Whose Pride Are Kolhapuris—Global Brand Prada Or Marginalised Indian Craftsmen?

The Prada Spring/Summer 2026 collection unveiled at the Deposito of the Fondazione Prada, Milan, on June 22. At first, the elastic-hemmed bloomer shorts on the runway caught everyone’s attention. In this collection by designers Miuccia Prada and Raf Simons, models walked the ramp in leather loafers and beachwear flip-flops but soon entered wearing what closely resembled Kolhapuri chappals. It was immediately on Prada’s social media, followed by other people’s social media, with Indian and South Asian communities accusing Prada of cultural theft.

The open-toe ring strap slippers originated in Kolhapur, Maharashtra, and date back to the twelfth century. A pair of the handmade footwear can take artisans up to six weeks to craft. The leather is tanned using traditional vegetable dyes, patterns are cut by hand, and often stitched without using a single nail or industrial machine.

By the 18th century, the chappals were popularised, allegedly because of JJ and Sons, a retail store in South Bombay. This is not the first time Kolhapuris have received global attention. In the 1970s, the sandals were a part of the hippie movement, as many (white) alternative lifestyle seekers believed they resembled the morphology of the foot.

While the ‘leather chappals’ have enjoyed national and international recognition for ages, the makers are not acknowledged or rewarded accordingly. The artisans mainly belong to the Chamar community, a historically marginalised Dalit caste whose traditional occupation is tanning and leather work. To then see their intellectual property, skills and labour tagged as Prada’s creations Italy further invisibilises the community and its craftmanship.

As of 2023, approximately 22,500 artisans were engaged in the Kolhapuri chappal industry, which in 2019 received the GI (Geographical Indication) tag, recognising the quality, reputation and other characteristics of the chappals as their essential attributes, based on their geographic origin.

On June 28, a Prada representative responded in these words to a letter sent by the Maharashtra Chamber of Commerce, Industry and Agriculture (MACCIA): “We acknowledge that the sandals featured in the recent Prada Men's 2026 Fashion Show are inspired by traditional Indian handcrafted footwear, with a centuries-old heritage. We deeply recognise the cultural significance of such Indian craftsmanship.”

A pair of Prada could reportedly be sold at Rs 1.2 lakh, even though the company clarified that it is not finalis that the chappals will be commercialised. This price stands in stark contrast to those made by the original craftsmen from the Chamar community, which sell for between Rs 400-1,500. A luxury brand erasing history—a past that is painful—even under the guise of ‘inspiration’, and introducing it as part of its original collection to earn profits is nothing but exploitation.

This is not the first time a luxury brand has come under fire. In 2018, graphic designer and co-founder of People Tree, Orijit Sen, accused Christian Dior of plagiarising his textile art. In the January issue of Elle India that year, actor Sonam Kapoor featured on the cover wearing a Christian Dior red cotton dress with prints of yoga poses and floral motifs. Sen alleged in a post on Facebook that the dress was similar to his creation, and posted his design and the magazine cover side by side.

The French brand and Sen agreed to an out-of-court settlement. “I’d like to set an example here, so these mega brands with mega budgets think twice before plagiarising the work of small independent creators with impunity,” Sen said on Facebook.

Last summer, Bipty, a fashion rental company, described the dupatta as “very European” on one of its TikTok videos. Widespread criticism erupted against the company with South Asian TikTokers retaliating against the appropriation by wearing ethnic outfits like salwar-kameez and ghaghra-choli and wrapping their dupattas, ironically calling it “Scandinavian scarf”.

In South Asian diaspora communities, many girls face mockery and/or fetishisation for wearing “ethnic” attire, often considered “colourful” or “over the top”. For the dupatta to be appropriated by Caucasians as “chic” and “elegant” erases accountability for the discrimination that South Asians face.

Brown girls flooded the internet to raise this issue, leading to Bipty founder Natalia Ohanesian apologising: “The fashion aesthetic my teammate was fawning over in that video is clearly not European. It is important to note that my teammate was truly curious where this fashion aesthetic is from and repeatedly asked that question multiple times through the video; she did not intend to discredit. We are very sorry to the South Asian communities that were offended.”

In 2019, Gucci offended the Sikh community when Nordstrom, a luxury department store, sold “Indy Full Turban” by Gucci that was first showcased in a 2018 show. The merchandise was being sold for US $790. In protest, the Sikh Coalition wrote on X, “The turban is not just an accessory to monetise; it's a religious article of faith that millions of Sikhs view as sacred. Many find this cultural appropriation inappropriate, since those wearing the turban just for fashion will not appreciate its deep religious significance.”

The brand also overlooked how, after the 9/11 attacks, Sikhs were targeted in the US and elsewhere. They were subjected to hate crimes because of their turbans and long beards, which were mistaken for Islamic headgear, or associated with al-Qaeda and its then chief, Osama Bin Laden, the key figure behind the attacks. It was no less than a luxury brand commodifying turbans to sell them at high prices even as turbans were being weaponised against those who traditionally wear them—an extraordinary leap of marketing.

Even in India, fashion often consumes culture without care. Raw Mango’s 2019 campaign for ‘Zooni’, a pheran-inspired bridal collection, filmed in Kashmir, was launched two months after Article 370 was abrogated and the region was placed under severe lockdown. Photos from the campaign, featuring a woman in a red pheran, shot by Avani Rai, circulated on Instagram while thousands in the valley remained under curfew, their voices silenced.

When luxury brands wear what originates on the margins of society—be it the turban, pheran, or Kolhapuri chappal— and sells it as fashion, the originating communities aren’t invited to the table. Kolhapuri chappals have made it to Milan. But the question is: who gets to walk the global stage wearing them proudly?