A letter, instead of an about page
I grew up watching shalwar kameez get cut on a wooden table that is older than my father. When I moved to the States, I watched the same garment get flattened into a costume — something you wore twice a year, apologetically.
SLAY is my argument against that. We kept the bench in Karachi: Ustad Rafiq still runs the embroidery room, and his son now drafts half the plackets. We changed the fit, the weights, the collars — the things that were actually dated. We left the soul alone.
Every embroidered piece is numbered inside the collar. When you wear one, somebody's forty hours are on your shoulders. Carry them well.
S.Founder — between Karachi and New York