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STYLE: HAS THE DESIGNER LAWN BUBBLE BURST? – Newspaper

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Nearly three decades ago, lawn mania took over Pakistan.

It was recognised as a natural progression of fashion, with lawn — a pedestrian fabric and a summer essential — being reimagined, fine-tuned and metamorphosing into affordable designer-wear. Designer lawn surfaced and it was comfortable, glamorous and even edgy at times.

The economy was changing and this made sense. Internationally, Armani had diffused to Armani Exchange and Alexander McQueen to McQ, and young guns such as Zara and H&M had sprung up on the High Street, offering trendy looks at a fraction of the prices of their high-fashion counterparts.

In the same vein, in Pakistan, Rizwan Beyg translated his love for phulkari, ralli and paisleys on to lightweight lawn. Shamaeel Ansari turned her eye for colour, texture and print towards lawn’s mass-centric domain. Sana Safinaz also extended their sophisticated signature to designer lawn, which became recognised as a covetable, glamorous, summer wardrobe must-have.

Once a humble, comfortable summer staple, lawn was transformed into a glamorous, designer-led phenomenon during the great lawn craze over the last few years — creating new careers, challenging designers and changing consumer behaviour. And then it all seemed to end. Why?

LAWN’S GOLDEN ERA

Lawn was all set to take over and the customer was ready for it. While textile mills continued to bring out their own seasonal unstitched collections, almost all of Pakistan’s motley crew of designers also chose to venture down the lawn route at one point or another.

There were those who were great at it. Others struggled to translate their couture aesthetics into lawn’s massy domains. Nevertheless, most of them succumbed to the lure of selling to an avid, massive lawn customer base. If they succeeded, the profits could be huge, and the prestige of being recognised as a ‘lawn mogul’ was irresistible.

These were the days when lawn exhibits would be held at popular public venues and crowds of women would gather there at the crack of dawn, just for the love of buying a lawn suit that had them smitten.

And when a suit was sold out, customers would become even more eager to get their hands on it, willing to pay double the price if need be. There would be such a rush to be the first to wear a lawn suit that enterprising women would arrive at exhibits with buckets of water in their cars: they would buy the suit, shrink the fabric right there and then, before handing it over to the tailor immediately!

In retrospect, it all seems fantastical and unnecessary and, yet, when lawn mania raged through the country, such stories would often be heard.

Designer Zara Shahjahan — whose unstitched summer collections are extremely popular — notes, “The world and the economy changed, the middle classes became more visible and everyone wanted access to fashion. Designer lawn was an inevitable result of this.”

And yet, somewhere along the way, the designer lawn bubble burst. Many designer lawns lost the ‘designer touch.’ So what happened?

THE CHANGING LAWN

Hania Aamir wears Faiza Saqlain lawn

Rizwan Beyg, who spearheaded the designer lawn movement in the days of yore, says, “Lawn has always been there. Historically, it is a derivative of the Dhaka malmals that were popular in the Mughal era — a light, nearly transparent fabric that was a summer essential.”

He adds that Pakistan’s initial unstitched lawn lines came from textile mills that would just replicate Korean and Chinese digital prints on to unstitched fabric, which had no cultural relevance. “Designer lawn changed all that,” he says. “I added traditional elements characteristic of my aesthetic to the lawn collections I designed. For the first time, designer-wear became accessible to the mass market, available to all and sundry.”

But then something else happened.

“In the early days, a lawn design relied on print, screen, blocks and digital prints,” says Rizwan. “When designer lawn gained popularity, investors entered the market and focused entirely on gaining a larger share of the market. Price wars began and, suddenly, what used to be a simple summer staple for every woman became a bridal outfit masquerading as lawn.”

THE CREATIVE AND NOT-SO-CREATIVE SIDES OF LAWN

The mad rush to entice customers led to what Rizwan aptly describes as a jhanjhalpura [a state of chaotic excess]. The basic cotton suit began to come with multiple add-ons: embroidery, additional borders that could be appliqued, chiffon, silk and organza swathes, cutwork and even smatterings of sequins.

The three-piece lawn had transformed into an eight-, then 12-, then 16-piece jigsaw puzzle!

Lawn campaigns were in a rat race of their own, with designers opting for exotic locales to add oomph to a collection. The elaborate lawn suit started being photographed in places where you would never dream of wearing lawn! Embroidered shirts would sway down the cobbled streets of Rome, a dupatta would flutter against the backdrop of the Mediterranean Sea, models would wear their high heels and navigate mountain tops, beaches and heritage sites in all their luxury lawn glory.

