroticization of what she called a disgusting, horrifying and scary scene in the movie, particularly the frightening last scene portraying – in which Clarice Starling, the helpless and terrified object of the serial killer’s gaze in a pitch-black basement – may have been related to an early experience in Ms Y’s life. The timing of her recollection of feeling panicked, paralyzed with fear and overly stimulated (urinating in her pants) as a 5 yearold, when her uncle was trying to get in the house in the mother’s absence, is quite interesting. The event recalled may in fact be a screen memory, a memory that screens an earlier repressed event. The uncle could have stood for the father, for whom no oedipal feeling was allowed, and the mother’s eyes could have been watching her against the intrusion of any incestuous desires.

Ms Z
A third patient, Ms Z, who was referred after hospitalization for a suicide attempt, shows the operation of an ego-destructive maternal superego. One of us followed this case in phone supervision. Before entering psychotherapy, Ms Z had displayed conversion reaction symptoms, losing her voice and feeling paralyzed to the point of being unable to talk and walk. Her previous therapist had had prescribed a variety of antidepressant and antianxiety drugs. In the hospital, she was taken off the medications and referred for twice-a-weekly psychoanalytic psychotherapy to a woman psychiatrist in analytic training in Tehran. In early interviews with the resident, Ms Z’s main preoccupation was with her mother and her anger over her mother’s insistence that Ms Z wear the chador. Ms Z came from a religious family. She was the only one in the family who was not religious and did not want to wear the chador, and this seemed to be a major point of contention between her and her mother. The father and husband had no objection to her throwing away the chador. She talked of traumatic memories related to the birth of her younger brother. She had been crying incessantly, feeling that she had lost her mother’s attention. She had felt defective in relation to the newborn brother, but didn’t know why, and had entertained murderous fantasies toward him. Although Ms Z displayed a strong attachment to her mother, she felt that her mother rejected her, claiming that she was a disgrace to the family. The mother would not go to Ms Z’s house, and, even when she visited her, she did not eat anything, saying that the patient was an infidel and her food was unclean.

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Ms Z’s relationship with her mother, as played out in the transference and countertransference matrix of the analytic situation, was sadomasochistic in nature. Although Ms Z did not wear the chador in public, she came to her sessions covered up, without her hair showing. Apparently, she felt that she had to wear the chador only for the mother, and transferentially for the female analyst. This also provided her with an external reminder of feeling imprisoned, abused, victimized, and neglected by both the mother and the analyst. The woman psychiatrist did not wear chador in public, but since her office was located at a state university psychiatric facility, by law she had to wear a scarf that covered her hair. This, we assume implicated her transferentially in the patient’s enactments of her punitive superego. She constantly talked about fighting with the mother over her imposition of a dress code, and fought with the analyst over not protecting her from repressive laws. When angry with the mother over wearing the chador, Ms Z would cut herself and drip her blood on various pages of the Quran. She would then go to the mother, throwing the bloodstained holy book at her, and say: ‘‘This is what you are doing to me.’’

