Why is Indian red carpet fashion still wrapped up in the sari?

Designer Sabyasachi Mukherjee once regaled me with the tale of the late Shyam Benegal taking his movie Nishant to the Cannes Film Festival in 1976. In the absence of an advertising budget, the veteran filmmaker asked his leading ladies Smita Patil and Shabana Azmi to walk up and down the Promenade de la Croisette dressed in their best silk saris in order to draw attention and bring in audiences to watch their film, marking an early moment for Indian fashion on the international stage. The two actors, in their “exotic” traditional saris, managed to draw the crowds in—the film opened to a full house. So, the sari truly made its Cannes debut (red carpet or not) in 1976, rather than with Aishwarya Rai Bachchan at the international premiere of Devdas in 2002.

In fact, the six-yard wonder has been Rai Bachchan’s arch nemesis and saviour, depending on which year the Cannes red carpet roulette stops at. When Rai Bachchan made her debut at the Grand Palais in a horse-drawn carriage in 2002, wearing a yellow Neeta Lulla sari, there was much global appreciation. But when the designer-actor combo tried to recreate that magic in 2003, her parrot green sari and corset ensemble received some ferocious flak. Designers and critics called it a travesty and took unprecedented umbrage, making it a permanent fixture in the complicated legacy of red carpet fashion from India.

In fact, the six-yard wonder has been Rai Bachchan’s arch nemesis and saviour, depending on which year the Cannes red carpet roulette stops at. When Rai Bachchan made her debut at the Grand Palais in a horse-drawn carriage in 2002, wearing a yellow Neeta Lulla sari, there was much global appreciation. But when the designer-actor combo tried to recreate that magic in 2003, her parrot green sari and corset ensemble received some ferocious flak. Designers and critics called it a travesty and took unprecedented umbrage, making it a permanent fixture in the complicated legacy of red carpet fashion from India. 

Since then, the former Miss World has stepped out on international red carpets in iterations by Mukherjee, Tarun Tahiliani, and Abu Jani and Sandeep Khosla over the last two decades to varying degrees of rhapsodising and declarations of ruination. And while the passionate pursuit of Rai Bachchan’s Cannes capers may be confounding to many, equally perplexing has been the sari’s perceived global fashion sojourn, be it in the cinematic climes of southern France or the megawatt stage of the MET Gala. 

The many renditions of the sari in global fashion

Vidya Balan’s famed collaboration with Mukherjee in 2013 received more brickbats than plaudits, and quickly got dubbed as maharani-meets-bahurani couture. The Kolkata-based couturier has since dressed Deepika Padukone, Rai Bachchan, and Aditi Rao Hydari in the sari, to varying degrees of spectator success, plus a few memorable turns with Alia Bhatt and socialite Natasha Poonawala at the MET Gala thrown in for good measure, reinforcing the sari’s role in global fashion discourse And with each appearance, Mukherjee, a purist at heart, hasn’t tampered with the traditional drape. Unlike style chameleon Sonam Kapoor Ahuja and her stylist sister Rhea Kapoor, who have experimented with many hybrid versions from Anamika Khanna, Rimzim Dadu, Abu Jani-Sandeep Khosla, and Masaba Gupta.  Which begs the question: What is it about the sari and its cultural symbolism that has the social media style police frothing at the mouth and armchair Anna Wintours wringing their proverbial pallus every time an Indian celebrity or Bollywood actor steps on to an international stage?

Not surprisingly, the pallu or drape has often become a bone of contention. While the diaphanous Sabyasachi dupatta covering Balan’s head was labelled regressive years ago, surprisingly, Rai Bachchan’s recent dramatic turn in a trailing Paro-esque sindoor-spewing version, courtesy Manish Malhotra, was received with comments like “Queen of Cannes” and “foolishly fabulous”---the latter by fashion commentator DietSabya.           

If it’s not a straight up sari moment, then an ‘inspired’ look alluding to the pallu or pleats is considered de rigueur. Most recently, Tarun Tahiliani created a sculptural dupatta-like version for Janhvi Kapoor, while Gaurav Gupta dressed Taraji P. Henson in a sari gown. Why do designers, even international luxury houses, feel compelled to throw in some extra yardage to woo the Indian viewer with a ‘sorta sari’? Does every silhouette need a one-shoulder ruffle, a long train, or extraneous fabric we can quickly dub the “sari reference”? Case in point, Janhvi’s wet sari look, courtesy British label Di Petsa.

Hell, even Gucci better give us a sari reference because what are we without the normative six-yards, right? Fashion editors will be loath to admit, but there are only so many “international brands referencing the Indian sari” carousels we can do year after year.

More than a marker of Indian fashion identity

The traditional sari is, no doubt, a sartorial masterpiece, a versatile and indispensable part of our national pride and heritage, one that we have managed to keep alive and relevant for centuries. We’ve even seen The Design Museum in London curate The Offbeat Sari exhibit in 2023, celebrating the garment’s numerous forms on the global stage, demonstrating it “to be a metaphor for the layered and complex definitions of India today”. But whether you fall into the sari purist or freestyling faction, must it be our only totem of tradition and all things Indian? Why don’t we see other Asian actors sporting cheongsams, kimonos, and hanbok interpretations on global platforms?    

Even as the red carpet phenomenon itself struggles to find relevance in an era where we need to be talking about mindful production practices and tackling issues like textile surplus and waste, we can be rest assured that the sari is not going to disappear from our worldviews and wardrobes. It doesn’t need a red carpet redeemer or a cultural resurgence. As designer Gaurav Jai Gupta once wisely pointed out: “The sari doesn’t need saving. It is, in fact, saving many careers.” I too must play devil’s advocate and say let the devil wear Prada, please. It need not be a Prada sari or lehenga. And definitely not a Prada Kolhapuri.