Clients continue to seek quick fix treatments while oversight remains inconsistent
Subata wanted her wedding skin to “look like glass.” A week before the ceremony, she booked a HydraFacial at a Clifton salon after seeing it on a local influencer’s feed. The treatment, popularised by K-beauty routines, promised to cleanse, hydrate, and brighten in under an hour. The reception counter was dressed in orchids and scented candles. Behind it, framed photographs showed brides with flawless complexions.
“The consultant at the salon told me it would take thirty minutes and I would walk out glowing,” Subata said. “That’s all I needed to hear.”
It is this promise of quick, transformative results that has pushed medical-grade procedures out of clinics and into Karachi’s salons. What was once the domain of dermatologists is now marketed as a luxury add-on for brides or partygoers. Cities like Seoul, Bangkok, and Dubai have seen similar shifts, but here the expansion has come with far fewer checks. The absence of consistent oversight has created a gap wide enough for risk to vanish from the conversation. In June, that gap came under scrutiny when the Sindh Healthcare Commission (SHCC) sealed 18 unregistered aesthetic clinics in areas from Clifton to Ranchore Line.
Yet despite such crackdowns, demand keeps rising. Influencers post poreless after-shots without showing redness, swelling, or side effects. Bridal packages promise “permanent glow” and “glass skin” for Instagram portraits. In one Defence salon, a “bridal facial” advertised collagen injections alongside lash lifts, with no indication of who was qualified to administer them. “I didn’t ask if she was a doctor,” said Maheen, a regular client, speaking to The Express Tribune. “I saw their work online and if she can make my skin look like the photos, that’s enough.”
The SHCC says this kind of trust can be misplaced. “We have inspected more than 80 suspect clinics so far, and the crackdown will continue,” said Ahmer Abbas Saldera, Assistant Director of SHCC’s Anti-Quackery Wing. What inspectors found was a wide range of unsafe practices. In one DHA clinic, a sociology graduate was administering skin-whitening drips. Others were reusing needles for PRP hair treatments or operating lasers without protective eyewear. In Gulistan-e-Johar, 22-year-old Mariam works in a salon room lined with facial beds and LED lamps. She says beauty procedures are often carried out in the same space as routine waxing or threading. “Sometimes there’s no time to disinfect everything properly between clients,” she said.
For dermatologists, these lapses underline what is at stake. “Lasers, PRP, injectables, these should be done under the supervision of a dermatologist who can diagnose skin conditions first,” said Dr. Azeemah Nakhoda of Nakhoda’s Skin Institute. “A dentist or MBBS doctor can perform Botox and fillers because they know facial anatomy. But diagnosing melasma or acne requires a dermatologist.” At her own clinic, she ensures safeguards are in place. Laser operators are trained by the manufacturer, and each pair of safety goggles is labelled with the exact wavelength it protects against. “One laser’s goggles cannot be used for another,” she explained. “These are basics, but they’re ignored outside medical settings.”
Other specialists point out that the problem goes beyond hygiene. “For procedures like facelifts or body contouring, you need a plastic surgeon. But minor dermatological surgeries – cysts, lymphomas, some skin excisions – fall under dermatologists,” said Dr. Maleeha Jawaid, a Karachi-based dermatologist. “Non-surgical treatments like Botox or PRP can legally be performed by a range of doctors – dentists, radiologists, even gynecologists – as long as they’re properly certified. The problem is that many aren’t.”
Salon owners, too, describe the same absence of rules. Hina, who ran Mint Beauty Salon for more than a decade, said hygiene concerns ultimately led her to shut many services down. “I wish I could say that this is just my salon problem, however, I think this is a region wide issue even when I had trained my team, it did not stick,” she recalled. “Without rules, everyone decides what ‘clean’ means.”
This lack of definition creates a regulatory blind spot. Aesthetic clinics are not licensed dermatology practices, so PMDC or SHCC guidelines do not apply. Nor are they registered beauty salons, leaving no municipal authority to step in. While complaints can be lodged through the SHCC website and closures are enforced, sustaining those actions proves far harder. “Many of the businesses shut down in raids are owned by influential individuals, creating pressure on the bureaucracy to unseal them,” said Dua Abbas, a reporter for The Express Tribune who previously covered the salon shutdowns. “Even when they are sealed, many return under new names. Several clinics sealed earlier this year have since reopened under new names or at new addresses, making sustained enforcement a moving target,” she said.
The consequences, meanwhile, fall squarely on patients. “I once treated a patient whose arms were badly burned after a laser procedure,” said Dr. Maleeha. “The operator wasn’t a doctor. Globally, nurses and technicians do lasers too, but they’re properly trained. Here, machines can end up in the wrong hands, and patients pay the price. I feel like half the time I am treating patients who have had bad results from other places.”
Still, dermatologists caution that clients have a role to play. “People should not blindly follow what they see on social media,” said Dr. Maleeha. “Clients are within their legal rights to ask for verification, and my own patients ask me all the time. I never get annoyed because they deserve that assurance.”
In a city where beauty can be bought by the hour, the systems meant to protect clients move slower than the trends they chase. Treatments will keep evolving, so will the desire for them. The question is whether the rules will evolve quickly enough to meet both.
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