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For over a decade, Emraan Hashmi owned a space in Bollywood that few dared to claim. From Murder and Zeher to Jannat, Gangster, Aksar, and Raaz: The Mystery Continues, his films weren’t just known for chart-topping music and dark storylines; they also came with a now-iconic stamp: the kiss.
Whether fans loved it, trolled it, or leaned into it as part of his identity, the ‘serial kisser’ tag stuck hard and fast. And Emraan knows it. “I’ve realised that the serial kisser tag has become synonymous with me, and I’m not going to fight it,” he said in a 2014 interview with Rediff, reflecting on a label that followed him from one role to the next, no matter how much his career evolved.
Sharing a moment from his film Tum Mile, he recalled, “I was watching Tum Mile and we got to the scene in which Soha (Ali Khan) and I are alone together. Now, in a typical Emraan film, I’m supposed to kiss the girl. Here I don’t, and I hear the person next to me go, ‘Emraan Hashmi, yeh film main bimaar ho gaya tha kya? (Was Emraan Hashmi unwell in this film?).’” The actor added, “It’s become like Salman Khan not taking his shirt off in a film — the audience feels cheated.”
About the expectations attached to an actor’s image, he said, “Every actor has these ‘things’ that are symbolic and have to be done to keep the audience happy. Also, it’s a great thing. It’s much better and more fun than taking off your shirt!” But not everyone in his life has been fully on board. “My wife and my father have problems with me getting intimate every time, but they know that these are the choices I made for longevity’s sake. They might not like it, but they understand it.”
Counselling psychologist Athul Raj tells indianexpress.com, “Labels often start as strategy. A way to break in, to be seen, to stay relevant. But over time, they take on a life of their own. You’re remembered for them, reduced to them, and eventually expected to keep performing them, even when they’ve stopped feeling true. When that label enters your home — when your partner flinches, your parent goes silent, or your child asks questions — it becomes harder to separate work from identity.”
In families, he notes, especially in Indian homes, success isn’t entirely yours. It’s collective. A source of pride, but also pressure. That’s when the inner split begins. Some learn to compartmentalise. Others change the work, hoping to make peace.
“As a psychologist, I often see the residue of this in clients. It’s not just frustration or confusion. It’s fatigue. A slow erosion of joy in the work, because the cost of being seen a certain way has started to outweigh the reward,” states Raj.
In many Indian families, Raj mentions that careers are “often tied to the family’s pride and social standing. Choosing a different path can feel like defiance, even when it’s simply self-direction.” One grounded way to handle this is to release the need for agreement. The goal isn’t always validation; it’s not to be misunderstood.
You don’t have to win anyone over. Speak simply, stay rooted, and remain emotionally present. Much of the tension comes from fear, not just of what you’ll become, but how the world will treat you. If you can name that fear without taking it on, you stay connected without being consumed by it.