For decades, the words “Pakistani fashion” conjured images of heavily embroidered bridal lehengas, lawn suits sold in frantic summer sales, and truck-art motifs slapped on kurtas for the diaspora market. That stereotype is dying—fast. In the last eight years, a wave of independent Pakistani clothing brands has emerged that refuses to play by the old rules. They are minimal, experimental, gender-fluid, sustainable, brutally expensive, proudly political, and—most shockingly—cool in rooms where Lahore and Karachi were once punchlines rather than references.
This is not your mother’s Sana Safinaz.
The Turning Point: 2017–2019
The shift began quietly. Generation (founded 2017), Rastah (2018), Hussain Rehar (2018), Zara Shahjahan’s Coco (2017), and the rebirth of Maheen Khan’s Gulabo as a streetwear label marked the first rupture. These weren’t just new labels; they were manifestos.
Rastah dropped voluminous hand-woven khaddar hoodies with Pashto proverbs screen-printed in futuristic fonts and sold out in 43 minutes. Generation released a black abaya made of Irish linen with no embroidery whatsoever—considered sacrilege in a market that equated price with zari—and it became the most re-posted outfit on Pakistani Instagram in 2018. Something had snapped. A generation raised on Tumblr, Highsnobiety, and K-pop decided that truck art and chickenkari could sit on the same rack as Rick Owens and Martine Rose.
The Big Four of the New Wave
- Rastah
The undisputed leader of the revolution. What started as a passion project of Ahmedabad-born, Lahore-raised brothers Zain and Ahmed Rehan has become South Asia’s closest thing to Virgil Abloh’s Off-White. Their “Volume 8: Jinnah” collection (2023) featured oversized MA-1 bomber jackets made of banarsi jamawar lined with bullet-proof Kevlar-inspired quilting, paired with wide-leg raw denim embroidered with excerpts from the 11 August 1947 speech. Price tag: PKR 185,000 (~$650 USD). Resale on Grailed: triple.
- Hussain Rehar
The provocateur. Rehar’s “Ertugrul” collection (2021) used Ottoman miniature painting techniques on organza trench coats and sold to Turkish influencers within hours. His 2024 collection “Baby Girl Dresses” featured charred hemlines, real scorch marks, and QR codes that played audio of Allama Iqbal’s poetry when scanned. Critics called it try-hard. Vogue India called it “the most exciting menswear coming out of South Asia since Rajesh Pratap Singh in the 90s.”
- The Pink Tree Company
Quietly radical. While others chased hype, The Pink Tree doubled down on craft. Their “Heirloom” series uses 80-year-old Balochi mirror-work pieces dismantled from vintage dresses and re-set into modern silhouettes. A single jacket can take nine months and costs PKR 900,000 ($3,200). Every piece comes with provenance paperwork and the name of the woman who originally embroidered it in the 1940s.
- Republic by Omar Farooq
The Rick Owens of Pakistan. Hand-dipped vegetable-tanned leather trousers, drop-crotch wool kilts, and boots made in a 200-year-old Okara tannery. Republic doesn’t do lawn, doesn’t do sales, and doesn’t care if you can’t pronounce the brand name. Stockists: SSENSE, Dover Street Market (London pop-up 2024), and one tiny store in Gulberg III that looks like a concrete bunker.
Beyond the Hypebeasts
While the Instagram generation obsesses over Rastah drops, a parallel sustainable movement is rewriting the rules from the inside.
– Kamiar Rokni’s collaborative label “Thandar” works exclusively with women prisoners in Balochistan, paying them European wages to embroider limited-edition canvas totes and trench coats.
– Maheem Khan (yes, the same woman who dressed Princess Diana) launched “Bareeze Heritage” in 2023—a line that uses only handlooms older than 70 years. No electricity touches the fabric from sheep to shoulder.
– Sadaf Malir’s “Chand Sitara” is the first Pakistani brand to achieve GOTS organic certification for its cotton and B Corp status (2024). A basic white kurta costs PKR 28,000—more than most local office workers earn in a month—and still sells out.
The Diaspora Effect
London, Toronto, Houston, and Dubai are no longer just export markets; they are creative engines. Nichole by Hira Noor (Manchester) makes latex jilbabs in electric blue. Fozia Ansari (New Jersey) sells hand-beaded denim chadors for $1,200 that get worn to Coachella. The most viral red-carpet moment of 2024? British-Pakistani actress Ambika Mod wearing a Generation black coat with subtle Balochi mirrorwork to the Emmy’s—beating Zendaya in the trend reports.
Numbers Don’t Lie
– Domestic luxury market (above PKR 50,000 per piece) grew 340% between 2019–2025 (Pakistan Institute of Fashion Design report).
– Rastah, Republic, and Hussain Rehar combined did over $18 million USD in revenue in 2024—mostly online, mostly international.
– Searches for “Pakistani streetwear” on StockX rose 780% in the last 24 months.
The Next Frontier: Gender and Power
The boldest move is happening in gender-fluid and menswear spaces. Brands like “Hisss” (Karachi) and “Mushq Men” are selling lace kurtas, pearl-embroidered blazers, and organza dupatta scarves for men—without the defensive “it’s cultural” framing. Actor Fawad Khan wore a pearl-encrusted cape by Rehar to the 2025 Hum Awards and simply said, “I liked it.” The internet argued for three days; sales tripled.
Meanwhile, “Bin Iliyas” is making six-yard sarees for trans women in rural Punjab, training hijra communities in draping and selling through WhatsApp catalogues. They don’t have a website yet, but Rihanna’s stylist follows their private Instagram.
Where Are the Old Giants?
The old guard is rattled. Sapphire, Khaadi, and Maria B have launched “premium” lines with minimalist black packaging and prices 4× higher than their mainlines. Sana Safinaz quietly hired the ex-creative director of Acne Studios in 2024. Even Alkaram released a collaboration with Japanese label Sasquatchfabrix in March 2025. The lawn queens are learning to whisper.
The Future Is Expensive, Slow, and Brown
By 2030, analysts predict three Pakistani brands will be stocked regularly at global luxury retailers on the level of Dries Van Noten or The Row. The ingredients are already here: 5,000 years of textile history, a generation allergic to mediocrity, and a diaspora with money and taste.
Pakistani clothing brands are no longer asking for a seat at the table. They’re building their own table—in Irish linen, hand-spun khaddar, vegetable-tanned leather, and the occasional scorched hemline—and daring the world to sit down.
The revolution won’t be embroidered in gold thread. It will be cut raw, dyed indigo, and worn without apology.