Today, fashion trends are spreading to communities faster than ever. Although this sustains creativity and accessibility to new outfits, it has sparked debate about how clothing pieces, originating from diverse cultures and traditions, are being commodified and sold to populations without knowledge of the history behind them.
The issue is apparent among many fashion brands. A recent example came earlier this year, when the brand Reformation launched a collection of items in collaboration with fashion influencer and entrepreneur Devon Lee Carlson. Included in the collection is a three-piece outfit: the “Lula Top,” a baby blue midi skirt, and a flowy camisole topped off with a long, thin scarf. Many individuals have pointed out that it resembles a lehenga, a traditional South Asian outfit. The company doesn’t acknowledge its cultural significance; instead, it rebrands and modernizes it into its own product.
This example connects to the idea of “gentrified fashion,” which is a term used to show how clothing from specific cultures is made mainstream and rebranded for profit, dismissing the cultural origin of the piece. Its value increases, but the cultural meaning is removed, marginalizing the communities that originally embraced the clothing.
In response to the criticism, a Reformation spokesperson released a statement to the New York Times, saying that the brand respects “the origin of this criticism given South Asian culture’s influence on Western style” and said that “no item of clothing or trend can be considered in isolation without broader historical and cultural precedent.” Following the statement, Reformation still did not attempt to mention the cultural significance alongside the “Lula Top”.
Influencers also contribute to fashion gentrification for monetary gain. On social media platforms such as TikTok or Instagram, content creators post tutorials of their hairstyles and show off their outfits, with many having unknown cultural meanings behind them. These posts get millions of views and likes, which convert to profit for the creator. However, the influencer rarely recognizes the cultural significance of the pieces they present to their audiences.
Another issue that comes from the gentrification of fashion is the economic aspect. Designers from underrepresented communities have a hard time finding their way into the expensive, major fashion markets. Major retailers are able to replicate culturally significant fashion and sell it at a much lower cost, without giving credit to the original creators of the pieces. In doing so, the original creators are put at an economic disadvantage, being excluded from many of the profits.
Not only are there economic consequences for those communities, but the cultures in which these fashion pieces originate are harmed socially. Elle magazine contributor Kriti Gupta said, “[as] a South Asian woman, my frustration is deeply personal. My community has long been told that our traditions and clothing were ‘too much.’ I remember growing up in an environment where if any form of my culture or heritage was shared, I was shamed.”
The minimization of significant cultural pieces leads to denigrating stereotypes, supporting the idea that these traditions are just trends, rather than something meaningful to peoples’ identity.
Borrowing from other cultures is a big part of the fashion industry, but commercializing these pieces only benefits the companies, while excluding the communities that created those traditions. These situations make it seem less like borrowing and more like taking. When cultural styles are made popular only after being worn by mainstream groups, it is worth questioning whether these trending pieces should be seen as cultural appreciation or appropriation.