Touted as the ‘queens of lawn’ back when designer lawn was still trendsetting, Sana Safinaz would rule the summer sartorial season.

Designer Safinaz Munir recalls, “Our aim when bringing out unstitched lawn collections was to provide amazing fashion at affordable prices. Earlier, lawn was relegated to daywear, while women wore polyester as formal wear. We introduced lawn as an option for evenings. The fabric would be comfortable but also very formal. Every year, we would experiment and innovate.”

She explains that her team introduced chikankari bases, incorporated silk, added laces, and experimented with silhouettes. One year, they focused on the straight pant as an alternative to the shalwar, while in another, the white shalwar dominated their collections. They also dabbled in paste-printing, to prevent see-through shalwars, popularised new colourways, and innovated with digital embroideries.

Safinaz Munir adds, “We would produce our collections in large quantities, so that when a lawn suit would sell out, it would not be because stock was limited. It was because people had truly loved the design and bought it all!”

In all the madness, though, many designers were forgetting the whole point of designer lawn: to offer creative, original designs at an affordable price to the mass market.

“Designer lawn was supposed to offer customers a slice of high fashion, and introduce sharp, trendy options in the mass market,” argues veteran designer Maheen Khan. “Instead, Pakistan’s sartorial tastes deteriorated — from wearing starched dupattas and darted shirts we went on to wearing outfits drowned in nine separate pieces that the tailor could hardly figure out how to put together!”

She adds: “Just when fashion in Pakistan was finding its voice — structure, education, identity — it was hit by a massive lawn wave. Fast, loud and commercial, it washed away nuance, craftsmanship and depth. Fashion didn’t evolve — it drowned. And lawn took its place. Big brands took over and smaller fashion ateliers closed their doors.”

LAWN AS A LAUNCHPAD

Zara Shahjahan’s unstitched summer collections are extremely popular

Designer Kamiar Rokni, whose occasional trysts with lawn have always reflected his traditional, colourful ethos, agrees that lawn may have dumbed down actual design.

“Design is a creative endeavour that primarily caters to a niche clientele,” he says. “Lawn is a translation of this aesthetic, but design gets limited because the focus is on creating clothes that appeal to the masses. There is very little experimentation with silhouette or innovation with pattern-making.

“However, one can’t deny how lawn has transformed fashion. Credit goes to designers such as Hussain Rehar and Zara Shahjahan, who offset the ‘massiness’ of their product by elevating how it is presented. Creative campaigns, combining striking imagery and videos, have become the norm, opening doors for a young generation of creatives in their careers.”

Zara Shahjahan points out that lawn gave her and many other designers the opportunity to build their brands. “A brand like mine started off without any major investor on board and lawn was a lucrative venture, allowing me to earn enough to bring out more collections, open stores and invest in campaigns.”

Designer Faiza Saqlain adds that lawn gave her the opportunity to tap into a market that could not afford her luxury-wear. “Designing lawn was an eye-opener. My luxury formals and wedding-wear cater to a niche clientele, but there are so many others who find lawn to be a more economical option. A lot of women also prefer buying unstitched suits and having them tailored according to their body type.”

She continues: “My lawn collections are launched following detailed evaluations of the market. If Eid falls in the summer, around the same time that lawns enter the market, my focus is on coming up with a festive aesthetic, while sticking to the lawn fabric. There are also specific colourways associated with my brand that I like to translate to lawn.”

DOES LAWN DILUTE A BRAND’S ASPIRATIONAL VALUE?

However, does lawn — affordable, easily available, boasting the name of a famed couturier — strip away aspirational value from fashion?

When labels, hitherto considered exclusive, suddenly start selling unstitched packets of lawn from the friendly cloth vendor on Karachi’s Tariq Road, do they suffer from becoming too accessible?

For Sania Maskatiya, the unstitched domain has been an inevitable extension of her label, offering options to customers on the search for formals in lightweight fabrics.

“Unstitched collections do not dilute our brand’s presence,” she maintains. “There are customers who enjoy wearing lawn. Others are on the search for more affordable options. We create our unstitched lines just like we design all our other collections, coming up with design elements that appeal to us.”

She adds that her brand doesn’t compromise on quality, which is why their summer unstitched line remains relatively expensive and niche. “The brand losing its impact over the market has never been a concern for us. In fact, our main priority has been to have our supply chains sorted and our design team organised so that we can cater to the demands for summer lawn efficiently.”

On the other hand, designer HSY counters, “A brand might lose aspirational value when dabbling with lawn, and we have seen this happen in some cases. The ones that have lasted in the long run are those that have stayed relevant with original designs, and worked in developing narratives that make their campaigns stand out.”