Comments
The pattern of self-destructive attacks, self-cutting, and suicidal behavior seems to be a protest directed at the mother for the mental anguish that Ms Z perceived as having been inflicted on her. She goes through unsuccessful symbolic rituals in an attempt to cut herself out of the imaginary shared skin with the mother and eject the persecuting object within. We wonder whether Ms Z is also trying to cut herself off from the therapist – who, in the transference, stands for the mother who represents and enforces a repressive symbolic order. When considering the chador as a second skin ego, we see that it fails to have any containing function. On the contrary, it evokes anxiety and psychic pain. When ‘‘the psychical topography consists of a kernel without a shell, the individual seeks a substitute shell in physical pain or psychical anxiety; [she] wraps [herself] in suffering’’ (Anzieu, 1989, p. 102). Ms Z has recruited her mother to serve as an external superego to activate and augment the internal maternal superego. For her, the chador certainly does not seem to have a ‘holding’ function, à la Winnicott; it is more like a holding cell in a jail. As a defensive strategy to control the fear of pain inflicted by the internal punisher, she cuts herself in identification with the aggressor. Insofar as she is in charge of her own punishment, the cutting also gives her a feeling of agency and control. In a sadomasochistic power play, she tries to disarm the mother by saying: ‘‘You can do no harm to me. I am already inflicting on myself much worse than what you can do, and I am enjoying it, too; that should make you incapable of controlling me.’’ While some analysts see self-cutting as an unconscious strategy of demarcating a self-boundary (Doctors, 1981; Muller, 1996), others see cutting as a response to the threatening awareness of separateness from the maternal object or the therapist (Woods, 1988). Ms Z’s self-destructive behavior comes much closer to Fonagy and Target’s (1995) characterization of self-cutting as a strategy of escaping from the fantasy of a shared existence with a mother
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who is experienced as living within the patient’s skin. The aim of self-cutting is to attack the mother under the skin while fleeing from the fantasy of her total control. The emphasis on fantasy here is critical because it is Ms Z who is inflicting the mental and physical anguish upon herself. The mother resides within her –not so much as all-controlling, malevolent, and powerful, but simply as a reflection of Ms Z’s own repressive psychic structure. To check on our observations about the psychic meaning of the chador for some of our Iranian female analysands, we compared notes with analysts and psychotherapists in private practice in Tehran. They shared a number of clinical observations with us, all in line with our analytic thinking. The most interesting observation was the problematic nature of the relationship between the daughter and mother in patients for whom the chador had come to function either as a psychic envelope or as a holding cell in a jail. In general, according to one clinical psychologist, many girls who wear a chador have inherited the custom from their mothers. It is very unlikely that a girl will wear a chador if her mother does not. In some curious way, the mother seems to be more concerned than the father about protecting the girl from the ‘male’s gaze.’ When a girl who had been wearing chador is dechadorized, she usually reports a profound sense of betrayal of the mother. To the father she symbolically says: ‘‘Although I love you I cannot have you as a man, so I have to choose another man because of the law of incest.’’ But the primary betrayal is to the mother, by leaving the maternal space. The mother now feels that: ‘‘After all [I] have done for her, she has left me for him – the father; I am now only a maid to two lovers’’ [statement of an analysand on the couch]. This observation about the daughter’s conflict and sense of betrayal of the mother in her attempt to throw away the chador is in keeping with the findings of Kulish and Holtzman (2003) and Holtzman and Kulish (1996) about the omnipresence of the mother in the minds of women and girls when it comes to any attempt to leave the maternal bounds. Their observations suggest that the daughter’s rapprochement with adult sexuality almost always begins with thoughts specifically about the mother as an oedipal rival in terms of fears of retaliation, competition, and victorious fantasies. Such fantasies arouse immense anxiety and feelings of guilt in a girl, which make separation and autonomy painful and, often, extremely difficult. A woman analyst (personal communication) who is in private practice in Tehran writes:
I have been working with a woman analysand who from the beginning of her analysis has been wearing her black chador very tightly over another black scarf. I vividly remember the day she reluctantly took the couch after a month of our work together. She held on with more force and conviction to her chador while she carefully situated herself on my couch. All I could see was a black chador on the couch. As the analysis continued and we developed a common language and a safe analytic space for mutual understanding, she started holding less and less to her chador; her chador began falling off at times to her shoulders and at times to her waist. One day she walked in with a bright red scarf under her chador and said with a very enthusiastic smile and much excitement: ‘‘Doesn’t red bring out my black
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eyes?’’ and indeed it did. … Gradually I noticed that any time she talked about sex, she went in an impulsive move for her chador, holding on to it very tightly while covering herself. Once I gave her an interpretation to that effect, which led her to the following association: ‘‘Do you know that when I was 15 years old I decided to rebel against my mother’s wishes and put aside my chador against the norm of my village, not so much against the wishes of my father? He was much more open-minded. I felt free; I felt that I could move easier; I felt pretty; and I felt like a girl for the first time in my life. After a few weeks of experiencing freedom, one day my mother began to humiliate me in front of my father, claiming that she had been watching how men in the street were staring at my big breasts. She accused me of enjoying turning the men on by not wearing a chador. She said I was not a lady and a disastrous future was awaiting these disgusting desires of mine. [She starts to cry hysterically in the session.] Ever since that day I am hiding myself and my breasts in the darkest and thickest chador in town.’’ I said: ‘‘Are you hiding behind the chador on the couch fearing that like your mother I would make you feel ashamed of your sexual body and of your sexuality?’’ She fell silent for a minute then replied: ‘‘You would never do that; with you it is the opposite, that is why I am wearing this red scarf for you today; it is as if here I can finally go back to being the girl I was before my mother harassed me to give up my sexuality; I can only feel sexual here – not out there. I wish I could take off my chador in here and you take off your scarf so I can see our hair and you can see my long very pretty hair.’’ She then began to cry profusely, again taking a complete cover – even her face – under her chador for the rest of the session. I can go on and on about the unfolding of our story together in one session after another. But what has caught my attention is that when she feels safe, when we are in tune with one another in the session, she lets go of her chador; any unsafe topic, or any feeling of danger in the analytic situation automatically shoves her straight back to the safety of her hiding place under chador. I have been pondering these questions in every session: What is she hiding under her chador? What is going on in the sessions as I observe the changes in her use of chador? What kind of psychic function does the chador perform? Does it have a defensive function? Is the chador a transitional object? What is she trying to communicate to me ⁄ the other with her chador? What does the chador contribute to her sense of self ? What would it mean to take the chador off both in private and public contexts? And, finally, what does it mean to be a woman who wears a chador in contemporary Iran, and what does it mean to be a woman who does not wear a chador in contemporary Iran?

