- hiba atallah
- 2 days ago
- 2 min read

Walk through the old markets of Damascus, and you will see them hanging like captured light – cloths embroidered with gold and silver threads, their motifs curling in perfect harmony. These are Aghabani fabrics, known across Syria and beyond, yet their story runs deeper than market stalls and table settings.
Aghabani is not just embroidery.It is a blueprint of heritage.

It begins with a simple cloth – cotton, silk, or organza. Onto this, artisans stamp patterns using carved woodblocks dipped in washable blue ink. The process is meticulous: each block pressed firmly, leaving behind designs of roses, almonds, clocks, arabesques, and vine scrolls. These motifs are not mere decorations; they are visual languages telling stories of Damascus gardens, Ottoman courts, and village feasts.
Then the real magic begins. The printed outlines are handed to embroiderers who bring them alive with threads of gold, silver, or soft white viscose. They use chain stitch embroidery, layering each loop until the motifs seem to float above the cloth, catching light with every movement.
Historically, Aghabani was reserved for nobility and scholars. Its shine adorned wedding garments, ceremonial robes, and home textiles that marked celebrations. But over time, it found its place on tables and cushions, in wardrobes and trousseaus, becoming part of daily life while never losing its air of prestige.

Its roots run especially deep in Duma, a town northeast of Damascus. Here, families passed the craft down like an heirloom. Embroidery machines were part of dowries. Stitches were counted like days, marking time not in hours but in patterns completed and pieces delivered. Entire generations grew up listening to the hum of machines and the quiet concentration of mothers and aunts at work.
Then war came. Homes were abandoned, machines left behind, threads cut short.
For a while, Aghabani embroidery teetered on the edge of disappearance. But heritage, like a resilient vine, finds a way. Many artisans smuggled out their machines, restarting their work in neighbouring villages or in Damascus itself. When Duma reopened in 2018, they returned, bringing with them not just cloth and thread, but a craft that had refused to die.
Today, each Aghabani piece you see carries this journey – from Ottoman courts to village homes, from conflict zones back to markets. It carries centuries of design innovation, colour theory, and textile science. It carries lessons in geometry, patience, and quiet perseverance.
Heritage is not static. It breathes, migrates, falters, and rises again – just like Aghabani embroidery.
At There to Wear, we honour this craft not as a relic of the past but as a living art – a design language that continues to evolve, adapt, and adorn life with meaning.
Because when you run your hand over its golden threads, you touch more than beauty.You touch a story that refused to fade.