One remembers HSY venturing into the lawn market as well, more than a decade ago. His particular vision for unstitched stayed true to the glamour associated with his brand, with a lawn-clad Mehreen Syed on a private boat zooming along the Dubai coastline or reclining in a Rolls Royce Phantom. Why did he opt out?

“I realised that it would have been the death of my brand,” he says. “My brand’s ethos has always been very luxurious and I cater to a market where pricing and brand positioning are very important. Lawn’s mass market did not resonate with what customers expected from my brand.”

There were many other designers who had eagerly hopped on to the lawn bandwagon back when the fabric was considered the ultimate summer sensation, only to hop off it later, losing interest in the ride. Today, designer lawn — or rather, unstitched collections, since they include so much more than basic cotton — that remain in demand are those that truly reflect a brand’s unique aesthetic.

However, the fact remains that there are many lawn labels that are entirely forgettable, lost in a sea of embroidery, with no decipherable ethos. Has fashion’s lawn bubble finally burst?

One could say so. But before it did, it introduced new career paths in the industry, as the demand for innovative lawn campaigns heightened. Not to mention that it made the mass market more familiar with Pakistani fashion brands. But let’s not forget that, in many cases, it also did the Pakistani woman a disservice, brainwashing her into thinking that an 18-piece suit, drowned in embellishments, was actually ‘fashion’.

Lawn didn’t just change what Pakistani women wore, it left an indelible mark on Pakistan’s sartorial landscape, shaping both designers and customers, for better or for worse, for generations to come.

The writer is a fashion and entertainment journalist with over two decades of experience. She can be reached at maliharehman1@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, April 12th, 2026



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WIDE ANGLE: DENNIS THE MENACE TURNS 75 – Newspaper

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Dennis the Menace has been a popular character for 75 years

For 75 years, Dennis the Menace — wearing his signature red-and-black striped shirt and joined by his scruffy sidekick Gnasher — has been delighting children with his unapologetic mischief.

Dennis the Menace debuted in the Beano comic for children in March 1951 and quickly became a favourite with readers. His name derives from the music hall song ‘Dennis the Menace from Venice’, and his distinctive silhouette (very like that of his “Abyssinian wire-haired tripe hound” Gnasher) was first drawn on a cigarette pack in a pub in the Scottish town of St Andrews.

Coincidentally, on the other side of the Atlantic, another “naughty” boy called Dennis made his first appearance in a syndicated newspaper comic strip on the same day as British Dennis. In contrast to his British namesake, American Dennis is a blonde five-year-old with a round face, a blue and black striped T-shirt and red dungarees. American Dennis’ mischief comes from his misguided attempts to be helpful, rather than British Dennis’ deliberate misbehaviour.

The appearance of Dennis the Menace has changed somewhat over time, in his height, the length of his legs and his possession of a catapult. But his spiked hair, red and black striped jumper, black shorts, knobbly knees and oversized boots have remained.

Dennis the Menace’s brand of rule-breaking humour reveals why naughty characters continue to delight readers

Like his predecessor, William Brown of the Just William books, Dennis has a nemesis — Walter the Softy. Walter has some similarities to William’s enemy Hubert Lane. Both Walter and Hubert are depicted as cowardly, prim and opposed to fun. But, as researchers have explored, there is a somewhat homophobic element to the depiction of Dennis’s menacing of Walter.

Walter is portrayed through ballet dancing in a tutu, sewing, playing with dolls and caring for his dog, named Foo-Foo. Dennis’ attitude to Walter was modified in 2012 to limit accusations of homophobia related to his interests in pursuits that are stereotypically considered feminine. He was renamed Walter Brown.

Another thing to have changed with time is the way the strips end. Generally, in the 1970s, they’d close with Dennis lying over his father’s knee and getting beaten with a slipper. With the ending of corporal punishment in English state schools in 1986 (independent schools ended it much later, in 1999), teachers beating the Bash Street Kids or Dennis the Menace with a cane was no longer a likely outcome of misbehaviour.

THE APPEAL OF ‘NAUGHTY’ CHARACTERS

So what is the appeal of “naughty” characters for children? Researchers have found that different age groups find different things funny. They characterise two types of humour evident in The Beano — disparaging, such as making fun of people, and slapstick.

However, despite concerns about the impact of popular reading on the morals of young people that have been evident since the 19th century, there is very little evidence of children being led astray by reading about rule-breaking characters. Instead, comedy can be used to undermine power hierarchies through the upending of social status — or, in children’s media, by making fun of adults.