Comments
This therapist’s patient speaks of her painful experimentation with autonomy in her teens. She speaks of a mother who sadistically imposed a prohibition on her daughter’s sexuality and on her desire for the father by
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actively persuading her to hide her body under the chador and be invisible. By making competitive and exhibitionistic desires forbidden, sinful, and unsafe, the mother retaliated against her daughter’s attempt to abandon her in the oedipal constellation. The fear of punishment and loss of the mother’s love has reportedly driven this woman under the chador. This narrative evokes a sense of mourning, nostalgia, and longing for a desired time in the past, a wish ‘‘go back to being the girl I was before my mother harassed me to give up my sexuality.’’ The desired state that has been lost contained the erotic love for the mother along with the erotic tie to the father, or what Dahl (1989) characterized as ‘‘bisexual hovering’’ (p. 277). That wish is manifested in the transference by the patient’s desire to be accepted by the female analyst as a feminine sexual being. She is wearing the red scarf for the analyst, and it is only in the transference–countertransference maternal space that she feels sexual: ‘‘She wishes she could take off her chador and the analyst could take off [her] scarf so she could see the analyst’s hair and the analyst could see her long very pretty hair.’’ The therapist then raises some important questions that we have attempted to address in this paper. Her patient, like our own patients, tends to locate her problem in the relationship with the mother. This is a seductive narrative with which we have also struggled. It is easy to concentrate on the political repression and on mother–daughter contentious oedipal striving. The culture provides a menu for the choice, form and presentation of symptoms. And there is a relationship between the sociocultural surround and psychopathology; one’s desire is the desire of the other. However, most of these women have much more agency than they are willing to admit. For some, the chador seems to function as a psychic veil that hides the mental representations and conflicts related to their sexuality and gender.

Concluding remarks
At the social level we may look at the chador as part of the presentation of the self to the other, as part of the role performance that would define what it means to be a particular type of woman, a symbol for the negotiation of a particular identity, and as part of the ritualized politics of inclusion and exclusion. At the psychic level, the chador may constitute a cathected object of holding, covering, concealment and invisibility. In the preceding we have presented some analytic vignettes, along with our own clinical and theoretical commentaries. We suggested viewing the chador as a complex and rich object of fantasy that enjoys multiple functions. Albeit a loaded social symbol, we primarily focused on the chador as a psychic object that comes to life in relation to others within a particular cultural context. Our interest in this topic began with the observation that while in treatment with women analysts, some of our Iranian patients insisted on covering themselves in the chador and went through an unveiling and re-veiling process in line with the transference–countertransference ambiance of the analytic situation. Although the dress code currently enforced in Iran requires the woman to cover her hair by some sort of scarf in public, there is no normative need for a woman to cover herself with anything in front of another woman, parInt J Psychoanal (2012) 93 Copyright ª 2012 Institute of Psychoanalysis

