Cultural Misappropriation in Fashion: When Inspiration Becomes Theft

There was a time when India clothed the world.

Our cotton was softer; our weaves more intricate, our dyes richer than anything Europe could produce. People crossed oceans for our textiles. And then — they copied them, taxed us into silence, destroyed our looms, and built empires on our designs.

Today, centuries later, not much has changed.
We still see the same patterns — this time on runways, in “boho” collections, on mass-market shelves. A mirror here. A mandala there. The word “Namaste” on leggings. A “sari-inspired” silhouette in a Paris show. The hands that created it? Absent. Unnamed.

This is cultural misappropriation.

Not inspiration. Not globalization.
Misappropriation.

Misappropriation isn’t just tasteless. It’s theft.

It’s when a culture’s symbols, crafts, or aesthetics are taken by those with more power — without permission, credit, or compensation.

In India, we’ve watched this happen for centuries.
First, it was muslin. Bengal’s famed, feather-light weave. So fine it could pass through a ring. The British marveled at it — then taxed it, burned it, banned it. And finally, replaced it with Manchester’s machine-made cotton. That was the start.

Then came the paisley. The buta from Kashmir. A sacred motif. Reworked by Scottish mills, sold to the West as luxury. Most people today don’t even know it’s Indian.

Our embroidery is next. Every time a French couture house releases a gown with zardozi, the world applauds the “craftsmanship.” Rarely does anyone ask where it came from — or who stitched it.

We’ve become the invisible foundation of global fashion. Seen in thread, but not in credit.

And the law? It looks the other way.

Because what we created was passed down, generation to generation — not registered in offices or signed on contracts. Our culture was never meant to be copyrighted. It was lived.

But the world runs on paperwork.

There are Geographical Indications now — Banarasi, Kanjeevaram, Madhubani. But even those are patchwork protections. A motif can be lifted, rebranded, and mass-produced — and the artisan who made it gets nothing.

This is the loophole.
This is where law, fashion, and power intersect.

This isn’t about gatekeeping culture.
It’s about honoring it.

When brands use indigenous art to look “earthy,” “exotic,” or “spiritual,” they aren’t just borrowing an aesthetic. They’re erasing the soul that made it sacred.

You can be inspired by a culture. But inspiration demands respect.

And respect looks like:

Consent
Credit
Compensation

Without these, fashion stops being art. It becomes extraction.

If the world wears our work, the least it can do is say our name.

Because the story of Indian fashion is not just history — it’s a living, breathing inheritance.
And it deserves more than a passing mention in footnotes or design credits.

It deserves legal protection.
It deserves reverence.
It deserves justice.

Post by Clause & Couture
Where fashion meets the law — and where every thread tells the truth.