The comeuppance of naughty characters at the end of a story is rarely permanent. For example, in Beatrix Potter’s stories, Peter Rabbit may end up in bed with a cold after disobeying his mother, while his well-behaved sisters eat the blackberries they picked, but a few books later, he is back having adventures with his cousin, Benjamin Bunny.

Humorous stories about naughty children provide an imaginative space to be a rule breaker and laugh at powerful adults, to accept the punishment, but to enjoy another day of mischief. Like Peter, Dennis’ irrepressible mischief has made children laugh for generations. Long may he continue to do so.

The writer is Senior Lecturer in Early Childhood Studies at the University of East London in the UK

Republished from The Conversation

Published in Dawn, ICON, April 12th, 2026



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THE TUBE – Newspaper – DAWN.COM

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THE WEEK THAT WAS

Humrahi | Geo Entertainment, Fri-Sat 8.00pm

Ghazi Yusuf (Shahzad Nawaz) is a ruthless crime boss and land developer, but he has one weakness: his son, Sayhaan (Danish Taimoor), who is determined to be the better man. Sayhaan is an odd mixture of a passive-aggressive, wounded child with his father, and a kick-the-door-down Amitabh Bachchan from the 1980s for everyone else.

While Sayhaan’s character and actions are a walking cliché, the female lead, Hiba Bukhari as Elif, is not far behind, doing everything every heroine in a Danish Taimoor drama has done before. She is feisty for no good reason and foolhardy, despite being educated enough to become a doctor. While Ghazi Yusuf is busy terrorising the poor, Sayhaan is busy fixing things his father breaks.

Sayhaan’s friend, Maryam’s (Laila Wasti) restaurant becomes a bone of contention between father and son. Ghazi threatens an already sick Maryam and this stress, combined with other disappointments, leads to her death. Writer Zanjabeel Asim Shah has written a role specifically tailored to Danish Taimoor’s mass popularity as an angry young man. So far, the only novelty is the uptick in violence and guns.

Rahmat | ARY Digital, Daily 7.00pm

Bad fathers seem to be this drama season’s most popular plot device, and in this serial — written by Mehreen Sheikh — we have two. The first is Alam (Shahood Alvi), who has long abandoned his first wife and three daughters in favour of a second wife, with whom he has managed to have sons he enjoys spoiling. The other is Shayan (Khalid Anam), a wealthy business tycoon who neglected his children for his business, but now needs his son Bari (Junaid Khan).

Pareshay (Hina Tariq) plays a typical, hardworking, eldest daughter who is taking responsibility for the family that Alam, her father, ignores. Educated and capable, she is appointed the personal secretary to Bari by his father, Shayan, to keep his son on a schedule he resents. Despite some hackneyed elements, the story has an intriguing track about a physically challenged younger sister (Reham Rafiq) who determinedly strives for independence while rejecting victimhood.

The story moves at a good pace and, unlike some so-called premium projects, the plot turns and characters make sense, without melodrama. The writer has used the format wisely and allowed the characters to grow and develop. If the audience can get past Junaid Khan not looking like the 25-year-old he is supposed to be, the performances are believable.

Muamma | Hum TV, Wed-Thurs 8.00pm

Just when Muamma looks like it might slow down, writer Imran Nazir throws in a new twist.

Jehan Ara (Saba Qamar) has become fearless: she falls in love with the “new” Shah Jehan (Shehzad Sheikh) and openly asks to be a part of his life. She also threatens her imprisoned, abusive husband, Sarmad (Syed Jibran), that she will send him to his death. A desperate Sarmad begs for the help of his uncle and the bride who was once rejected, Zuleykha (Maria Wasti). Pirs and the misuse of spirituality are a recurring theme in Imran Nazir’s work. Zuleykha has become a pirni (spiritual leader), leading a powerful life and secretly finding love. Here is another woman who does not pine away in self-pity, who finds a way to live on her own terms under her conservative father’s nose. Sarmad wants to use Zuleykha, but she is no fool and refuses to be trapped.

Is Jehan Ara really in love, and will she spoil another marriage? Two lives are lost: Sarmad’s mistress and Shah Jehan’s colleague (an innocent bystander). Who will pay for this toll of blood and pain?

What To Watch Out For (Or Not)

Winter Love | Hum TV, Coming soon

From the pen of Sarah Majeed, the writer of the smash-hit drama Fairy Tale, comes a new romance starring Khushhal Khan and Mawra Hocane.

Published in Dawn, ICON, April 12th, 2026



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EPICURIOUS: FAMILIAR ENOUGH TO LOVE – Newspaper

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Peanut butter beef

There used to be a cafe inside Koel Gallery in Karachi’s Clifton area. A cafe that had somehow sustained itself over whispers about their shikanjbeen [lemonade] being good and, maybe, a creamy spinach and asparagus dip served with pita bread. It had a whole lot of other things, too, but recommendations from diners rarely ever moved beyond the aforementioned items.