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ticularly in front of a woman analyst in the privacy of the therapeutic setting. In the clinical examples that were presented, we explored the private meaning of the chador for a particular psyche and made sense of the transformation of this social symbol (a site of the law of the father) into an iconic sign (a maternal site of possible hysterical symptoms). We wondered how the chador as a cultural fur could turn into a ‘second skin,’ that is, a displaced representation of the wished-for ‘maternal sack’ for those vulnerable to internal fragmentation. Our clinical observations suggested that for some women the chador would serve a defensive function, by providing them with an imaginary sanctuary for psychic retreat. For some, it would also function as ‘a second skin ego’ or as a ‘psychic envelope.’ The trope of the second skin or psychic envelope is meant to capture the fantasy of being contained or held together. Metaphorically, it stands for the imaginary skin the child initially shares with the mother, and, in fantasy, it envelops the chaotic and fragmented parts of the self. The skin’s containing functions are extended to other sensory envelopes that mediate between the body and the outside world. The second skin ego can be displayed through the metonymic mediation of clothing or adornments. In fact, in the new discipline of Fashion Theory, the focus is on dress as the embodiment of the body, ego, self, and identify. Any form of selffashioning, including plastic surgery and body alteration (such as tattooing or piercing), may also function as an instance of a second skin and as a form of interior design (Goldberg, 2004; Pacteau, 1994; Roth, 2006).7 Thus, the chador, a symbol of the patriarchal order, may evoke a sensory longing for the maternal body, the undifferentiated and archaic sensual experience with the mother. Lemma (2010), in her psychoanalytic study of body modification, has argued that the body always bears the trace of the mother. In Lemma’s view, we all try to modify our body for the gaze of the mother; selecting what to wear and putting on makeup are all forms of body modification. Ms Y, for instance, was so afraid to open her soul to the analyst that even on the telephone she felt that ‘‘her mother’s eyes were watching.’’ At times, the imaginary skin shared with the persecuting maternal figure becomes so treacherous that one tries to sever the link and eject the bad object out of one’s own inner world through self-cutting and other selfdestructive behavior. Ms Z fitted that psychic picture quite well. Of course, one could reject the opposition of the maternal and paternal orders and justifiably argue that the mother’s gaze is nothing but the gaze of the father (Homayounpour and Movahedi, 2012). The chador’s psychic function may not only be one of holding; it may also work in covering and concealing the inner self, especially in cases of sexual fantasies and conflicts. In fact, our observations suggest that, for some women, the chador tends to work as an auxiliary external maternal superego. A retreat under the chador as the best hiding place available on the couch may be a manifestation of shame and anxiety prompted by inhibiting
7 Lothstein (1997), in her study of pantyhose fetishism among gender-dysphonic men, refers to pantyhose as a functional ‘magic skin’ or ‘second skin’ in repairing a defective ego and acting as a transitional object to allay annihilation and separation anxiety.

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fantasies of danger when the images of childhood authorities are externalized. Since in the rigid patriarchal cultures, the superego contains parental commands such as to hide or make invisible one’s desires as a woman, a retreat to the sanctuary of the chador seems to be a defensive strategy in response to that demand. To the extent that our patients could substitute the tolerant analyst for the punitive internal objects, they felt freer to use the security of the analytic relationship to help themselves give up the repressive sense of how to be a woman. In terms of the contemporary vernacular, the chador provides a politically correct cover for the presentation of the unacceptable parts of the self. This was clearly evident in the case of Ms X, who was afraid that her hidden self could be unveiled in analysis, leaking out both her sexual and aggressive impulses. Frightened by the dangerous loss of boundaries in the session, and defending against her homoerotic feelings in the transference, she withdrew into the protection of the chador to keep her emotional distance from the analyst – all in the service of resistance. As a condition of our narcissism, hiding is part of our inalienable psychic right to an illusory safeguard against the threat of being exposed (Winnicott, 1965). The need to hide seems to be a result of our universal malady: a defense against narcissistic injuries in response to external impingements. Here, in Winnicott’s (1958) language, the chador evolves into an extension of ‘‘the false self,’’ that is, ‘‘an extension of the shell’’ that is desperately needed to keep the true self hidden (pp. 211–12). The desire to hide was noted as early as the 5th century by St Augustine. To him, confession – the unburdening of shame – always faces resistance in the form of the human mind’s need to hide (Eldridge, 2001). St Augustine wrote about the wish to hide from others and God in The City of God: ‘‘In its blind inertia, in its abject shame, [the human mind] loves to lie concealed, yet it wishes that nothing should be concealed from it’’ (cited in Eldridge, 2001, p. 220). Augustine’s remark speaks to our patients’ fantasies about hiding from the eyes of the superego – that is, the analyst, the mother, the God – and becoming invisible. Of course, there is a difference between socially constructed conditions, which render members of certain groups invisible, and the individual’s own inner experience of invisibility. The private experiential pursuit of invisibility is coordinated through socially (symbolically) negotiated ways of looking: the gaze. The eyes of the (m)other, which reflect back to the child its image and the eyes of the child, which ‘see’ that image in the mirror of her face – similar to the cinematic eyes of the camera – have already been structured to see the self and the world and the self in the world in a particular way. The sexual difference between men and women, along with its condition of visibility and invisibility, is discovered, conceived, and constructed through the assimilation and introjection of the visual order – the gaze – on both perceptual and discursive levels (Berger, 1998; Irigaray, 1985). Here the distinction between the body and the chador as an item of fashion or dress is trivial. Women’s fashion serves the function of representations of the female body and provides a significant text for how culture constructs femininity. For Freud (Rose, 1988), dress is simply a fetishistic item based on the repression of the drive to see and be seen. He felt that a woman’s preoccupation with dress has an entirely fetishistic function. Women come to worInt J Psychoanal (2012) 93 Copyright ª 2012 Institute of Psychoanalysis

