All images © Zaineb Abelque
The London-based Moroccan photographer spent time in Marrakech’s barbershops and with its young men to understand their globalised sartorial choices
Brazilian footballers, punk rock and Tecktonik dance – they all play a role in Zaineb Abelque’s work with young Moroccan men fighting for the title ‘Best Haircut’. On the streets of Marrakech, Abelque set up a makeshift studio and conversed with the ‘masharmen’ – slang for the boys and men in this stylish subculture – about how they express their individual style.
The photographer was born in south London to a Moroccan family, and explores faith, tradition and visual heritage in the diaspora. She also works extensively in her homeland, often capturing daily rituals on her 35mm camera. Abelque’s latest project, an ongoing untitled series, began by spending time in Marrakech’s barbershops, immersed in the culture. “The first time I went to these barbershops, I didn’t shoot the boys,” she says. “I was just collecting stories.”
It was a way to connect to these ‘masharmen’, to understand how subcultures are formed and sustained when economic or social infrastructure is falling short. The young men say they are inspired by what they see abroad. “In London, there are so many symbols – slits in eyebrows, specific haircuts, fashion – that instantly show you’re from the city,” Abelque explains. “But in Morocco, the youth engage differently. There’s a visual language that’s just as rich but hasn’t been given the same platform.”
“It’s this whole subculture where boys meticulously colour-coordinate a tracksuit with their trainers, then top it off with a fresh trim”
The idea took root during conversations with her brother about the often- overlooked grooming rituals of Moroccan youth. “We’d talk about how crazy the hairstyles were – but no one really documents them,” she says. “It’s this whole subculture where boys meticulously colour-coordinate a tracksuit with their trainers, then top it off with a fresh trim. It’s all curated.”
As Abelque continued her research, the project deepened in complexity. Hairstyles, she realised, reflect political realities. “There’s this stereotype that these boys are just idling all day,” she says. “But they’re creating joy and purpose for themselves. A footballer debuts a new style and suddenly everyone’s talking about it, running to the barber to get the same look.”
In a country where youth employment is scarce and public recreational spaces are limited, the barbershop emerges as a vital hub. “Hair and beauty become a means of self-expression,” Abelque says. “But it’s also a social ritual – a way to find identity and belonging among young men.” Abelque shoots in the barbershops too, and the images festooning their walls provide a joyfully chaotic foil for the quieter portraits taken against a clean space. Abelque sees the barbershop as a boy’s bedroom in public, walls covered in football posters, streetwear brand logos and mirror selfies. “It’s where their interests live.”
Abelque is particularly drawn to aesthetic contradictions. “To see an Arab man walking around with a massive mohawk – that image is so layered,” she reflects. But she adds that their pride is also palpable. She was overwhelmed by how excited the boys were to have their portrait made, the images perhaps validating the care taken over their appearance, and further encouraging them to attract a healthy attention. “When I asked to take their photo, they’d light up,” she says. “They’d pull out pictures of their best fits, their favourite cuts. They’re proud of how they present themselves.”
