Akbar Hamid

I was raised with reverence for tradition, but also with the quiet courage to question it. What is tradition, after all, if not a story we choose to keep telling? My goal is to help people rewrite that story, to let inheritance guide, but not confine.

I carry an inheritance not just of culture, but of intention. My father, Humayun Hamid, named me after the great Mughal emperor Akbar, son of Humayun, a deliberate choice to root me in a legacy of pluralism and possibility. Long before colonial borders and binaries fractured South Asia, precolonial India under Akbar was a flourishing, modern society, rich in complexity, creativity, and coexistence.

Emperor Akbar was more than a ruler; he was a philosopher-king with a taste for grandeur. He built glittering palaces and hosted opulent gatherings where scholars, mystics, artists, and diplomats from every faith debated and dined. In 1582, he introduced Din-i Ilahi, a bold, spiritual experiment that sought harmony over hierarchy. It blended Islam, Hinduism, Christianity, Jainism, and Zoroastrianism, not as a new religion, but as an invitation to transcend division.

That spirit, the balance of vision and indulgence, conviction and curiosity, is part of the inheritance I’ve carried, consciously or not. It has shaped how I move through the world as a queer South Asian, navigating the intersections of culture, identity, and self-expression. Akbar’s story isn’t just history, it’s a reminder that embracing contradiction is a form of power. That joy, beauty, and belief can coexist. And that names, like legacies, hold multitudes.

What I work to preserve are the stories. The glamorous, complicated, beautiful stories passed down by my grandparents, parents, aunts, and uncles. Stories of a Pakistan, and a pre-Partition India, that felt modern, progressive, and full of possibility. My grandfather, one of the most stylish men in Karachi, and my father, a garment industry pioneer with impeccable taste, passed down a love of fashion that shaped me. My aunt, head of grooming for PIA (Pakistan International Airlines) when it was the pearl of Asia, shared memories of a time when Pakistan’s national airline was so ahead of its time it helped train Emirates, now the world’s top airline. I grew up on tales of chic cabin crews in Pierre Cardin uniforms, ships sailing between India and Japan, and love letters between my grandfather and his Hungarian wife, a romance worthy of the screen.

These stories are more than nostalgia. They are our history, our understanding of a past that feels like what should and could be our future. It pains me to see what is happening in Pakistan today, to see us regress when we once stood for progress and possibility. That’s why I feel such urgency to document these stories, to protect them. Because if we don’t remember who we were, how can we imagine what we might still become?

Everything I do now is driven by purpose. I want to help clear a path so future generations don’t have to battle the same barriers, whether it’s their sexuality, gender, faith, or any label that society or culture tries to use against them. I want them to know they are enough, they are free, they are creators. That’s what drives me to share my story and create platforms for others.

With The SafeTea podcast, I’ve built a space for unfiltered conversations about identity, creativity, and reinvention, a place where marginalized voices can speak their truth and be heard without apology. With Poreless, my debut film that premiered at Tribeca Festival, I wanted to explore the complexities of queerness, family, and belonging through the lens of a Muslim entrepreneur struggling to hold it all together in a world that too often asks us to choose between parts of ourselves. I co-founded POC Lab to push that mission further, building spaces in Web3 and the metaverse where queer and BIPOC communities can thrive, experiment, and take up space in new ways. Through the 5th Column, I work to help brands connect authentically to culture and community, always with the goal of driving change, not just conversation.

My hope is that what I create opens doors, that it makes it easier for the next generation to exist on their own terms. I want my legacy to remind people: you have the right to take up space, to tell your story, and to shape the world that comes next.