Walking into Rahemur Rahman’s AW19 presentation at London Fashion Week Men’s was like stepping into my mother’s living room. And perhaps if you’re South Asian like me, you too would be reminded of your mother’s or grandmother’s sitting rooms as well. That’s exactly the feeling Rahman wanted to stir up as he made his first official foray into fashion, one which is acutely inspired by his South Asian family heritage.
Flicking through family photographs, Rahman saw the trajectory of struggle and change his loved ones had gone through. The first few pictures he stumbled upon were of his family when they immigrated from Bangladesh to the UK in the late 1980s and initially stayed in a hostel — eight people in one room no less. Then, the next photographs were of his family in their first English council flat in London, and so forth. “With the damask wallpaper, people now see it and think it’s connected to our Asian roots but actually it was us fitting in and being super English,” reveals Rahman. “The differences are in the small nuances: you couldn’t just have a floral border and paint the rest of the wall, you had to have the two wallpaper options with the gold trim so it was entirely covered, that’s what made it extra and South Asian.”
Hearing Rahman recount other familiar interior design choices felt like a visceral walk back into my childhood: the (fake) gold container to hold your tissues, the same blue and white willow pattern china plates and silver cups we all seem to have in our kitchens. Yet, it was in these seconds of rummaging through the past that Rahman recognised something: “We all had the same houses. Inside, we were all going through the same journey, but with our different selves whether that’s in London or Bradford. Without even being together, we were all together.”
That sentiment was the central thread of countless WhatsApp and Instagram DMs alerting me to the existence of Rahemur Rahman. Showing his LFWM collection on Hanbury Street — where on one side there’s a large Bangladeshi community, and on the other, fashion week was unfolding in gentrified establishments — Rahman chose, in his words, “to be on the right side” and host his collection in the iconic Kobi Nazrul Centre. Yet, on seeing Rahman’s presentation, it became apparent that for once anecdotes of hardships were not going to be the only thing that made up the South Asian identity. There’s no longer beauty in the struggle; just like the men sitting around a made-up living room in Rahman’s fashion week presentation, we can all sit and share stories just as we would do at our Nani’s house.
“Your eyes are the first sense that takes in anything as you walk into a room, so I wanted everyone to see softness first — and then the different types of boys,” Rahman tells SLEEK. Working with Zaf Shabir from The Cactus Agency, the only agency actively promoting desi men in the UK, it was a shock to see such a variety of South Asian men in one setting — a fashion one at that — and not playing into the stereotypes of twenty-first century desi men: all macho and binary maleness. If anything, Rahman consciously removed the element of toxic masculinity we see in so much of the narrative connected to South Asian men by presenting a feminine cut on a masculine frame. “Usually on a man’s suit, the waist is cut a lot lower so I made the jackets fit the curve of a woman’s waist,” explains Rahman. “We’re so scared of words like ‘womenswear’ and ‘menswear’, just like we’re scared of queer words and the reason we’ve been let out of that conversation. So, I designed the collection and space like this so everyone could feel invited.”
By “everyone” Rahman really does mean everyone. And everyone really did show up. Bangladeshi families of old and young, people of colour from the community around Brick Lane — South Asian and other ethnic minority creatives were for once not the only ones in the room. “The families were taking photographs with the models, enjoying themselves, it was so funny to watch. This show wasn’t just for fashion week,” recalls Rahman of the past weekend.
The array of turquoise and neutral tones on belted tops with geometric shapes, paired with purple and green high top boots courtesy of ROKER, felt like a new friend from a past life. Rahman took away the shame and snobbery associated with South Asian people in their traditional garments — the idea that it isn’t British, or something only the working class Bengali community wear on the streets of East London. Combined with his reevaluation of the merits of traditional dress, an unashamed queerness also permeated the presentation.
Aware of the difficult conversation around being gay and South Asian, Rahman intentionally made sure Leo Kalyan’s songs about queer South Asian love was strumming through the room. Kalyan also modelled for the collection among faces such as Ms Langi — art curator of Hungama, a queer Bollywood, hip hop night out. Expressing his enthusiasm after the show, Kalyan said, “This entire show is imperative for brown creatives to unite in order to take control of our narrative. South Asian men are rarely seen as fashionable or even attractive — it was empowering to challenge preconceived notions of what a South Asian man can or should look like.”
This work to unlearn taboos is recognisably on the rise within the grassroots of South Asian queer movements. Rahman, however, is not just redefining what it means to be South Asian, Muslim or British-Bangladeshi, his 360 plan includes reshaping how we see Bangladesh and the rest of South Asia when it comes to the textile industries. After stumbling into those who work behind Aranya, an ethical and sustainably sourced fair trade company, and hearing that many indigenous techniques were dying as children of tailors nowadays are choosing an education instead, Rahman partnered with Aranya for his AW19 collection.
Working largely with sustainable natural dyes, Rahman has combined his learnings with silk weavers and traditional embroiderers to remove the stigma: “Made in Bangladesh”. “Whenever someone says their clothes are made in Italy, there is a sense of amazement. I want people to have that when they see a logo that says it’s made somewhere in South Asia, instead of thinking it’s just cheap labour and appreciate the skills and talents that we have.”
Rahemur Rahman has not just created a collection, he’s a part of a generation of South Asian minds who are tired of being ignored and who are exhausted from asking for representation, so much so they have now taken it into their own hands. His debut at LFWM isn’t solely about putting out an entire collection but also rediscovering what it means to be British-Bangladeshi. When I ask what advice he has for others who not only look like him but who are also coming up in the industry, instinctively he responded with two memorable words: “Don’t hide”.
All photos by Jahied.