Can so-called vice industries thrive in India without silencing the voices that built them?

The societal taboo around sex tech and BDSM isn’t easy to shake off. But young, queer business-owners are playing a key role in making these industries more visible and legitimate without diluting the financial and cultural opportunities they offer to fellow LGBTQIA+ members

Society has long considered certain practices like cannabis consumption, BDSM, and sex tech, as taboo, policed and upheld by rigid laws and deep-seated cultural norms. For queer individuals, living on the fringes of societal acceptance, these so-called taboos have often been tools of survival and self-discovery. Cannabis has eased  chronic pain, kink has nurtured  intimacy through play, and sex tech has created safer sexual experiences with greater personal autonomy.

These once-stigmatised practices are now stepping into the spotlight, and queer entrepreneurs are leading the way. No longer just consumers, they are reshaping them into thriving, inclusive economies. A study by the UBC Sauder School of Business highlights  that “sin stocks”—investments in morally debatable industries —tend to yield higher returns, with fewer investors crowding the spaces. Queer-led ventures in cannabis, BDSM, and sex tech follow this trend, offering both financial and culturally inclusive opportunities.

But as these industries gradually become more visible and legitimate, a critical question remains: Is this newfound interest empowering queer communities, or does it risk turning their lived experiences into just another commodity?

Entrepreneurs at the Intersection of Taboo and Transformation

For Niran Hora (he/him), founder of High Maa-lai, a cannabis dispensary in Bangkok, cannabis was a deeply personal discovery before it became a business venture. Growing up in a traditional Indian family, he navigated a culture that shunned cannabis while normalising  pills and alcohol. “I had to educate my family and friends on how cannabis can heal both mental and physical health issues,” says Niran. “It felt like coming out of another closet.”

Today, his dispensary in Sukhumvit is more than just a storefront—it is a safe space for Bangkok’s LGBTQIA+ community. Through  workshops and wellness events, and by sourcing products from queer growers, Niran’s venture merges commerce with  community. “The intersection of cannabis culture and LGBTQIA+ rights has a rich history when it comes to healing and building community,” he explains. 

The cannabis industry’s growth parallels the structural challenges it faces, from stigmatisation to regulatory red tape. Namit Chugh (he/him), a 36-year-old venture capitalist specialising in healthcare investments believes that VCs must do more than just invest in vice industries—they need to shift the narrative. “In the long run, this is what will help address structural barriers by influencing the regulators’ approach to these industries. A decade ago, the insurance market was dominated by four major players who also controlled brokerage. VCs lobbied and influenced regulators to open up that sector. A similar thought leadership is needed for cannabis to shift perceptions and enable growth," he says, highlighting how entrenched industries like major pharmaceuticals push back against cannabis as a medicinal alternative for pain and mental health. ”

From personal exploration to community connections

Like Niran, Amiya Bhanushali (she/they), a shibari—Japanese art form of rope bondage that focuses on intricate and aesthetic tying—practitioner and curator, sees their work as deeply personal. Based in Mumbai and Goa, Amiya’s journey began as a personal exploration before growing into a service that connects people. Both their ventures rely on the human element—trust, care, and authenticity—whether it’s through cannabis or shibari. Yet, as both entrepreneurs note, structural challenges often impede their work. Niran battles restrictive regulations and cultural stigmas in Thailand, while Amiya struggles with making shibari financially accessible without compromising quality.

Amiya views their work as a blend of art, healing, and activism. “I didn’t start offering services right away,” they share. “I was trying to understand shibari on a deeper level—for myself and for the experience it creates for others.” For them, shibari isn’t just about knots and ropes—it’s about intimacy, presence, and creating a safe space for connection. “The kind of space you hold for yourself and others in this practice goes beyond the physical,” they explain. 

However, balancing intimacy and commercialisation is tricky. Pricing their services, especially for retreats, remains a challenge. “I want to make experiences accessible without underpaying those I hire or compromising on quality,” says Amiya. While most clients are normative and cishet, Amiya emphasises the need to bridge financial gaps for queer individuals. The structural barriers require a shift, making it important to influence systems to make space for those most impacted.

Reclaiming Tradition, Redefining Eroticism

For Randhir Pratap Singh (he/him), founder of Subculture, a BDSM and kink brand in Jaipur, kink is more than rebellion—it is tied to history, art, and liberation. “The roots of bondage and liberation existed in India long before the Western idea of BDSM,” he says, referencing sculptures at the historic site of Khajuraho and the Kama Sutra.

Subculture reimagines kink through an Indian lens. The packaging features Khajuraho-inspired illustrations, and its campaigns combine handcuffs and gags with traditional Indian attire, creating a cultural hybrid that challenges modern-day taboos. “We’re not just bringing Western narratives into India. We’re giving kink its own local context,” explains Randhir. Yet the challenges are manifold. As a queer entrepreneur in a conservative society, Randhir had to carefully navigate the stigma surrounding the products he offers. “When you’re introducing kink to Indian society, you can’t just barge in. You start a conversation, gradually gain acceptance, and create space,” he says. Moreover, finding and training artisans willing to design  kink products took months. “Most pattern-masters and leather artisans had no idea what these products were or how to make them,” recalls Randhir. After years of collaboration and training, he built a team that could bring his vision to life. Yet  he continues to battle restrictive advertising policies from platforms like Meta along with recurring payment gateway issues, which make running a queer-centric business more arduous.

Where Underground Tradition Meets Activism

For Kumari Suraj (they/he), dance is not just an art form; it’s a form of resistance. An icon in Waacking—a queer vintage club style of dance—and having earned the title of West Coast Kiki Legend in Ballroom Culture, Kumari’s work spans decades and continents, transforming historically queer art forms into vibrant platforms for empowerment. 

