Scarves, Spirituality and Stereotypes: The Double Standard of South Asia in the Western Imagination

Illustrations by Grace McKenna

With Coachella in April and the Met Gala in May, for the last few months my social media has been flooded with fashion-related content, from influencers revealing their outfits for each day of the world-famous music festival, to endless lists of the best and worst dressed guests at the fashion event of the year. Beneath the seemingly superficial interest of social media in the fashion choices made by celebrities, however, is the deep-rooted issue of cultural appropriation, much of which has long been ignored, especially when it comes to the appropriation of South Asian cultures and practices.

Coachella has had a long history of controversies over cultural appropriation, not just of South Asian accessories such as henna and bindis (famously sported by Vanessa Hudgens in 2013), but also Native American attire, such as Alessandra Ambrosio wearing a traditional headdress in 2014. The costume-isation of non-Western culture was exemplified by Heidi Klum’s 2008 Halloween costume, where she appeared blue from head to toe as the Hindu goddess Kali, complete with extra arms. Shockingly, there remains almost no criticism of this unquestionably offensive decision from Klum, who was even awarded best costume on the night; only one short Vogue article mentions the backlash from Hindus, trivialised as “ruffled religious feathers”, while the article itself does not pass any kind of judgement.

South Asian culture does seem to hold a special attraction for white celebrities and brands, most recently exemplified by the ‘Scandinavian Scarf’ controversy, sparked by European creators on TikTok promoting a blouse, skirt and long scarf as ‘Scandinavian-inspired’ fashion (essentially a lehenga and dupatta which has been worn by South Asian women for centuries). Similarly, in March 2024, fashion rental company Bipty posted a now-deleted TikTok of white models wearing scarves draped over their shoulders, marketing the look as “very European”. Understandably, the South Asian community responded with outrage, from creators ironically donning their most beautiful cultural wear labelled as ‘Scandi scarves’ to more serious content addressing the issues of appropriation and marginalisation underlying these so-called ‘trends’. The new year did not see an end to the controversy, as in April 2025, fashion-house Reformation dropped a new collaboration with Devon Lee Carlson featuring a low-rise skirt, matching camisole and scarf – once again clearly inspired by centuries-old South Asian attire, with a Y2K twist that looks suspiciously similar to outfits you might find worn by Aishwarya Rai or Kareena Kapoor in a 2000s Bollywood movie. Mango’s "asymmetrical dress with embroidered fringes" seems like an almost comical attempt at packaging a South Asian aunty’s party saree as an innovative Western design, which would be funny if not for the blatant appropriation at play.

It’s not only South Asian clothing which has found its way into the Western consciousness, removed from its historic significance and meaning, but a variety of cultural practices, such as yoga and ‘spirituality’ in general, hair oiling, and ‘turmeric lattes’. Yoga has hugely gained popularity within Western culture, which would not be a problem in and of itself if it had not also come to be so strongly associated with white, particularly American, women, most of whom use the ancient Sanskrit words and references to Hindu deities interwoven with the practice of yoga without any acknowledgement (and sometimes even knowledge) of their meaning and deep significance. This is where the heart of the problem lies, and what, in my opinion, distinguishes appropriation from appreciation: an often intentional failure to recognise the culture and background in which a practice or item of clothing is steeped.

Why is it that when white influencers claim to have ‘discovered’ the benefits of turmeric, ginger, and hair oiling, these things suddenly become trendy and fashionable, while the same things practised by South Asian cultures for centuries have been an object of ridicule, discrimination and marginalisation? The stereotype of South Asians often characterises us as ‘greasy’ and ‘smelly’, but it is the same coconut oil, so lovingly massaged into our hair by our mothers, which is poured into branded bottles with pipettes and marketed by haircare companies as an exciting new product. Such things are only deemed palatable and fashionable when co-opted by and for the West.

This appropriation of South Asian culture and fashion is happening alongside a steep rise in racism and hate towards South Asian countries and people on social media; according to a Stop AAPI Hate report in October 2024, between January 2023 and August 2024, 60% of online slurs were directed at the South Asian community. On Instagram, the comment sections of travel influencers visiting India are flooded with remarks lambasting the country and its people, with one user warning a British traveller to “turn around and get back on the plane”, followed by the 💩emoji, which along with the vomiting emoji can be found in the comment section of almost any South Asia-related content, particularly India. Even completely unrelated content features similar comments; for example, creator Natasha Gupta's videos exploring countries until they are “ugly” are in themselves light-hearted and actually reveal the beauty of the countries. Nevertheless, many of the videos are plagued with apparently witty comments such as “Exploring India until its bueatiful [sic]”, which has garnered over 7000 likes, pointing to the widespread nature of anti-Indian rhetoric online.

The disconnect between the appropriation of South Asian culture and this marked increase in the perpetuation of racist stereotypes towards the same community, points to a double standard of South Asia in the Western imagination which is part of an historic pattern of orientalism and exoticisation, as voiced by Edward Said in Orientalism (1978). The West picks and chooses the parts of South Asian culture which it deems ‘fashionable’, but removes them from their deep-rooted significance, taking credit for their ‘discovery’ and transplanting them into the world of trends and consumerism. At the same time, the very people consuming these westernised aspects of South Asian culture promote harmful and inaccurate stereotypes and tropes grounded in ignorance and xenophobia, thus undermining the richness of the region’s culture and history and spotlighting only its negatives.

Discussing these issues with non-South Asian friends has shown me that content around the matter, particularly from South Asians responding to the appropriation and increasing racism, seems to be mostly reaching other South Asians, rather than those who are causing harm in the first place through their (wilful or not) ignorance. (For those interested, these videos by @naleybynature and @shivam.desaii are two that I found articulated the crux of the matter perfectly). This isolation of the issue to within the South Asian community means it is not even granted the status of an issue, leading to a double marginalisation of South Asians, both from their own culture and from the world stage. The next time you see a white influencer lauding the benefits of meditation and mantras, remember that South Asians have been practising it for millennia.