How Cultural Appropriation Costs Indian Artisans Heavily In The Great Fashion Heist

One clip altered everything. Chandha Balaji, co-founder of Made of Coimbatore, pointed her camera at and recorded bamboo artisan Karappusammy, sitting cross-legged on the street in Tamil Nadu, weaving beautiful patterns with his weather-worn hands as he talks: luxury brands are selling a similar shape for lakhs, yet he often cannot get more than ₹1,000 for the same work.

The reel went viral, sparking a new conversation about cultural appropriation, the dramatic disparity between what Indian artisans can earn and the prices Western fashion houses charge for their 'inspired' designs, and a more nuanced consideration of the relationships between economies, commodities, and cultures.

It's not just about value for money. It is a question of dignity; acknowledgement in a system that systematically diminishes indigenous craft.

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In the 'Great Fashion Heist' of this century, Indian artisans are earning pennies while luxury fashion houses are making millions.

The disparity between the values of indigenous crafts and products like Prada's ₹1.8 lakh bags, which mimic an Indian basketry tradition, or Dior's extravagantly staged presentations of 'India' in front of audiences that amass unimaginable wealth, on the backs of artisans earning a subsistence wage. The fashion industry's relationship with Indian craftsmanship speaks volumes about the system that encourages the extraction of profit from cultural heritage.

When Tradition Becomes Hidden

"We have seen these artisans every day but don't realise they are doing something great," remarks Chandha. This is why her viral video resonated, because it is an example of making visible what is often made invisible by society. The results were rapid: "In a couple of hours, after I posted the video, Karuppusammy Anna got at least 70 calls from people across the country." 

Similar trends are present across many craft communities in India. In Odisha, Kamala Panika, an artisan of Kotpad sarees, whose family has been making this product for four generations, describes a painful irony, saying, "This weave has been in my family for four generations. We use natural dyes and tribal motifs, but for many people it is just 'village work' until it gets appropriated by a foreign label that calls it earthy or minimalist."

Urmila Devi, a Banjara Lambani artisan selling at Delhi’s Janpath market, explains the cultural alienation: “For us, every stitch means something. We [Banjara Lambani artisans] incorporate distinct mirrors, thread, and patterns passed down to us. But the people who purchase from us often want a 'boho look'— they do not ask what it means." The economic context is also harsh: “A woman from Europe once told me she bought a jacket that looks like ours for ₹80,000—I was in shock—our most expensive work is ₹5,000." 

Similarly, Mushtaq Sheikh, a zardozi fabric artisan from Katra Neel market, was baffled when informed of the zardozi embroidery dupattas being branded Scandinavian chic and being sold for lakhs: "We sometimes use real gold thread, on velvet and silk, all hand done and sold for dirt cheap. The same patterns, sold online for lakhs, labelled 'Scandinavian'! That made me laugh. And cry."

The Mathematics of Cultural Theft

The numbers tell a compelling story. A traditional bamboo bag that takes days to weave by hand sells for ₹1,000 in local markets, but the same design, when sold by luxury brands, can fetch ₹1.8 lakh and upwards—a price increase of 1,800%, without the original creator benefiting.

India's handicrafts market, which is valued at USD 4.57 billion in 2024, embodies the labour of millions of artisans, while the global handicraft market is estimated at USD 739.95 billion. India's value creation is dwarfed compared to the global market, and nearly all of the value creation occurs outside of India, despite being the principal supplier for traditional forms of craft.

Panika remembers, "I saw in a magazine one time that a saree that looked exactly like mine was priced at over ₹60,000. I get ₹2,500 if I'm lucky. Who's making the real profit?" Similarly, Ramprasad Phandekar, a Kolhapuri chappal maker who has put up a shop at Dilli Haat INA, reflects, "Sometimes I think we're really just the prototype makers for luxury brands. They grab our designs, polish the photos, and erase our names."

The seasonal nature of traditional crafts further complicates these economic issues. "When the rains come, all our hand looms are kept inside mud houses, so mostly work stops," philosophises Kalpana Das from Rangila Dhaga. "And then people, when they don't get enough work, go to the cities, or other states looking for work." This seasonal migration further fractures traditional craft communities, risking the future of ancient techniques.

The Luxury Paradox

What "luxury" means in the fashion context reveals relationships of hierarchy, about whose work is worthy of acknowledgement and pricing at a premium. When Western brands repackage dupattas as "chic scarves," they are not just rebranding designs; they are reshaping the cultural and economic value of entire traditions.

"Indian products, Indian craftworks can only be seen as poor or luxurious when rebranded and restyled by Western perspectives," says Chandha. This creates a "post-colonisation mindset," which is that Indians themselves cannot view their own cultural products as valuable unless there is some validation from the Western marketplace.

The irony goes even deeper when you consider that fashion houses advertise these appropriated designs, and the very same zardozi work applied by a Delhi artisan who states they are "asked to make it faster, cheaper, always cheaper," is now billed as "hours of painstaking handwork" by luxury fashion brands. The labour is recognised, but the labourer is invisible. 

Beyond Appreciation, It Is Time for Acknowledgement

For consumers who wish to purchase authentic Indian handicrafts and ensure that artisans are paid fairly, there are alternative options. The Government of India maintains an official artisan database at indian.handicrafts.gov.in, which provides authenticity to the craftspeople and products that consumers are interested in purchasing. The database allows buyers to track their purchases back to the registered artisan. 

Governments across the nation and states have several regionally based traditional markets called haats; Dilli Haats across Delhi is a government-run market that provides a rotating portfolio of crafts from different areas with artisan access. Similarly, Ekamra Haat in Bhubneshwar, Odisha, sells authentic Kotpad sarees and traditional Odia handicrafts made by the artisans themselves. These types of haats operate in major cities and are also recognised as places where the government has allowed artisans the opportunity to sell directly to consumers.

Jaya Jaitly and her colleagues at the Dastkaari Haat Samiti provide a valuable link between traditional artisans and contemporary markets. They collaborate with organisations like the Delhi Crafts Council to create physical spaces where authentic handicrafts can be discovered. The brands Gaatha, and other makers of GI-tagged products, offer products that ensure geographical location. iTokri, Good Earth and Indian Ethnic Co., among others, work with artisan communities to offer select collections of their work.

Moving forward involves much more than just identifying appropriation and demanding structural change in the usual fashion industry's interaction with traditional crafts. As Chandha noted, "It is very important as content creators that we show why handmade has more value. We must glorify this as our job and duty."

The solution is not to simply stop all cross-cultural exchange in fashion, but to approach it with equitable exchanges, identifying sources. When luxury brands approach the experience of showing off many forms of Indian craft, they need to ensure that this experience is extended to the actual craftspeople, not just their craft.

Kalpana Das makes the case for the role education can play: "We think students should learn about this, everyone should have a good knowledge about Indian crafts. Just as in France, where people buy paintings for their house, there is a culture of investment - If even half of the people who buy brands bought from artisans, maybe artisans would not be living in mud houses."

The dialogues ignited by a singularly penetrating viral video demonstrate how much readiness and appetite there is for change from both artisans and consumers in the traditional Indian crafts sector. The question now is how to take that consciousness and turn it into action, ensuring that the varieties of hands that create beauty also benefit from it, and to ensure that the term "luxury" is not about exclusivity but rather equity.