“Growing up, I saw my Nani, a loving lesbian, create safe spaces for her queer community. She embodied celebration and resilience,” shares Kumari. “This legacy shaped me—it taught me that queerness isn’t just about survival, but about thriving and love.”

Waacking originated in Black and brown queer communities, and emerged as celebratory acts of escapism and freedom during times of immense oppression. For Kumari, these forms reject  societal shame and embrace their identity as a mixed-race, pansexual, non-binary person. “Waacking isn’t just about movement. Each flick of the wrist, every joyful twirl, is a release and rejection of societal narratives that sought to confine us,” they explain.

In 2010, Kumari founded the International Waack Punk Pose Festival—Waackfest—the world’s first queer dance festival in Los Angeles, which brought intergenerational audiences together to celebrate the history and evolution of queer dance. Introducing Waacking and Ballroom culture in India in 2017, before the  abolition of Section 377 in 2018 was transformative. “We saw femmes, queer folx, and allied youth find strength and voice through dance,” they reflect.

Yet, as these art forms gain popularity, Kumari warns of cultural appropriation. “Just because someone identifies as queer or female doesn’t mean they should profit from art forms rooted in Black and brown queer struggle, without being connected to or accepted by these communities,” they assert. Kumari insists that authenticity and accountability are essential to preserving these traditions. Their mission is deeply personal. They challenge the binaries of gender by adopting the All American run way category. “For me, walking the All-American runway category is about embodying my natural masculinity as a way to protect myself in spaces where femininity attracts predators and sexual abuse,” shares Kumari. “But it’s also about breaking barriers for others like me—AFAB (assigned female at birth) non-binary folks who deserve recognition in a scene historically dominated by cis-men.” All-American is a runway category in the Ballroom ecosystem where participants showcase bold, masculine fashion, which contrasts with European Runway's focus on selling feminine looks.

Their work also extends to ensuring inclusive representation in the entertainment industry. “If you want real Ballroom or Waacking, hire from within the community,” asserts Kumari, who started House of Suraj—India’s first Waacking house that was established in Mumbai in 2014 and now functions as a collective and artist development in India and London.  

Commercialisation, however, brings in the risk factor. “Ballroom guards against cultural vultures, but Waacking faces challenges maintaining its autonomy,” notes Kumari. Ballroom Culture, with its deep ties to activism and resistance, has developed the Ballroom Alliance to shield itself from exploitation.  Houses are another familial structure outside of the alliances, which serve as chosen families for Black and Latino LGBTQ+ individuals, providing a safe space and support for those marginalised by the mainstream while maintaining a sense of community and cultural legacy. Waacking’s rise to global popularity, meanwhile, has left the dance style more exposed to commercialisation and mainstream appropriation, distancing it from its roots in LGBTQ+ and Black communities.

In recent years, Waacking has been co-opted by mainstream dance competitions, corporate brands, and social media influencers who often strip it of its historical and cultural significance. “When Waacking is removed from its queer and Black origins, it becomes just another trend,” explains Kumari. “The wrist flicks and spins lose their weight if they’re not grounded in the stories of resilience and rebellion that birthed them.”

For Kumari, it’s not just about artistic credit but safeguarding the legacy of communities who fought against invisibility and oppression. “When you capitalise on these dances without acknowledging where they come from, you erode their power,” they assert.

By fostering accountability, reinvestment, and community-led leadership, Kumari envisions a future where these art forms thrive without losing their soul. This also reflects Namit’s emphasis on representation within VC spaces: “Queer entrepreneurship can be encouraged in its true spirit when there is open and healthy queer representation among VC investors themselves.” This will ensure that the process of commercialising a traditional space retains the checks and balances required to preserve its integrity using accountability mechanisms.

Risking Exploitation?

The intersection of queerness and so-called vice industries have always been radical, but an interest from the mainstream comes with risks. As investors and mainstream platforms increasingly turn their attention to these industries, the threat of commodification grows. For example, alcohol brands that have jumped on Pride campaigns in recent years. While they’ve made strides when it comes to queer visibility, the concern lies in how these companies profit from Pride without confronting the realities of substance abuse within queer communities, or the marginalisation of LGBTQIA+ individuals in the broader alcohol industry.

Similarly, the cannabis boom in places such as Canada or in California, USA, has seen companies like Canopy Growth use rainbow-themed marketing during Pride Month, yet fail to consider the harm done to queer people of colour through the criminalisation of cannabis use. In nightlife, brands like Smirnoff have partnered with queer entertainers and drag queens for ad campaigns. Here, queer bars and clubs—originally safe spaces for marginalised communities—are increasingly priced out of the reach of local queer folks as mainstream parties and pop-up events gain popularity. These moves often reduce queer spaces to marketing tools, losing sight of the political power and grassroots support that once defined them. Visibility is valuable in these sectors, but when driven by profit, it can erase the radical roots of queerness. Niran warns, “While profitability is enticing, the commodification of queer culture can lead to a loss of authenticity.” Kumari echoes this concern, noting how commercialisation often strips queer art forms of their cultural depth, reducing acts of resistance to superficial spectacles, unless you hire from within the community.

Yet, the future is hopeful. Intergenerational dialogue, financial backing with integrity and community-centered leadership can preserve the essence of these industries while embracing their newfound visibility. “Younger folks in Waacking may not fully understand the struggles that  paved the way for their freedom,” says Kumari. “But through shared conversations and activations, we can preserve our culture and make sure it evolves.”

Queer entrepreneurs have turned social taboos into tools for empowerment, but the challenge lies in ensuring that their stories and culture remain central to this transformation. “True progress happens when queer entrepreneurs see themselves reflected in the investors backing them,” concludes Namit.

Curated by Gaysi Family | Illustration: Anjali Nair

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