Five kinds of Eid attires you are cursed to witness

Come rain or shine this Eidul Fitr, get set to come across people whose attires will make you facepalm.

KARACHI:

The Riot-e-Hilal committee has been working with the International Fashion Police Association’s Pakistan chapter for the past several luna-tic cycles on a classified document. The Express Tribune has acquired excerpts from the report in an unprecedented, daring display of investigative fashion journalism. The following is an exclusive from the detailed document, which profiles a wide range of Eid attires.

Mi Ashiana (Casa) Su Ashiana (Casa)



With specific reference to Karachi, this particular Eid attire is largely sported by your average aunty who runs a Ramazan-special marathon to the Ashiana market. Special points for relentlessly arguing with the shopkeepers.

The look: Ashiana market. All of it. She tricks you into believing the market never shut down for holidays since she is wearing multiple prints, designer knockoffs, sequined laces and buttons available in the bazaar, all on one kameez. Her tailor is in a perpetual state of terror since she lands at his shop every day of the month, pestering him until her clothes are bursting at the seams. So, on Eid morning, you will witness a walking, talking catalogue of what is on offer in the market.

Merry Christmas?



Their plane landed a few seconds before Eid prayers, the accent picked from last night’s frat party still hasn’t worn off and jet lag will stay for the entire duration of their stay in ‘Pahkistayn’.

The look:  It is football hangover season; the guys will be wearing a soccer jersey and khaki shorts. Mama insisted, so they will grudgingly put on kolhapuris. The more metro of the lot will pull out the Paul Smith Peshawari chappals, wish their overdressed cousins a ‘very happy Eid, yo’ and go back to sleep.

#Isupportinsertcauseofthemonth

Eid is so unfair when children are dying of famine and floods, there is an ongoing war in Gaza and Apple products don’t have the same design aesthetic.

The look: An indigo natural-dyed kurta with no real form, pockets awkwardly placed to carry (imported) Gold leaf cigarettes and an iPhone. The vintage leather satchel that could be from Portobello market in London or Sunday Market (go, figure!) and mismatched heavy bangles and rings. As they smoke their 15th cigarette before the sheer khurma is served, you will find them tweeting about capitalist, post-colonial innuendos found in a gulab jamun, which confirm patriarchy in a consumerist culture because #IsupportGaza. Retweet.



The kurta corner

Clustered in a corner, you will spot a group of kurta-clad boys and men who refuse to accept that they are not adolescents anymore. While the men could be standing in the corner to find a ‘quratulain’ to ogle, they huddle together frantically, mainly because they have realised how atrocious the embroidery on their kurtas is.

The look: Awkward. The synthetic cloth of their kurtas does not help in the scorching heat. However, the patches of sweat are the only thing complementing their ‘k3wl’ look busy with threads, vibrant stripes and of course, Dabangg Khan-inspired fake Ray-Bans.

Last. Single. Eid

This is a cult. To classify them as a group would be disrespectful to the ‘witchcraft’ at play when they layer designer collections, turn spa days into weeks and invoke the power of earth as they get set to hunt for a mate.

The look:  Virginal. Pastel. Immaculate. This is the perfect bahu and wife façade; the quintessential rishta material. It is known to have a spellbinding effect on men and their mothers, which is later attributed to lunar movements.  The look behind the look, however, explains the fault in the stars.

Published in The Express Tribune, July 29^th, 2014.

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