my heritage is not your aesthetic
Photo: Angelina Michael
In the age of TikTok, fashion trends spread in seconds. If you are as chronically online as I am, you would have undoubtedly seen a few trend videos. One recent TikTok trend showed an influencer styling a shawl over a dress and boldly calling it the "Scandinavian look." The widespread response was astounding, causing an uproar of videos in response to this problem. The ‘Scandinavian look’ was strikingly similar to traditional clothes worn by people from predominantly South and Central Asian cultures. The message was clear: what she presented as Scandinavian was actually profoundly steeped in South Asian culture. It's a classic example of fashion trends veering too close to cultural appropriation. What appeared to be an innocent fashion statement was actually another example of how South Asian identities like mine are neglected, erased, and capitalised.
The cultural significance of the ‘dupatta’
You may think it's just semantics. No. It’s so much more than that.
It's about the historical and continuing contempt for brown cultures, the legacy of colonisation, and the racism that still silences us when we speak up. Application of the correct term refers to history, dignity, and struggle. The video in question included the creator dismissing criticism in the comments as exaggeration. The disregard was more than just mislabeling; it was also a failure to listen, explain, educate, or even care about what made everyone displeased. Naturally, South Asian users responded quickly, emphasising the dupatta's cultural significance and criticising the casual erasing of its identity. However, as is typical, they were labelled as "too sensitive," "overreacting," or "gatekeeping fashion," further gaslighting an already marginalised community.
The dupatta, also referred to with other names depending on the region, is a long, elaborate piece of cloth draped over the shoulders, chest, or head. While it resembles a shawl, its position in Indian and South Asian dress is profoundly meaningful. It signifies modesty, femininity, grace, or dedication, depending on the circumstance. It is one of the most endearing features of South Asian attire, worn by Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, and Christians alike. In the Indian subcontinent, the dupatta was originally worn as a symbol of modesty, wrapped over the head to conceal the body.
It was and continues to be an important part of women's traditional dress, complementing clothes such as lenghas, sarees, and shalwars. There are many different dupatta designs and methods to style them. There is no right way to wear it within culture and custom; it can be worn differently and varies greatly by area. However, it is more than just a piece of fabric; it represents heritage, culture, and beauty. In short, it is not an accessory. It’s an extension of South Asian culture.
The impact of colonisation on fashion
Okay, and? Is probably the question on your mind.
Under British administration, Indian attire was widely criticised. Victorian era notions of 'modesty' and 'civility' were forced onto South Asians. In particular, Indian clothing worn by women was viewed as primitive, extravagant, or immodest.
The kurta was deemed inferior to a British suit. And the dupatta, worn across the bust or over the head, became eroticised and misunderstood. These views did not disappear with India’s independence. They were internalised, exported, and ingrained in global notions of 'correct' dress. Brown bodies in traditional dress were and continue to be perceived as out of place in Western environments. Children of immigrants are mocked for wearing Salwar Kameez to school around Diwali or Eid. Women wearing dupatta’s or headscarves are labelled 'too ethnic' or 'too foreign'. However, when Western designers adopt the same fabrics and styles, they become chic and timeless. The same outfit becomes 'boho', adopting the word ‘trendy’ and throwing it around.
When Western influencers refer to a dupatta as 'scarf', it is more than just grammatical laziness; it is culturally flattening. It reduces anything highly complex to something generic, consumable, and devoid of context. In a post-colonial world, naming is important. Language carries memories. Calling a dupatta a ‘scarf’ erases its origins and transforms it into something more appealing to Western eyes. This type of renaming is a traditional colonial strategy.
The double standards of cultural consumption
Colonisers renamed our towns, gods, cuisine, and rites to match their language and worldview. The British dubbed Chennai 'Madras' and Kolkata 'Calcutta' and disregarded our philosophical books as ‘myths'. Today, when influencers and marketers rebrand South Asian things with trendy titles, chutney becomes 'spicy dip', bindis become 'forehead gems', and dupattas become 'statement scarves', they perpetuate the same erasure. It is not respectful. It is appropriation. The adoption of Indian culture, notably in cuisine and spiritual rituals, reveals a frightening irony: what was once mocked is now commodified, frequently by people who have historically excluded its originators.
Indian cuisine has traditionally been ridiculed as "stinky, greasy, and unclean." Many of us might recall childhood instances when peers ridiculed the odours in our tiffin boxes, making us feel embarrassed about our mothers' cooking. However, the same spices are now available in sanitised, pricey jars, while street delicacies such as pani puri, samosas, and vada pav have made their way onto "fusion" restaurant menus, typically prepared by white chefs who can hardly pronounce their names. Indian cuisine has become popular, however, the original producers of these delicacies are sometimes overlooked. It's a sad irony that our food, which was previously scorned, is today devoured without regard for its origins.
The same trend emerges in the absorption of Indian spiritual traditions. Yoga, once sacred in Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism, is now a billion-dollar industry, with symbols like "Namaste" and "Om" used as trendy, often misunderstood slogans. Meanwhile, Hindus who practice their religion or participate in rites such as pooja are still considered "backward" or overly serious. Yoga's commercialisation has stripped it of its spiritual character, transforming it from a deeply devotional practice into a popular exercise routine.
Respect and credit are overdue.
This dynamic, in which our culture is commodified, sanitised, and sold back to us without regard for its original roots, reflects a larger trend of cultural erasure. Things that were formerly considered "inferior" or "strange" have been co-opted into global trends while disregarding the people and traditions from where they originated. This appropriation is more than just trends or aesthetics; it is a form of cultural theft that ignores the richness and complexity of the traditions involved.
White designers frequently use this dynamic to display South Asian styles without acknowledging their roots or providing context. Conversely, South Asian creators who raise their voices are sometimes accused of gatekeeping, ridiculed, or shadow-banned. However, in immigrant communities, where mutual understanding and sharing are usually valued, the claim is rarely true. This stands in stark contrast to dominant white cultures, which often prioritise individualism over collectivism. The term "content" has been used to reframe cultural colonisation.
The dupatta is more than a piece of cloth; it represents a memory, a ritual, a mother's scent, a wedding day, a protest banner, and a cultural heirloom. It embodies identity, history, and meaning. It is worn at temples, festivals, demonstrations, and funerals. It covers the head during prayer and the shoulders during dance. It is draped over gods, carried by freedom fighters, and wrapped in pride by generations of women who refused to be mocked. To rename it means to forget them.
So, yeah, it isn't simply a "scarf," and I'm not exaggerating. It is a dupatta. Calling it differently is neither minimalist or modern; rather, it is demeaning. You don't have to be South Asian to appreciate our culture, but true appreciation requires understanding, listening, and respect, rather than reducing it to a trend or worse, nothing. If you want to wear it, be sure you understand it first. If you adore it, respect it. And for the millionth time, we are not gatekeeping. Credit where credit is due, and respect is long overdue. True love for a culture starts with seeing it not as decoration, but as a living history of resistance, pride, and survival.
Reference list
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