Pakistan’s love for lawn is undeniable and eternal.
Nearly two decades ago, voile manufacturers came up with the bright idea that they should collaborate with designers for collections of unstitched fabric. There has really been no looking back. In international realms, an Alexander McQueen diffused to McQ and an Armani has an Armani Exchange for the high street.
In Pakistan, the high-end aesthetics of a Sana Safinaz, Rizwan Beyg or Shamaeel Ansari trickled down to affordable lawn, creating a small furore.
The line-up of lawn designers has magnified manifold and one would think that the frenzy would have abated. But it hasn’t, really.
Lawn season arrives every year with mass hysteria surrounding the bookings and pre-bookings of favourite brands, to say nothing of the videos that trend on social media of women screaming, shoving and harassing salesmen for the coveted suits of their choice. And even though such videos surface every year, they never cease to shock. Pakistan’s persevering love for lawn truly is phenomenal.
Lawn and the urban myth
As is the case with most phenomena, lawn is surrounded by many urban legends — many of which turn out to be true.
There’s the story of women who place buckets of water in the backseats of their cars when they go off to do their lawn shopping. In a race to be the first ones to wear their lawn suits, they make their purchases and shrink the fabric there and then, before rushing it off to their tailor.
I can testify to being an eyewitness to this particular curiosity, having observed it in the days of yore when Sana Safinaz would hold limited edition lawn exhibits.
Then there are the perplexing, Star Plus-like stories of saas-bahu one-upmanship that are commonly heard, of how a woman gave away her brand new lawn suit — usually priced between 6,000 and 9,000 rupees, and stitched for around 2,000 rupees — when she saw her sister-in-law/mum-in-law wearing the same. Tsk.
Also, believe it or not, lawn retailers vouch that, as soon as a lawn suit is declared ‘sold out’, the demand for it increases. Zohaib Nagda, the Managing Director of Al-Zohaib Textiles, churns out multiple collaborative collections with different designers through the year, and he once observed to me that, as soon as the online booking option on his website declares that a suit is no longer available, more customers immediately begin to enquire about it. “I can’t do anything about it,” Zohaib had said.
“Being sold-out isn’t necessarily a sign that a lawn collection is a hit,” says Shamoon Sultan of Khaadi.
But a lot of wily lawn manufacturers cash in on this consumer behavior by announcing that a collection is no longer available, making customers fret that they weren’t quick enough to grab the lawns of their choice. The manufacturers then magnanimously announce that more stock of the high-in-demand suits has been especially produced for the benefit of customers who’d missed out, and sales tend to skyrocket.
The local black market for lawn is additionally a big money-earner. Small-time retailers observe which suits are more in demand, quickly buy several of them and, once the stock officially sells out, retail these suits at an increment. Lawn lovers tend to buy them, willing to pay a few extra thousand rupees for the suits of their choice.