Dupatta Labeled as European Aesthetic is a Case of Cultural Erasure

As the dupatta is rebranded as a “Scandinavian aesthetic,” communities are left questioning whether the globalisation of fashion aesthetics—without proper context—leads to quiet cultural erasure.

In a time when fashion is more global than ever before, cultural crossovers are bound to happen. But when traditional garments are rebranded under trendy, Western labels without proper context or credit, it brings up uncomfortable questions about respect, representation, and recognition. Recently, a new controversy emerged online when social media users pointed out how the dupatta—a piece of clothing that has been a staple in South Asian wardrobes for centuries—was being reimagined as part of a so-called “Scandinavian fit.” Influencers, often white women, began pairing flowing scarves or sheer wraps with minimalistic outfits and tagging them as Nordic-inspired silhouettes. But for many in South Asian communities, this wasn’t innovation but appropriation masquerading as aesthetic.

The dupatta, which holds historical, cultural, and spiritual value across regions in India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh, is not simply a piece of cloth but a marker of identity, modesty, and beauty. So, to see it stripped of its origins and renamed without acknowledgment felt deeply personal to many. This trend, while seemingly harmless to some, touched a nerve because it followed a familiar pattern—the mislabeling or rebranding of cultural elements by those with more power or reach, often for profit or popularity. It reminded people of when “chai” became “chai tea latte” or when henna was sold as “festival face art” without any mention of its roots in South Asian or Middle Eastern cultures.

While some argued that certain flowing garments may have historical connections across Persia or parts of Europe, the very specific rebranding of a garment so central to South Asian culture as “Scandinavian” overlooked its deeply rooted presence in the subcontinent. The issue was not that scarves were being worn but the erasure of origin, the lack of credit, and the tone-deaf celebration of what was being presented as new, when in fact it was ancestral.

This moment reflects a broader, ongoing issue where cultural artifacts—especially those from marginalized or colonized communities—are reinterpreted through a Western lens and marketed without proper understanding. From lehengas being dubbed “Y2K two-piece sets” to bindis being sold as “face jewels” on festival websites, from Maasai beadwork being called “boho chic” to henna being rebranded as “temporary tattoos,” the cycle of cultural erasure repeats itself again and again. And often at the center of this are influencers and fast fashion brands, who chase trends without pausing to research the heritage behind the styles they promote.

On platforms like Shein, one can easily find dupatta-inspired garments being sold as “Ibiza wraps,” completely detached from their original makers—many of whom are Indian artisans who spend months weaving and dyeing these pieces by hand. These knockoffs are cheaper, faster, and trendier—but they come at a cost. The economic impact of this erasure is devastating for communities that rely on craft for livelihood. Maasai artisans lose business as their designs are replicated and mass-produced. Henna artists see their culturally significant work repackaged in plastic kits, marketed to festival-goers. Indian weavers struggle to keep up with global retailers who capitalize on their legacy without crediting it.

But the impact isn’t just economic—it’s emotional too. For many South Asian youth growing up in the diaspora, symbols like the dupatta, the bindi, or mehndi are deeply personal. They are ways to stay connected to a heritage that is already fragile in a world where assimilation is often the price of acceptance. When those symbols are rebranded, repackaged, or dismissed as trends, it can feel like yet another piece of home is being taken away.

Yet, amid all this, social media has also become a place for resistance. While it has played a role in spreading these trends, it has equally empowered people to speak out against them. South Asian creators, fashion historians, and cultural commentators are using social media platforms to call out appropriation, educate their audiences, and reclaim their narratives. 

This isn’t a call to stop sharing styles or inspirations—it’s a call to do so with care. Cultural exchange is beautiful when it comes with respect, when credit is given where it’s due, and when the original communities are included, not excluded. The exchange must be reciprocal. It must credit the source, compensate the maker, and respect the context. As fashion continues to globalize, it’s crucial we don’t lose sight of where it all began—and the people who kept it alive.

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