Islamabad Fashion Week

Male models warming up in the basement of the Serena Hotel, which doubles as a bomb shelter.

Pakistan’s first Fashion Week was a disaster. Held last year in Karachi, it had to be rescheduled twice and eventually downsized because the electricity kept going off and Islamic fundamentalists kept threatening to blow it up. This year’s event was held at the Serena, a five-star hotel in Islamabad, in late January. Given that the capital’s only other five-star hotel, the Marriott, was the site of a 2008 bomb attack that killed 54 people and left a huge crater still visible outside its premises, competition for hosting duties probably wasn’t too stiff. We arrived to find that a mile-wide no-man’s-land had been cleared around the 14-acre hotel, its perimeter consisting of blast walls and barbed wire. To get to the gates, visitors had to slalom through several checkpoints manned by dozens of police with folding-stock AK-47s. The hotel itself was unremarkable, boasting the same imported and homogenized luxury you expect anywhere these days. The only thing that set it apart from a five-star hotel in the center of London was the fact that the bowels of the building doubled as a bomb shelter. Whether preemptively or otherwise, the organizers had decided that it was in this area that Fashion Week would take place. For four days we watched models in stupid clothes shuttle up and down a catwalk while other people watched them and clapped each time they completed a circuit, as if they’d achieved something just by making it back alive.

WATCH: Fashion Week Internationale: Islamabad Fashion Week

Outfits to die for, literally, if you are one of the numerous mullahs who warned of suicide bombings being plotted against the event.

The backstage atmosphere at the evening couture show felt similar to Western fashion events. The air was acrid with hairspray and tobacco smoke, and the cream of Pakistan’s modeling crop were draped weakly over furniture, glued to their BlackBerries, fanning themselves. Flamboyant men who identified themselves as choreographers, stylists, and designers darted about, throwing their hands in the air, exclaiming superlatives like “Die for!!” and sighing theatrically.

The high-end female models were pretty stunning and so were the guys, but less “stunning beautiful” and more “stunning Zoolander.” Also “not a little gay.” Most came from Karachi or Lahore and were stockily built with manga-style haircuts, stubbly chests, and default pouts that returned the moment you turned the camera on them. For most this was their first-ever modeling job and I suddenly felt nervous and excited for them. Despite their awkwardness, these boys stormed down the runway at Ammar Belal’s debut show to a soundtrack of 50s rock ’n’ roll. It was charming. By the end of it I’d definitely developed a crush on at least one of them and had totally forgotten my preoccupation with the hotel being bombed. Most of the after-shows were eased along by a lot of booze, weed, and (surprisingly) cocaine. Despite the efforts of the latter, few egos in the room could compete with the show’s ringmaster, Tariq Amin, who claims to have “introduced the concept of style to Pakistan.” As well as being Pakistan’s self-appointed fashion guru, Amin has his own reality-TV show and record label and is an award-winning hairstylist, makeup artist, and actor. He is a large, bearded man with tremendous presence, whose wild and regular spazzouts over minor fashion emergencies had everyone on edge and whose booming, paternal tenor also served to restore calm to the room. WATCH: Fashion Week Internationale: Islamabad Fashion Week

The less traditional fashions on show this year seem loosely based on a Chippendales-goes-to-Mecca theme.

One guy we met at the after-party was smoking opium-laced hash. With eyes bulging, he offered me both cocaine and the chance to be the star of his show the next day, promising that Tariq would do my hair and makeup and that I’d be given a catwalking master class. I accepted the latter.

The next day’s shows were plagued by power outages and designer no-shows. The Indian designers who had been invited had their visas denied at the border. Tariq lost his rag at one point, pushing our camera away. I began to feel like we’d outstayed our welcome, and everybody’s energy for putting on a brave face for the press was waning. As feared, Tariq put the kibosh on the idea of me participating in the show, declaring that my blond hair made it “logistically impossible.” When the girls came out of the makeup room, I kind of got his point. They all had waist-length tribal braided black hair extensions, inspired, Tariq said, “by a fusion of Rasta and northern Pakistani tribal dress.” I agreed that maybe I wouldn’t be able to pull that look off with too much aplomb. Later in the week we met up with some students and somehow I found myself trying on their designs, including some garish PVC costumes that rivaled Central Saint Martins creations in terms of inspiration and workmanship. They wouldn’t let me get undressed to try them on, so I had to force them on over clothes. WATCH: Fashion Week Internationale: Islamabad Fashion Week

Tariq Amin with the author.

When asked what inspired them, the students launched into lengthy tirades about peace, love, spirituality, and Lady Gaga, using phrases like “one blood,” “I am not a terrorist,” and “Rihanna is the best!” The best quote of all was: “It’s fashion, not drones, that is going to save Pakistan.” Another point of view came from an important person we met whose identity we agreed to keep secret. He said that the country will go up in flames within the next generation, and that these bursts of liberalism are the last hurrah for Pakistan’s shrinking elite. Drunk at one of the after-parties and wearing a silk blouse with peacocks on it, he kept repeating that the country’s infrastructure is so chronically disabled and the majority of people are so poor that radical madrassas are not only the most attractive option for young men but maybe the only institutions left that can make good on their offers of food, shelter, and a sense of purpose.

WATCH: Fashion Week Internationale: Islamabad Fashion Week