There is a game some Gulf men play when they gather, one that involves spotting nationality from across the room based solely on the fall of a kandura. The Omani is easily identified by his tas- sel, the Saudi by his crisp formality, the Qatari by cuffs designed to catch the light in a particular way, and the Emirati? He is there too, collarless and clean-lined, carrying something that those in the know recognise without quite being able to name – something that resides in the shoulders perhaps, or the way the fabric settles, or something older still, absorbed rather than taught. For generations, the kandura has been more than clothing; dignity has been stitched into its seams and identity draped across the shoulders in a manner that re- quires no explanation to those who belong to this part of the world. But dignity, it turns out, is not static.

Walk through any majlis in Abu Dhabi or mall in Dubai and the evidence is there: silhouettes sharpen- ing, ghutras occasionally absent, the whole garment engaged in a quiet conversation with a generation that honours the past while making room for the present. To un- derstand where this conversation is headed, we sat down with Khaled Alhemeiri, a cultural programmer who reads tradition like a text, and Sultan Musaed, a content creator with his finger on the pulse of how young Emiratis move through the world. The matter of the cap has become a sub- ject of considerable discussion, with more and more men stepping out in kandura and nothing on their heads but a simple cap, the ghutra left behind entirely. Musaed sees practicality at work here, noting that many men have worn a cap under the kandura for years and that while it can sometimes be read as a subtle style choice, it does not give the same formal look as wearing a ghutra. Alhemeiri, however, detects something more layered. Having grown up in a time when the ghutra and agal – the thick black cord used to secure it – were not considered accessories but essentials that finished the silhouette the way punctuation finishes a sentence, he recalls the “La Tatla’ Haser” campaign, a quiet reminder from the Ministry of Community Development that men should not go out bareheaded.

“I never saw it as an imposition,” he reflects. “It felt like a pause, a reminder that the ghutra and agal have long shaped the full presence of the kandura. What we are seeing now is not rebellion. It is a generation quietly redefining what ‘complete’ means on its own terms.” When the question of distinction is raised – whether an Emirati kandura can be reliably picked out from, say, a Bahraini one – different kinds of attention are brought to bear. Musaed points to the details: co- lour tones, shoulder cuts, design elements that vary from country to country. “Someone familiar with Gulf styles would notice,” he says. Alhemeiri reaches for something more elusive. “An Emirati kandura carries a certain calm, clean lines and a precise cut, a composed presence. A Bahraini kandura might fall differently, the cuffs or collar introducing a softer rhythm. It is like hearing two accents that sound similar until you listen closely. The distinctions are subtle, yet each reflects how dignity is expressed in its place.” The matter of fit has become perhaps the most visible site of change. The Emirati silhouette has been tightening and sharpening, moving closer to the body than it once did, prompting some to see a cool evolution while others wonder if something is being lost. Musaed falls into the latter camp. “The kandura is meant to have a loose and elegant flow,” he argues. “Going too fitted can take away from its cultural identity.” Alhemeiri situates this shift in a broader context. He remembers the older cuts, how they moved in the wind, how they seemed to belong to the landscape.

But life has changed, he notes, and we spend more time in climate- controlled spaces than open desert, so tailoring responds to that reality. “Some days I prefer a looser cut and other days something more defined. Both exist around us. Neither cancels the other.” The agal (the black cord worn with the traditional head gear) too has its own language, though neither man reads too much personality into it. Musaed sees it as a marker of background rather than self, thicker in Bahrain and Qatar, slimmer in the UAE, tradition speaking through cord and placement.

Alhemeiri pulls out old photographs to make his point. “There was never just one way of wearing the ghutra and agal. In some images, the ghutra is fully draped and formal. In others, it is layered practically to allow movement. Originally those choices were practical. Over time, they became per- sonal. Today, how a man fixes his agal reflects habit, something absorbed from older generations. It becomes a quiet visual lan- guage understood before a word is spoken.” Pet peeves unite them. Both men flinch at a kandura that tries too hard. Musaed locates the beauty in simplicity and elegance, warning that overdoing it takes away from traditional charm. Alhemeiri agrees, adding that when too many details are added, when it feels like it is trying too hard, something of its calm disappears. “Our attire has always carried strength through balance. It does not need exaggeration to command pres- ence.”

The ghutra (the traditional headscarf worn by men), though, is where individual- ity quietly lives. Musaed sees the fold as sig- nature, distinct enough that within the UAE a man can sometimes be placed to his city – Abu Dhabi, Dubai, Sharjah – just by how he wears it. Alhemeiri lingers on the Ham- daneya fold, having watched young men adjust it carefully before stepping into a majlis. “It frames the face differently. It shifts posture. There is confidence in it without stepping outside tradition. A simple square of fabric becomes personal.” Neither man is insular. Asked about styles from beyond their borders, appreciation flows freely. Musaed admits to curios- ity about the Omani kandura, its tailoring distinctive and elegant. Alhemeiri stays consistent in his own wardrobe but trea- sures the diversity around him. “The Omani tassel carries heritage. The Qatari collar has presence. The Saudi sleeves bring firmness. The Gulf feels richer when those differ- ences remain visible.” During the summer months, the heat becomes a determining factor in how men choose their kanduras. Musaed notes the shift to lighter colours and breathable materials, with beige and soft green replacing darker fabrics that absorb heat. Alhemeiri adds that fabric tech- nology has improved significantly, allowing for materials that breathe better while maintaining a refined appearance. “There was a time when darker colours belonged to winter and heavier fabrics were chosen against the cold. Now linen appears. Comfort and elegance are no longer positioned as opposites. They move together.”

Can one kandura carry a man from morning errands to an evening wedding? Musaed thinks so, mostly, noting that a fresh one is preferred for the wedding, but the same garment can carry you through an ordinary day. Alhemeiri is more precise. “On the surface it may look the same, but the difference can be noticed. Fabric weight, brightness of white, the precision of pressing – those details matter for a wedding. Daily wear is lighter, built for movement. We have become more conscious of context.” Looking ahead ten years, both men are asked whether the Emirati kandura will have transformed. Musaed doubts it. “It is traditional wear connected to culture and identity. Small details may evolve, but the essence will stay true.” Alhemeiri agrees, though his emphasis is on the pace of change. “What I see is gradual refinement. The kandura’s strength is its continuity. It does not shift dramatically. Fabrics will grow smarter. Details will sharpen. But the garment matures slowly, and that measured pace is what keeps it relevant.” Revolution, then, is not the word. Evolu- tion, slow and respectful, carrying heritage forward without announcing itself, is the more likely path. The kandura keeps flow- ing, and men like Alhemeiri and Musaed keep wearing it, as a way of carrying traditions and heritage to the next generations.

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