How Some Pakistani Male Celebs Redefine Misogyny

In Pakistan’s celebrity culture, misogyny isn’t hiding in the shadows: it’s center stage, mic’d up, and applauded. Over the years, few Pakistani male celebs have crafted a unique genre of sexism — one that is cloaked in satire, delivered with swagger, and later dismissed as harmless opinion. But behind the jokes and justifications lies a pattern: a consistent undermining of women, disguised as commentary, comedy, or charisma.

The Punchline Is Always a Woman

The viral truck-sized bouquet that YouTuber Maaz Safdar gave his wife may have been an exaggerated influencer stunt, but the backlash it drew from veteran actor Naumaan Ijaz was telling. Instead of calling out the spectacle for what it was — pure digital theatrics — Ijaz warned women not to “expect this nonsense” and painted men as helpless victims of female greed. It was a public reprimand targeting women’s desires, however fictional.

Pakistani women don’t ask for giant bouquets — they ask for dignity, rights, and basic safety. But instead of addressing the real issues — like the damning statistic that 90% of women in the country face some form of domestic violence — male celebrities choose to question the validity of victimhood. Ijaz once famously said, “You can’t clap with one hand,” reducing abuse to a mutual misunderstanding and implying victims should’ve “walked away.”

From bragging about infidelity to slamming the #MeToo movement as anti-religious, Ijaz has made a habit of excusing male misconduct while blaming women for speaking up. And when the backlash comes, it’s always labeled a “joke,” followed by a celebrity ally, like Atiqa Odho, rushing in with a tone-deaf defense.

The Brotherhood of Misogyny

Naumaan Ijaz isn’t an outlier; he’s a product of an industry where Khalilur Rehman Qamar still writes prime-time shows after publicly insulting women like Marvi Sirmed and Ailia Zehra. Where Faysal Quraishi mocks Saba Qamar’s age while playing romantic leads decades younger. Where Danish Taimoor flexes his “permission from God” to marry four times on national TV as his wife sits silently beside him. And where Feroze Khan — accused of domestic abuse, with bruises and court documents to back the claims — not only survives scandal but thrives, rebranded with a new wife and fresh dramas.

Each of these incidents doesn’t stand alone. Together, they form a disturbing image of how power and patriarchy intersect in Pakistan’s entertainment industry. Instead of accountability, there’s friendships. Instead of introspection, deflection and instead of consequences, celebration.

This isn’t just about one man’s mistake or one clip gone viral — it’s a systemic culture where the line between opinion and abuse is deliberately blurred. Where few Pakistani male celebs take turns on talk shows displaying a version of masculinity that sees empathy as weakness, and misogyny as virtue.

The Applause Must Stop

For years, this behavior has been normalized — shrugged off with “boys will be boys,” or buried under the weight of star power. But it’s time to ask: Who really pays the price when “jokes” demean, when abuse is excused, and when women are repeatedly silenced?

It’s no longer just about what these celebrities say. It’s about what they represent — a culture where misogyny gets screen time, victim-blaming gets applause, and silence gets rewarded.

It’s time to change the script.

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