In a world obsessed with being cool, Areeb chose to be “Ajeeb”.

While many of us would respond with anxiety or withdrawal, Areeb Tariq did the unexpected on the day he was laid off. It wasn’t particularly planned or an act of defiance. Instead, he was fueled by pure instinct. He had already been sharing his work regularly on Instagram, gradually building an audience. However, when launching his very first design course, he hadn’t expected many people to sign up. To his surprise, the response was overwhelming. The message was clear: People were craving a different kind of creative lesson.

That spontaneous decision became the spark for him to work on his long-brewing idea, Ajeeb. The word “ajeeb”, a direct Urdu translation of ‘strange’, became the basis of his creative ideology.  “I don’t want people to judge my work based on how good or bad it is,” he says, “but instead how weird it is.” The idea originated as a thesis project during his studies in Communication Design for his bachelor’s degree at the Eastern Mediterranean University in Cyprus.

Areeb moved to Pakistan after graduation, right before the COVID-19 pandemic. He was excited to connect with the lively artists’ community he had idolized through Instagram. However, it was disappointing for him to see that the talented designers he admired online were stuck in dull agency jobs, forced to compromise creativity for client briefs. Left with no choice, Areeb reluctantly joined the grind, too. But as the pandemic hit and layoffs became the norm, he, too, was laid off.

During the thesis phase, what was originally named Ajeeb Clothing was rebranded as Ajeeb Collective before its launch. Later in 2021, he established Ajeeb Studios, a service-based design agency that he runs alongside his brothers and a small team of creative individuals. The studio takes on projects ranging from branding and art direction to storytelling and production.

Among Ajeeb Studio’s most high-profile projects is their work with Spotify Pakistan. Beginning with a documentary for Taha Gurwara, popularly known as Taha G, an electropop musician and singer known for tracks like Dou Pal and Dil Kay Isharay. The project soon expanded into working with other artists like Rehman Afshar, a Pakistani singer and songwriter widely recognised as Maanu, and Umair Tahir, a young music producer who has collaborated with leading Pakistani artists such as Hasan Raheem and Talal Qureshi. Eventually, Ajeeb Studio also took on the branding for Spotify’s Radar Fest Pakistan and Spotify Icon Pakistan.

But design, for Areeb, was never just commercial. Even design education in Pakistan, he feels, has fallen into the trap of producing work only meant to sell. “It needs a revamp,” he says, “where students shouldn’t be taught merely to make their art sellable.” He believes design is more than visuals; it’s about meaning, intention, and communication that connects ideas to people. To him, every small interaction and communication is a form of design.

That disconnect between what design could be and what it currently is pushed Areeb to conduct more workshops, bootcamps, and courses. Through them, he tries to teach students what their universities don’t: the importance of storytelling, user empathy, research, and pushing themselves past mediocrity. He claims, “98% of university students in Pakistan are very mediocre. I’ve met design students abroad in their sophomore year, operating with a master’s level mindset. Why? Because they’ve poured their energy into their craft. When we say they’re ahead of us, it’s because they’re working harder than us.”

To uplift and evolve the local creative community, Areeb, before leaving Pakistan, initiated something very close to his heart, The Ajeeb Design Fest, Pakistan’s first independent design festival dedicated to design discourse, creative learning, networking, and community building. To him, this is one of the most notable works he has ever done. In his words, “Pakistan’s design scene needs to be saved and that’s what I want to do.”

Part of that rescue mission, for Areeb, includes helping creatives understand their audience and not just serve their ego. One mistake he sees beginners make often is ignoring the work’s actual target audience. “We often put our ego ahead of everything, expecting people to like whatever we create”, he says. “Not everyone will be impressed with what you make. Your art is not made for everyone.”

Raising the standard of design, in Areeb’s view, also means engaging with the new tools reshaping creativity. AI is one of the loudest debates. Where many see a threat, he takes a more layered stance. He says, “We often blame AI for our mediocrity, our lack of creativity, our lack of putting in hours and effort”. He adds, “We complain about AI replacing our jobs, whereas our job was already in doldrums, being replaced by someone else”.

Areeb emphasises the need to put in hard work and create something that isn’t replaceable. He further adds, “We get angry at people using AI, but how often have we credited the font designers or the photographers behind stock images? Typography makes up 90% of design, but hardly anyone acknowledges that”. For him, the focus should not be on the tools alone, but on how they are used, employing context, consistency, and ethical grounding.

Moving ahead, Areeb’s ambitions remain as “ajeeb” as ever. He envisions launching his toys someday, where people can buy the tangible version of the odd ideas and visuals he creates. But beyond everything, he wants Ajeeb to turn into something timeless; a history to be recalled in the same breath as other design movements. Ajeeb, to him, is more than a brand; it is a call to emerging creatives to embrace their oddities, question conventions, and remain unapologetically weird in the modern design world.