Recently, I was dragged into an H&M store in India by my sister when something unexpected caught my eye. It was a kurta salwar: a traditional South Asian outfit featuring a long top with slits on both sides and flowy pants. The racks in front of me featured four to five different patterns of the same silhouette.

I was excited to see a major Western brand embracing Desi fashion. I picked them up and moved my hands towards their soft silhouette, finding the tag that read ‘long strappy top’ and ‘wide sheer trousers.’ It was funny – here was one of the world’s largest fashion brands selling something that clearly resembles kurta salwar, repackaged as a generic “top and trousers”, with zero mention of its cultural origins. When I came back home and surfed the internet, it was apparent that South Asian fashion has become the new trend of this summer season. But the bad news was that nobody was calling it Desi.

By now, you must have seen a “scarf” paired with a “dress” take over your feed. This trend specifically gained attention in the summer of 2024 with a now-deleted video posted by fashion rental company Bipty. The video showcased a translucent scarf paired with a dress with open slits on both sides and described its vibe as “Scandinavian” or “European.” Content creators were quick to point out that it just looks like it’s lifted from a desi person’s wardrobe. The scarf in question resembles dupatta, a South Asian drape that is often but not necessarily translucent, and is styled around the neck and shoulders. Women are taught to wear a dupatta to cover their bare chest, but it’s also used as a piece of embellishment (the duality creates a love-hate relationship for many Desi women). Clothes maker and Indian researcher Kallol Datta also says that the Scandinavian misattribution is “reminiscent of every ‘discovery’ or ‘invention’ being attributed to a person from the Global North”. Datta then goes on to add that “a drape around the neck has existed across cultures since ancient times, and clothing practices across regions have shared histories due to colonialism, trade, migration etc. but in this case, intent and the manner in which the item of clothing is worn comes into question.”

In March 2025, a similar rebranding took place when Reformation launched their new collection in collaboration with influencer Devon Lee Carlson. Their ‘Lula top and Olivia low waist skirt’ again featured a dupatta. The whole set looked a lot like a lehenga, a three-piece outfit that includes a long skirt, a blouse and dupatta, possibly dating back to the medieval era and popularised during the royal courts of the 16th century. Content creator Sai Ananda was one of the first TikTokers to talk about the parallels between Reformation’s recent look and a lehenga, specifically in reference to 2000s Bollywood. When you look at the outfits of Indian actress Preity Zinta in the 1998 film Soldier, or popular designer Manish Malhotra’s costumes from the 2000 film Mohabbatein, the resemblance of these looks to the current “trend” cannot be ignored.

Oh Polly was pulled into the controversy as well when they released their ‘Galia Embellished Convertible Lace-Up Gown in Floral Pink’ and many started comparing it to a sharara set, which is made-up of short kurta and very wide trousers, tracing back to the 16th century Mughal era in the subcontinent, where it was a part of the aristocratic wardrobe.

Another silhouette inspired by the Mughal era, called anarkali, was seen on the influencer Patricia Flach, one that is usually worn by Desi women at weddings and other festive occasions. Made by the fashion rental company Baro, Flach referred to her version on TikTok simply as a ‘wedding guest dress’. Elsewhere, Nara Smith, the internet’s favourite tradwife, was also recently seen in a dupatta, furthering the South Asian inspired summer trend.

Historically, South Asian fashion has been a treasure trove for global fashion. Anthropologist and fashion researcher Phyllida Jay says that “when Indian inspiration has been woven inextricably into global fashion inspiration, it’s impossible to untangle where Indian fashion ends and Western fashion begins”. She mentions that designers like Schiaparelli were inspired to create sari gowns by the Maharanis who dazzled Paris in the 1930s. “In the 1960s, the so-called hippie trail saw Indian textiles and dress influence designers and counter-cultural movements in the West,” adds Jay.

The demand for recognition comes from a very personal space for a lot of people born with South Asian heritage. Jay pins it down by adding that, “for many younger women, the dupatta is replete with nostalgia, memories of embraces and love, watching mothers dress up for events and family celebrations, or seeing them navigate the quotidian rhythms of balancing home and work. So to see a garment so deeply enmeshed in personal histories and wider cultural symbolism rebranded as something else is deeply unsettling to many women of South Asian heritage. It’s experienced as a form of whitewashing and erasure.” It’s not problematic to wear these clothes, but when they’re stripped of their origins and rebranded as something else, it results in a loss of stories, emotions and identities. 

Growing up, I had reserved Indian clothes only for festivals or wedding occasions and sometimes would avoid them at those events as well. I used to think that my traditional clothing wasn’t modern, or outdated. But then you learn about colonialism and its strong hangovers that don’t seem to go away. As a kid, I thought that Indian clothes were not what the “cool girls” would wear, even though, internally, I knew I liked wearing them. This echoes even more for the diaspora who were bullied or considered “weird” for wearing ethnic clothes. Datta also points out that “we look at clothes, especially native wear, as markers of communities. Particularly among the South Asian diaspora living in the Global North. Would they face any form of discrimination for wearing the scarf, wrap, dupatta or chunni, layered with a kurta or tunic?” he adds. “They certainly would be susceptible to harassment.”

Everyone should be free to wear what they want, but it’s important to question when a dominant culture rebrands the aesthetics of another as its own

Although there’s an expectation for every brand and influencer to mention under their posts that they were inspired by South Asian clothing, this is of course not feasible – not everybody pays that kind of attention to history. But, as Jay also says, “some cognisance” of how a garment or its styling might be contextualised is not too much to ask. “There are sizable South Asian diaspora communities in European countries,” she continues, “and enough representations of Indian culture in global media and film that basic awareness of dress forms is not difficult. Brands creating and promoting imagery should definitely be more alert, sensitive and responsible.”

Clothes may have no rules, and everyone should be free to wear what they want, but it’s important to question when a dominant culture rebrands the aesthetics of another as its own, especially in the broader context of racism and colonialism. Western powers colonised the Indian subcontinent, dismissed its people as backwards, and embedded orientalist narratives so deeply into global systems that their effects still persist today. Our aesthetics and traditions are often repackaged and sanitised to make them palatable to Western audiences – when you disregard our clothing’s association with certain regions, that only helps to sanitise them further. If history has taught us anything, it’s that we must speak up – we don’t want future generations to think that dupatta is Scandinavian.