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As Ramazan draws to an end, malls and shopping centres across Pakistan begin to mirror a kind of quiet chaos — a ritualistic frenzy that has, over the years, become inseparable from the season. Eid shopping, once rooted in warmth, tradition, and small pleasures, now borders on the edge of consumerist overkill.

A recent visit to Dolmen Mall in Lahore brought this into sharp focus. While parking was surprisingly manageable, the road leading to the entrance — the main Phase 6 stretch — was a bottleneck of honking traffic and clogged intersections. It set the tone for what lay ahead.

Inside, the mall, the scene was overwhelming. Within the spacious stores clothing racks, though abundant, were packed so closely that browsing felt more like a battle than a leisure activity. Each outfit was pressed against another, forcing customers to pry, pull, and dig through layers of fabric just to get a glimpse of a design. The only pieces that commanded attention were either on mannequins or positioned strategically at the front of the store.

Joy or transaction?

My sister, browsing through racks, echoed this sentiment. “Either the clothes are too plain — basic printed co-ord sets that cost over Rs10,000 — or they’re too fancy to wear more than once,” she said. “There’s no in-between anymore.”

What was once an act of joy now felt transactional. The crowd wasn’t sparse either, particularly in outlets of brands like Khaadi, Sapphire, and Nishat. There were queues of 10 to 15 people at both checkout counters and try rooms on a weekday. These aren’t luxury designer stores; they are mass-market labels known for volume and reach. Yet, they have steadily rebranded themselves — in price, if not in spirit.

One couldn’t help but pause at the price tags. A simple, digitally printed lawn suit was priced at Rs13,000. Add a dupatta, and the cost shot up to Rs18,000. Embroidered suits hovered around Rs20,000, and three-piece printed-and-embroidered sets carried price tags starting at Rs18,000. Again, this was not haute couture — these were mass-produced collections.

A woman shopping for her Eid clothes said, “I used to buy fabric and get it stitched from Liberty Market or Lahore Center. Now, that’s barely cheaper — and even then, tailors stop taking orders after the 15th of Ramazan. So, we end up buying ready-to-wear clothes, even if it stretches our budget.”

It is important to note that these brands maintain uniform pricing across the country. So, while the Dolmen Mall may cater to a more affluent demographic, the cost of the same outfit in other cities and less affluent localities remains the same. In the spirit of Eid, a nearly 40 per cent markup has become the norm, only to be slashed in post-Eid “summer sales”, where the very same items are presented at more reasonable prices.

According to a 2023 report by Business Standard, Eid-related spending in Pakistan dropped by approximately 40pc compared to prior years, totaling around Rs432 billion. While official figures for 2025 have not been published, Reuters noted in 2023 that Eid shopping continued to decline due to rising inflation, with retailers and analysts estimating a further dip to approximately Rs368 billion. Yet still substantial enough to crowd every major retail space across the country.

This is perhaps the paradox of the Eid economy — the visible strain and the simultaneous splurge. A large segment of Pakistan’s population earns the minimum monthly wage of Rs32,000. Spending Rs15,000 — nearly 47pc of this amount — on a single outfit raises uncomfortable questions about affordability, social pressure, and the commercialisation of what was once a modest celebration.

For many working women, practicality shapes preference. “I’d rather get something ready-to-wear from the pret section,” said one professional. “Between a full-time job and housework, I don’t have time for tailors or fabric shopping. Plus, Eid is packed with events — family lunches, dinners — there’s pressure to look put together at every one.”

As I tried to maneuver my way around the store, mumbling “excuse me” every few steps, I found myself loosing the essence of the shopping experience itself. Eid shopping, for many of us, was once a tactile joy — being able to touch fabrics, lay a few options out, try them on, and walk away with something that made us feel festive and comfortable. That intimacy has now been swallowed up by queues, cramped spaces, and decision fatigue.

Clothes as the main character

The deeper question is cultural. Where did this tradition of extravagantly priced clothing enter the spirit of Eid? Growing up, Eid meant food, laughter, bangles, henna, and family. New clothes were a part of the celebration, but not the main character. Today, they seem to dominate the narrative.

And even tailoring — once considered a cost-effective alternative — has become increasingly unaffordable. While unstitched suits are still relatively cheaper, tailoring now starts at Rs3,000 and can go up to Rs4,500 for more elaborate pieces with multiple embroidery attachments. “My tailor increases his stitching rates every Ramzan,” said one woman, “and even getting a slot with him is a negotiation.”

In fact, many tailors stop accepting orders after the 15th of Ramzan due to capacity constraints. This leaves little choice for those hoping to stitch clothes affordably and pushes more consumers toward ready-to-wear options by default.

Opting out?

Others have opted out altogether. “We put so much pressure on ourselves to look good — to wear something new — but no one’s really keeping track of what you wore last Eid,” said a woman in her late twenties. “In my circle, I’ve repeated clothes from three years ago and no one noticed. The pressure is mostly internal.”

Still, for many, the cost simply doesn’t add up. “There’s no one fashion everyone is following — short shirts, long shirts, farshi shalwars — everything’s out there. But it’s all expensive. The cost isn’t justified.”

Even so, despite the price hikes and the overcrowding, people continue to spend. Chaand raat will once again bring traffic to a halt. Markets will stay open till dawn. The glitter of new suits will still draw people into long lines.

That’s the strange resilience of Eid in Pakistan — it is at once joyful and overwhelming, festive and fatiguing. But somewhere in the mess, we continue to seek the comfort of tradition, even if it now comes at a steep price.