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ship the object – the clothes – that prevents (i.e. represses) their wish to be seen. Although obsession with dress may come across as vain, meaningless, symptomatic of narcissism or self-doubt, or as a fetishistic preoccupation, the very act of covering or uncovering the body ends up mapping the female body, defining the nature of sexuality and the pursuit of pleasure, and demarcating the private, personal, public and social. The dress rehearsal, the performance of exhibiting the hiding rituals of the body, defines eroticism, activates desire, and contributes to the illusion of a particular ego identity. The prominent Japanese designer Rei Kawakubo’s fashion philosophy, ‘Dress Becomes Body Becomes Dress’8 (Reinhardt, 2005) can easily be extended to ‘Dress Becomes Body Becomes Dress Becomes Ego.’ In that sense, the pattern of subjects’ defensive systems – as well as their bodies, psychic envelopes, or second skins – is constituted within the system of cultural practices. As a last caveat, we should emphasize that we have no intention of making any generalizations based on our self-selected clinical cases. Many educated contemporary women in Iran do not wear the chador and, for some who do, the experience of hiding under the chador has not been ego-dystonic, and thus have either not reported it as part of their presenting symptoms, or simply not consulted us. We also do not wish to imply that the majority of Iranian women are imprisoned in the chador as in an internal psychic dungeon and cannot negotiate their way out of it. In fact, anyone who has travelled to Iran can observe that, within a few minutes after takeoff from the Tehran airport, the Iranian women on board go through a metamorphic transformation by shedding their scarves, exposing their long hair, and changing into completely different, stylish, colorful outfits, a process which is reversed on their way back as the pilot begins the descent into Tehran.

Acknowledgements
We wish to thank Julia Kristeva, Judith Gurewich and Donald Carveth for their valuable feedback at different stages of the development of the paper. We are particularly indebted to Lucy LaFarge, the Associate Editor of the IJP, for her most insightful comments, criticisms, and suggestions on the submitted manuscript.

Translations of summary
Die Couch und der Tschador. Der Autor präsentiert eine klinische Diskussion der psychischen Funktionen des Tschadors, eines schleierähnlichen Gewandes, das manche Iranerinnen in der Öffentlichkeit tragen. Gestützt auf Anzieus theoretisches Konzept des Haut-Ichs, vertritt er die Auffassung, dass der Tschador nicht lediglich den Kçrper bedeckt – er kann die Psyche umhüllen und dem Ich als zweite Haut dienen. Die mütterliche Funktion einer haltenden Umwelt wird symbolisch auf jede Gewandung verschoben, die den Kçrper ,,verbirgt’’, ,,bedeckt’’, ,,verhüllt’’ oder ,,bekleidet’’. Die containenden Funktionen der Haut werden durch sensorische und metonymische Vermittlung auf die Kleidung erweitert, die auf diese Weise zu einem imaginären Uterus wird. Die klinischen Vignetten legen die Vermutung nahe, dass der Tschador für manche Iranerinnen als zweites Haut-Ich dient, das sie vor einer als intrusiv erlebten Welt schützt. Andererseits kann
8 This notion is in line with Freud’s thesis that clothes work as a prostheses for part of the body (Rose, 1988).

