This May, Hasan Raheem almost broke the internet. Hasan Raheem posted a photo in a white shalwar kameez sitting next to a woman in bridal wear, captioned: “Kept it lowkey; it was a big day.” Cue the nationwide “OH MY GOD HASAN GOT MARRIED???” meltdown as well as the “nahiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii”
Except… he didn’t. The “bride” was a model, the wedding was entirely staged, and the real announcement was his new music video. It wasn’t a wedding. It was a marketing campaign, and well, it worked.
Everything is Fair in Love and Advertising
The Joona singer didn’t just announce a song; he created an event. By playing the Pakistani obsession with shaadis and shaadi gossip, he turned a single Instagram post into a nationwide conversation. From celebrity pages to your phuppo’s WhatsApp group, everyone was talking about it. That’s the genius of it. He sold us a story, not a song. And in an age where attention is currency, Hasan walked away loaded.
Instagram was flooded with congratulations, confusion, and a whole lot of mourning. X formerly Twitter swung between betrayal, admiration, and memes. Some cried, “emotional manipulation.” While others called it the rollout of the year. Either way, everyone watched the video, and everyone heard the song.
Why Did This Work So Well?
In Pakistan, a celebrity nikkah is a full-blown public event. Hasan didn’t just post about one, he staged one. And he did it without the usual fanfare. No hashtags, no tags, no glossy PR packaging. Just a blurry picture and a request not to share any photos. It wasn’t a hard launch. It was a whisper, but with a microphone.
And that’s exactly why it worked. It was the strategy. In a digital culture wired for hot takes and instant reactions, the lack of answers triggered a frenzy. Was it real? Who’s the bride? When did he get a girlfriend? So, he wasn’t going out with her? Suddenly, everyone had a theory. And just like that, we were all complicit in the content roll-out. We were the roll-out.
It also didn’t hurt that the campaign tapped into our most reliable national obsession: shaadis. Weddings here aren’t private affairs, they’re content goldmines. Hasan understood that and leaned in hard. He didn’t just mimic real life; he mimicked the kind of wedding content we’re trained to scroll, like, and dissect. And for weeks, he let it stew, let the illusion breathe. No clarifications. No wink to the camera. Just enough time for the story to settle in, for people to be emotionally invested in, to care. So, when the actual reveal dropped, it wasn’t just another ad on your feed or a song on your YouTube, it was the twist ending to a story you’d already internalised. And if you wanted closure and the answers to your questions, you’ll have to watch the video.
The Wedding Was Fake, But the Engagement Was Real
Hasan Raheem didn’t just promote a song, he orchestrated a spectacle. He played us like a dhol at a mehndi, and we didn’t just fall for it, we danced along. In a sea of basic trailer releases and recycled teaser tropes, this one hit different. It was clever, chaotic, and culturally pitch-perfect. No hashtags. No press release. Just one awfully blurry, vague picture and the internet did the rest. Hasan Raheem didn’t get married. But he did pull off one of the most iconic clickbait headlines. Pakistani music marketing has seen in recent years. He turned a staged nikkah into national speculation, and a song drop into a storyline. And that, dear reader, is how you turn a lie into a launch strategy, with just the right amount of mischief.
