My earliest memories from the eighties are sprinkled with my mother’s visits to Banaras Colony for banarasi textiles, to Paradise Market or Bohri Bazaar for lawn in the summer or to the Kashmir Shawl Emporium on Elphinstone Street (now Zaibunissa Street) in winter for shawls – all of which were exciting for an eight-year-old tagging along from shop to shop.

This was my first introduction to the beautiful world of textiles and that is all I ever dreamed of – yards and yards of handloomed dreams. I was as equally invested in the making of textiles as I was in the end-product; the world of threads and motifs was intoxicating and there was so much to consume.

This was during the Zia era, the height of fashion from Teejay’s and Zeenat Saeed (she had a boutique on Submarine Roundabout and later opened Taneez). The clothes were mostly solid in their colours and they had a strong presence with a gender-neutral shalwar kameez but were inspired by Western trends at the same time. Fashion was contained but still progressive. In the late eighties and nineties, dupattas became mandatory on TV and almost every fabric vendor started selling chiffon-mix dupattas that settled well over the head with the help of hairpins like the ones worn by the nine p.m. newscasters. Men, on the other hand, had no such obligation to cover their heads.

Fashion was political and gender-biased, as only women were required to cover their heads.

Fast forward to the 2000s and all of a sudden, the same bazaars, that were selling a kaleidoscopic palette of colours, patterns and silhouettes, started stocking abayas, chaddars and burqas, all bejewelled by embroidery with floral motifs. That was, of course, because of the supreme reign of Farhat Hashmi and the Al Huda Islamic Institute. Hashmi’s dars (preaching) sessions would take place in multiple homes between Mondays and Fridays in addition to her Geo TV broadcasts, covered in a niqab sitting with a laptop, an image that projected the confluence of pious traditionalism with media-savvy prosperity.

Post-Al Huda’s geographical expansion, Pakistani fashion acquired a new uniform to express piety and it changed our cultural code forever as a result. I, on the other hand, continued to nurture my appetite for clothes and textiles. While fashion evolved from modern in the seventies to conservative in the eighties to individualistic in the nineties, our textiles remained true to their core, though in some cases, machines took over the handlooms. Yet, despite this massive assortment of textiles, I was unable to find what I was looking for at any retail destination – a garment to project my own voice.

My trusted ally was Kanhaiyalal at Zainab Market, a textile dealer and historian with the most beautiful selection of vintage fabric (he still has the best textiles). I would go and pick up old chaddars, table covers and quilts and turn them into wearable clothes; it helped me stand out and not blend in. Most boys my age were happy with the Bonanza Cuban collared shirts and basic trousers; I wanted more and this time around, Ammi and Abba would follow me from shop to shop to pick textiles and clothes from random stores. The search was long but fruitful.

Somehow, I always felt incomplete without the right clothes made with the right fabric.

Clothes tell a story and every story needs a great plot and great characters. That is exactly what the right fabric does to a silhouette.

I pursued advertising as a career over fashion, as advertising was diverse and wholesome, and I got to dress the characters I was developing for TVCs, whilst following my passion for cinematic storytelling.

I soon realised that Pakistan and its people equate men who dress up in an individualistic manner as either ‘too floozy’ or ‘too shallow’; while for some reason, dressing up unattractively or not dressing up at all is equated with smartness or intellect – you are smart and well-aware; that’s why you don’t care what you wear. I disagree; there is no uniform for smart people. They can come in any shape, form or outfit.

We have witnessed memes where Mark Zuckerberg and Steve Jobs have been endorsed for the simplicity of their clothing without realising that both men wear beautifully made, really expensive designer clothes that may look simple but are constructed with care using the finest fabrics. Jobs only wore Issey Miyake black mock turtlenecks; a version of them retails for $270. Zuckerberg only wears custom Brunello Cucinelli pigeon grey tees that are made in Italy and retail for $300.

Somehow, we all want to appear smart and intelligent, and if the way we dress does not ensure that we receive the right kind of attention or respect, we quickly seek out a uniform that guarantees that.