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er die Funktion eines strafenden mütterlichen Über-Ichs erfüllen, einer ,,Gefängniszelle’’, die den Separations-Individuationsprozess lähmt. Im Dienste des Widerstands und der Abwehr kann der Tschador überdies zu einem psychischen Refugium werden, in dem sich seine Trägerin auf der Couch versteckt. ´ El divan y el chador. Los autores presentan un anµlisis clínico de las funciones psíquicas del chador, una prenda externa de tipo velo que algunas mujeres iraníes usan en pfflblico. Basµndose en el concepto teórico de Anzieu del yo piel, sugieren que el chador no cubre solo el cuerpo: puede envolver la psiquis y funcionar como una segunda piel para el yo. La función materna de un ambiente continente [holding] es desplazada simbólicamente a cualquier ropa que ‘esconde’, ‘cubre’, ‘oculta’ o ‘viste’ el cuerpo. Las funciones continentes [containing] de la piel son extendidas a la ropa a travØs de mediaciones sensoriales y metonímicas, proporcionando una bolsa materna imaginaria. Las viÇetas clínicas presentadas indican que para algunas mujeres iraníes, el chador puede funcionar, por una parte, como segundo yo piel y escudo contra un mundo percibido como intrusivo y, por la otra, como un superyó materno castigador: un ‘calabozo’ en una cµrcel que paraliza el proceso de separación ⁄ individuación. Operando al servicio de la resistencia y defensa de la paciente, el chador puede actuar tambiØn como un refugio psíquico y un lugar donde esconderse en el divµn. Le divan et le tchador. Les auteurs prØsentent une discussion clinique des fonctions psychiques du tchador, un vÞtement en forme de voile portØ en public par certaines femmes iraniennes. S’inspirant du concept thØorique de moi-peau ØlaborØ par Anzieu, les auteurs sugg›rent que le tchador ne recouvre pas seulement le corps – il peut servir d’enveloppe à la psychØ et fonctionner comme une deuxi›me peau pour le moi. La fonction maternelle du holding est symboliquement dØplacØ sur tout vÞtement qui « cache », « couvre », « voile » ou « habille » le corps. A travers les mØdiations sensorielles et mØtonymiques, les fonctions contenantes de la peau sont Øtendues aux vÞtements, offrant ainsi une enveloppe maternelle imaginaire à l’individu. Les vignettes cliniques qui sont prØsentØes ici sugg›rent que pour certaines femmes iraniennes le tchador pourrait servir, d’un côtØ, de second moi-peau, une sorte de bouclier contre le monde perÅu comme intrusif; et de l’autre, de surmoi maternel punitif, une sorte de « cellule de holding » au sein d’une prison qui g›le le processus de sØparation ⁄ individuation. Mis au service de la rØsistance et de la dØfense du patient, le tchador peut Øgalement fonctionner à la mani›re d’un refuge psychique et d’une cachette sur le divan. Il lettino e il chador. Gli autori presentano una discussione clinica delle funzioni psichiche del chador, una mantella a forma di velo avvolgente, che alcune donne iraniane rivestono in pubblico. Riportandosi al concetto teorico di Anzieu dell’io epidermico, gli autori propongono che il chador non serve solamente a coprire il corpo – può servire ad avvolgere la psiche e funzionare come una seconda pelle per l’io. La funzione materna di un ambiente contenitivo viene spostata simbolicamente su qualsiasi capo di vestiario che ‘nasconda’, ‘copra’, ‘veli’ o ‘vesta’ il corpo. Le funzioni contenitive della pelle vengono estese attraverso una mediazione sensoriale e metonimica alle vesti, e in questo modo alla persona viene fornito un contenitore o sacco materno immaginario. Le illustrazioni cliniche qui presentate propongono l’idea che per alcune donne iraniane il chador potrebbe funzionare, in un senso, come un secondo io epidermico e come scudo contro un mondo percepito come invadente. In un altro senso, potrebbe anche funzionare come un superego punitivo di origine materna, una ‘cella contenitiva’ in una prigione, nella quale si paralizza lo svolgimento della separazione e individuazione. Impiegato al servizio della resistenza e delle difese della paziente, il chador potrebbe anche funzionare come un rifugio psichico e un mezzo per nascondersi sul lettino dell’analista.

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