Thought
Eid Mubarak from the Family Group Chat: A Regional Love Language
Before the influencer giveaways and luxury campaigns, the curated Instagram posts with their soft filters and matcha gradients, Eid starts somewhere else… with a ping: a glittery, sometimes pixelated “Eid Mubarak” sent in a family WhatsApp group, a crescent moon in gold foil, roses in the background, a dove, or maybe a lantern animated on loop.
06.06.25
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3 min.
by
Freedom Studio
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You know exactly what it looks like because you’ve received it every year. From your khala, your cousin, even from your mother. You see it, you smile, maybe roll your eyes a little, and forward it along. It doesn’t just announce the holiday, it marks it.
These messages aren’t designed in studios or commissioned from agencies. They’re pieced together in apps, selected from template libraries, or found in obscure corners of the internet. And yet, despite the randomness of their sources, they speak the same visual language. Whether you’re in Beirut or Riyadh, Dubai, Cairo or Karachi, the elements remain the same: glittery calligraphy, bold outlines, deep gradients, and overlaid blessings in Arabic.
They’re not about innovation or taste in the traditional sense. They don’t change much from year to year, and that’s exactly why they matter. Their aesthetic is inherited, shared, and understood without explanation. These greetings form part of a living visual culture that isn't trying to evolve but simply exists quietly and consistently in the background of our most intimate digital spaces.
There’s a rhythm to how they’re exchanged. The first one often comes the night before Eid, then more begin to arrive, often in clusters. Some will reply with the same image they sent last year. Others will layer their own voice note over it. There’s always someone who sends theirs just before the morning prayer. It’s unsaid, but the timing, the tone, the repetition all means something.
These visuals might seem unsophisticated if judged by conventional design standards, especially to us in the creative industry, but they’re not trying to impress. They serve a purpose that runs deeper than appearance. These images carry intention and seek connection, trying to say in the simplest possible way: I’m thinking of you, I hope you’re well. May you be blessed.
This is where we believe good design starts. Not with what looks current, but with what feels true. Not by borrowing cues from elsewhere, but by looking closely at what is already resonating around us. When design is reduced to trend cycles or aesthetics, it becomes shallow. When it responds to how people live, what they share, and how they express meaning, it becomes something else entirely.
At Freedom, we think this matters. The visuals passed around during Eid may not fit the grid, but they fit the moment. They are a reminder that culture doesn’t need refining to be valuable. It needs to be seen for what it already is. And often, it’s already speaking louder than we realise, one forwarded message at a time.
And on that note, may you always be greeted by glitter, spinning doves, and a voice note from a loved one.
Freedom
You know exactly what it looks like because you’ve received it every year. From your khala, your cousin, even from your mother. You see it, you smile, maybe roll your eyes a little, and forward it along. It doesn’t just announce the holiday, it marks it.
These messages aren’t designed in studios or commissioned from agencies. They’re pieced together in apps, selected from template libraries, or found in obscure corners of the internet. And yet, despite the randomness of their sources, they speak the same visual language. Whether you’re in Beirut or Riyadh, Dubai, Cairo or Karachi, the elements remain the same: glittery calligraphy, bold outlines, deep gradients, and overlaid blessings in Arabic.
They’re not about innovation or taste in the traditional sense. They don’t change much from year to year, and that’s exactly why they matter. Their aesthetic is inherited, shared, and understood without explanation. These greetings form part of a living visual culture that isn't trying to evolve but simply exists quietly and consistently in the background of our most intimate digital spaces.
There’s a rhythm to how they’re exchanged. The first one often comes the night before Eid, then more begin to arrive, often in clusters. Some will reply with the same image they sent last year. Others will layer their own voice note over it. There’s always someone who sends theirs just before the morning prayer. It’s unsaid, but the timing, the tone, the repetition all means something.
These visuals might seem unsophisticated if judged by conventional design standards, especially to us in the creative industry, but they’re not trying to impress. They serve a purpose that runs deeper than appearance. These images carry intention and seek connection, trying to say in the simplest possible way: I’m thinking of you, I hope you’re well. May you be blessed.
This is where we believe good design starts. Not with what looks current, but with what feels true. Not by borrowing cues from elsewhere, but by looking closely at what is already resonating around us. When design is reduced to trend cycles or aesthetics, it becomes shallow. When it responds to how people live, what they share, and how they express meaning, it becomes something else entirely.
At Freedom, we think this matters. The visuals passed around during Eid may not fit the grid, but they fit the moment. They are a reminder that culture doesn’t need refining to be valuable. It needs to be seen for what it already is. And often, it’s already speaking louder than we realise, one forwarded message at a time.
And on that note, may you always be greeted by glitter, spinning doves, and a voice note from a loved one.
Freedom
You know exactly what it looks like because you’ve received it every year. From your khala, your cousin, even from your mother. You see it, you smile, maybe roll your eyes a little, and forward it along. It doesn’t just announce the holiday, it marks it.
These messages aren’t designed in studios or commissioned from agencies. They’re pieced together in apps, selected from template libraries, or found in obscure corners of the internet. And yet, despite the randomness of their sources, they speak the same visual language. Whether you’re in Beirut or Riyadh, Dubai, Cairo or Karachi, the elements remain the same: glittery calligraphy, bold outlines, deep gradients, and overlaid blessings in Arabic.
They’re not about innovation or taste in the traditional sense. They don’t change much from year to year, and that’s exactly why they matter. Their aesthetic is inherited, shared, and understood without explanation. These greetings form part of a living visual culture that isn't trying to evolve but simply exists quietly and consistently in the background of our most intimate digital spaces.
There’s a rhythm to how they’re exchanged. The first one often comes the night before Eid, then more begin to arrive, often in clusters. Some will reply with the same image they sent last year. Others will layer their own voice note over it. There’s always someone who sends theirs just before the morning prayer. It’s unsaid, but the timing, the tone, the repetition all means something.
These visuals might seem unsophisticated if judged by conventional design standards, especially to us in the creative industry, but they’re not trying to impress. They serve a purpose that runs deeper than appearance. These images carry intention and seek connection, trying to say in the simplest possible way: I’m thinking of you, I hope you’re well. May you be blessed.
This is where we believe good design starts. Not with what looks current, but with what feels true. Not by borrowing cues from elsewhere, but by looking closely at what is already resonating around us. When design is reduced to trend cycles or aesthetics, it becomes shallow. When it responds to how people live, what they share, and how they express meaning, it becomes something else entirely.
At Freedom, we think this matters. The visuals passed around during Eid may not fit the grid, but they fit the moment. They are a reminder that culture doesn’t need refining to be valuable. It needs to be seen for what it already is. And often, it’s already speaking louder than we realise, one forwarded message at a time.
And on that note, may you always be greeted by glitter, spinning doves, and a voice note from a loved one.
Freedom
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