In the West, when women joined the high ranks and demanded to be taken seriously in their power seats, they dropped dresses and opted for a grey Donna Karen suit. It was labelled the ‘power suit’, constructed like a men’s suit with exaggerated shoulders to appear authoritative and all of a sudden, women in positions of power were taken seriously.

Hillary Clinton carried that look for three decades, in addition to tons of other women. For example, in Pakistan, former Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto introduced pairing a blazer with shalwar kameez and ajrak, along with a dupatta to cover her head. The outfit was deeply political, as the ajrak was linked to her Sindhi legacy and ensured a majority voting bank.

Earlier, women in politics were seen wearing saris or ghararas, be it Fatima Jinnah or Ra’ana Liaquat Ali Khan. The gharara was the formal attire of dignified women, primarily Urdu-speaking Muslim women. Both Fatima Jinnah and Ra’ana Liaquat Ali Khan represented progressive Muslim women in pre and post-Partition politics. The gharara and chiffon dupatta costume was later celebrated and promoted via the ‘Muslim social’ movies in Hindi cinema, primarily in the fifties and sixties, and projected women as educated and progressive – not just objects of desire.

With the turn of the Millennium and post-9/11, everything changed for everyone. We, as Pakistanis, started questioning ourselves, our role and our image on the world canvas. Pakistani miniature artists like Imran Qureshi and Aisha Khalid portrayed this change through their art. Qureshi with his portraits of boys in madrasas and Khalid with her burqa series – all talking about our place in the world and the politics of clothes. Our country was in conversation again and for all the wrong reasons. The humble skull cap and shalwar kameez were now the uniforms of terrorists and what was once a harmless piece of clothing was now considered the most dangerous attire adorned by the most-wanted terrorists in the world.

The landscape changed; while the West was threatened by our vernacular attire, we started to embrace it by indulging in the local craft, owning what is truly ours and celebrating what was considered questionable.

Khaadi introduced a wide range of handloom men’s kurtas in the most delicious candy colours and soon everyone was embracing the shalwar kurtas and kameezes with pride. There was a newfound joy in discovering our own design language and what followed was a cultural shift, with tons of new textile and fashion brands popping up celebrating local aesthetics. Designers like Yousuf Bashir Qureshi (YBQ), Zain Ahmad and Omar Farooq championed Pakistan’s craft traditions.

While there is definitely an attire to project our religious beliefs or authority through a uniform, most powerful men in Pakistan opted for the sherwani to appear rooted but progressive. Our memory of General Musharraf’s iconic trip to India to meet Vajpayee at the Agra Summit may have faded, but his Amir Adnan sherwani will remain forever etched in our memory. Every Indian news channel talked about his sherwani and the charisma it evoked. The outcome of the Agra Summit might have been disappointing, but the world saw an army general turned president as an evolved, eloquent man of class and not a stubborn military man.

Former Prime Minister Imran Khan changed his Western appearance and opted for a basic shalwar kameez paired with Nike shoes to project himself as a humble, caring and just leader, winning that vote of confidence of being a simple, good human, whereas Maryam Nawaz, dressed in her emerald green raw silk Parniyaan dress paired with Manolos, will always be scrutinised for her choices and be considered frivolous, aloof, uncaring and less intelligent.

Maybe if we swap Maryam’s choice of textiles with a basic khaddar shalwar kameez, people might take her seriously and change their opinions about her; after all, a garment evokes a certain image and a vibe, and we all want to be considered smart and caring versus self-indulgent and stupid.

It is, after all, a tale of textiles. Fashion and clothes are not just political but a great tool to change perceptions about people through optics, like advertising and marketing, which I am championing in my finest Aomi clothing. Intelligent and fashionable, sensitive and deep-rooted, modern yet a lover of the homegrown… All these clothes help me realise that my intelligence can be draped in a fantastic jacket while delivering great business results and luckily, I have a wide range of options to pick from.

Syed Yawar Iqbal is a multi-disciplinary creative consultant. yawariqbalsyed@gmail.com