You’d think if a cafe in Karachi just focused on having maybe one or two worthy food items, it surely had to be struggling. Maybe it was — but not as much as you think. You see, the ambience was so tastefully done and it was located inside one of the most happening art galleries. Sunlight poured through from every direction, illuminating every corner. You couldn’t hide there even if you tried. It was bright and green, surrounded by plants, and vibes — as people now say on the internet.

On December 31, 2025, a post quietly went up on their Instagram, stating they were closing their doors for good. The post said that it was “making way for a new space.”

The “new space”, it turns out, was Mizu. A restaurant brought to life by Sikandar Rizvi (owner of Xander’s, one of the city’s most popular restaurants) and Mustafa Sardar (who owns Izakaya — a private dining concept that lets diners choose a pre-set menu of 10 courses).

Some dishes soar, some fall short and the ambience does a lot of the heavy lifting — but Mizu still earns its place at Karachi’s ever-crowded table

While people were waiting for Koel Cafe to magically re-open, Mizu offered no nod to its memories. Koel Cafe’s menu had mezze platters, kulcha [flatbread] sandwiches and paneer tikka and Mizu is keeping Asian flavours, specifically Thai inspired notes, at the forefront.

When you walk in, the place looks very “structured”, with rows of dining tables and chairs occupying every corner. The seating is not constricted by the indoor premises, it spreads out in the outdoors too, surrounding the tree and only stops at the signature Koel Gallery door.

During the day, it retains the sun-lit aspect of the earlier cafe but, at night, it dims, so that every table is mostly just lit by a small candle and a few light sources at the counter. The people seem to just keep walking in.

Karachi, albeit a competitive backdrop for businesses, always offers warmth to the “new”. Moreover, with Mizu, people are showing up with a certain assuredness in their step because of its association with Xander’s.

What about the food? The social media chatter would encourage you to order their chicken lime coconut soup, their Thai steamed fish and their Thai green curry, and it would be correct. The restaurant handles the balance of flavours in each dish in a masterful way. In the Thai green curry, the bright, green earthiness of the lemongrass comes through, while the richness of the coconut curry is retained. In the Thai steamed fish, a herb-forward and citrus dressing makes the steamed fish come to life and, in the chicken coconut soup, a mildly sweet coconut base is lifted by hints of spice and lime.

Other popular items on the menu are sesame beef, where a drizzle of rich sesame butter adorns thinly sliced, flavourful beef. The flavours land in a way where you go in for a second bite immediately, while also wishing the beef had a little less chew on it.

Then there is a dish called popcorn beef, which is similar to crispy beef served in most pan-Asian restaurants in Karachi. You can tell that it is there to signal a sense of familiarity for diners. The execution falls slightly short, because does it make you think this is the best crispy beef you have had in the city? No, but if you order it as a shared plate for the table, not many would complain.

Chilli oil dumplings

There is a range of items in the menu titled under ‘Crostina’ and it includes options revolving around tuna, salmon, caviar, wasabi and truffle. But the items listed underneath this sound way more unique than they taste.

The truffle toro, which has thinly sliced tuna over very thin flatbread, would immediately make you think of the tuna pizza at another Karachi restaurant, Banchan, except the latter executes the concept way better. The wasabi salmon crostina would make you expect a sharp, punchy note but the flavours just blend in, leaving no room for a party trick to occur.

The chicken pancakes arrive with deconstructed condiments. A plate carries shredded chicken with hoisin sauce and a chilli jam, while savoury wraps that look like mini-crepes arrive in a bamboo steamer basket that usually houses dim sum.

While the chilli jam was not a flavour I particularly liked, the experience of assembling your own wraps at the table does offer some enjoyment. I even took a detour and used a savoury wrap to include some sesame beef instead of shredded chicken and, I have to say, it worked so much better for me.

Mizu attempts to use familiar flavours to lure people in while also attempting to introduce them to something new but, overall, the flavours that it offers are not new enough.

Will diners still seek comfort in its ambience, familiar orders of crispy beef, Thai curries and warm soups? Yes. But Karachi is like that strict math teacher you had in school — even when it wants to compliment, it dismisses. So, while Mizu is nothing ground-breaking, it is still a trustworthy addition to the city’s ever multiplying dining scene.

The reviewer is a food writer and a digital content creator. Instagram: @GirlGottaEat

Published in Dawn, EOS, April 12th, 2026



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