PAKISTANIS have an unmatched ability to embrace trends with unshakable enthusiasm.
We don’t just follow fashion—we own it.
This Eid, a blast from the past has taken centre stage: the Farshi Shalwar.
Unless you’ve been completely off the grid, you’ve seen this revival storm through the fashion scene, reclaiming its grandeur as the ultimate festive look.
It’s regal, it’s bold, and it’s making waves.
But here’s the real question—how far are we willing to go to make Farshi Shalwar the official Eid look?
Some fashion enthusiasts have no qualms about dropping over Rs.15,000 on a single outfit, while others meticulously curate custom designs, ensuring the perfect fit with their tailors.
The race to outshine others in Eid couture has led to crowded malls, frenzied pre-Ramadan shopping, and an almost competitive spirit in the pursuit of elegance.
Now, don’t get me wrong—celebrating Eid in style is part of the joy, but where do we draw the line between passion and obsession?
When a simple outfit turns into a matter of life and death, something is amiss.
Recently, in Attock’s Campbellpur Musa area, a tailor was shot dead over a dispute related to an Eid dress, and another individual was left injured.
This tragic incident compels us to ask: At what cost do we indulge in fashion?
Viral videos of shoppers storming retail outlets during discount sales—pushing, shoving, and scrambling to claim the best deals—are as unsettling as they are absurd.
But beyond the spectacle, a deeper question emerges:
How does a country drowning in inflation, where basic necessities become increasingly unaffordable, still justify the relentless pursuit of extravagant fashion.
It’s a paradox—one that becomes even more glaring when celebrities launch exorbitantly priced, deceptively simple outfits that sell out within days.
The message is clear: in Pakistan, fashion is not just a priority; it’s a necessity, often taking precedence over far more pressing concerns.
Nowhere is this obsession more evident than during festive seasons, particularly Eid, when the pressure to present the most dazzling appearance eclipses everything else.
But at what point did Eid—a time meant for gratitude, unity, and spiritual reflection—become a fashion race?
Have we reduced its essence to a mere runway of fleeting trends, where self-worth is measured in price tags rather than moments of togetherness?
Perhaps it’s time to pause, reassess, and realign our values—before the next must-have outfit arrives, and we continue losing more than just money in the process.
—The writer is contributing columnist, based in Islamabad. (mehr.jan1717@gmail.com)
