At Paris Fashion Week this year, models strutted down the runway in Ralph Lauren’s Fall 2026 women's collection, sporting corporate dandy outfits paired with large silver bell earrings. If you’re wondering, these aren’t just “vintage accessories,” as the brand described, they are unmistakably Indian jhumkas, a design worn for centuries across the subcontinent.
Yet, instead of crediting India’s craftsmanship, the iconic jhumka was presented merely as a “vintage aesthetic.” This is not an isolated case. High fashion’s habit of borrowing from India without recognition is long-standing. Prada once faced backlash for using Kolhapuri chappals, Gucci drew inspiration from Indian kurtis for kaftan tops, and Dior showcased designs reminiscent of traditional mukaish embroidery. Time and again, the global fashion industry embraces Indian artistry but rarely acknowledges its origin, leaving the artisans invisible.
From Kolhapuri chappals turning into tan leather sandals, dupattas transforming into Scandinavian scarves, lehengas becoming Y2K maxi skirts, to jhumkas marketed as vintage accessories, the pattern is clear. While the craft survives, its cultural story often disappears.
Why can’t India patent these designs? The answer lies in the legal grey area surrounding heritage crafts. Intellectual property laws protect new creations, brands, and original works—but centuries-old crafts like jhumkas, bandhani, chikankari, or Kolhapuri footwear have no single identifiable creator. Without legal ownership, there’s rarely a case for compensation when global brands replicate these aesthetics.
Take the jhumka itself. Dating back to 300 BC, it appears in temple sculptures and royal jewellery across South India and the Deccan. Some experts trace it even further to tribal ornaments made from cowries and fruit shells. Over centuries, its design evolved under the Chola dynasty, Mughal influence, and royal courts but the half-dome bell shape endured.
If patenting heritage is tricky, what then? Experts suggest solutions like museum-style attribution, which credits a design’s origin, collaborations with local artisans, stronger Geographical Indication (GI) tags, and craft certifications. Prada’s collaboration with Kolhapuri chappal artisans last year offers a working example of respectful acknowledgment.
The recurring appropriation of Indian motifs raises a deeper question: why do we only value our heritage after Western validation? Consider Kolhapuri chappals, handmade at ₹1,500–3,500. In India, buyers often seek cheaper copies, yet once featured on a luxury runway, the same craft becomes a celebrated symbol of national pride. Credit is overdue.
Governments must support traditional crafts and artisans, but the responsibility also lies with us. Protecting heritage means valuing it at home, supporting artisans, respecting craftsmanship, and celebrating culture before the global spotlight does. Because we don’t value our heritage, someone else takes it, puts it on a pedestal, and only then do we realize its worth.
India has contributed immensely, from buttons and shampoo to early innovations in plastic surgery, yet its impact on global fashion and lifestyle is often overlooked.
Our sartorial legacy is unmatched: the intricate weaves of Banarasi silk, the delicate chikankari of Lucknow, the rich tapestry of India’s textile and craft heritage. And yet, India has no fashion house on the scale of Louis Vuitton, Gucci, or Ralph Lauren. Designers like Sabyasachi, Anita Dongre, and Manish Malhotra have gained international attention, but their reach remains largely niche or ceremonial. Meanwhile, the West continues to borrow from our culture, rarely giving credit. It’s time for a change. It’s time to value our crafts, champion our designers, and take Indian fashion to the world stage. Let’s create a global fashion house that puts India where it belongs, front and center. Let’s weave India’s story into the fabric of global fashion, ensuring that heritage is celebrated, credited, and honored.
