Imagine logging onto Instagram or TikTok and finding the vibrant, flowing dupatta—a cultural staple worn across South Asia for generations—suddenly rebranded as the “Scandinavian scarf.” No mention of its roots, no nod to its cultural meaning, just a new label, a new aesthetic, and a flurry of confused applause from Western fashion influencers.
That’s exactly what happened.
A now-viral trend features a fashion influencers twirling in a minimalist outfit: a flowy skirt, blouse, and what they excitedly call a “Scandinavian scarf.” South Asian viewers instantly recognized it for what it truly was: the dupatta. A garment interwoven into the fabric of daily life in countries like India and Pakistan, now spun into a Nordic fantasy with not even a footnote in its caption.
And so begins yet another chapter in fashion’s ongoing habit of borrowing without credit—leaving us asking, “Is the dupatta the next pashmina or bandana in the West’s style-stealing saga?”
How Did the Dupatta Get Here?
The dupatta is far more than a decorative cloth. It carries cultural significance, emotional symbolism, and historical depth. Worn in the mundane and more ethnically during weddings, prayers, and celebrations, it has stood as a symbol of modesty, femininity, and tradition. But in its new avatar as the “Scandinavian scarf,” that meaning gets stripped away, leaving behind just a visual trend ready for mass consumption.
This isn’t a one-off event. It's part of a long pattern. Remember when the intricate, tie-dyed bandhani patterns made their way to Europe and quietly morphed into “bandanas”? Or when handcrafted Kashmiri pashmina shawls—each a product of months of labor and generations of expertise—got repackaged as generic luxury scarves, flooding fashion markets across the globe?
Now it’s the dupatta’s turn.
The Algorithm’s Appetite for Aesthetic, Not Authenticity
Social media’s viral economy rewards looks over legacy. It favors novelty over nuance. When a white influencer wraps herself in what she thinks is a “Euro-chic scarf,” she may not intend harm. But when her video becomes the one the algorithm favors—while the original cultural context is left unseen or ignored—it sends a message louder than intent.
What follows is an erasure. Not of the cloth itself, but of its story, its people, and their place in the global conversation. Fashion becomes less about inspiration and more about silent extraction. And what’s worse? It’s often celebrated.
The Double Standards Woven In
Here’s the sting. For decades, brown women around the world have faced mocking and exclusion for wearing their cultural attire—from being called “too ethnic” to being told they look “costumed.” Yet when the same fabrics, silhouettes, or styles are worn by white bodies under new names, they’re suddenly “boho,” “elegant,” or “Scandi-cool.”
This isn’t just about credit—it’s about who gets to be trendy and who gets to be ridiculed. Who reaps the aesthetic value and who bears the burden of history?
Pashmina, Paisley, and the Path of Appropriation
The story of the dupatta’s misbranding is eerily similar to that of pashmina. Originally woven in Kashmir using the delicate wool of Himalayan goats, pashmina was once a luxury good signifying royal status. It later became a global fashion statement—flattened, faked, and far removed from its origin. The irony? Most people today couldn’t distinguish between the real and the replica.
Even the famous paisley motif, commonly associated with psychedelic prints or vintage bandanas, has roots in the buta patterns of Kashmiri shawls. But its Scottish namesake has long outshined its South Asian origins in mainstream narratives.
The West doesn’t just borrow; it often forgets to return the name tag.
Appreciation vs Appropriation: Where Do We Draw the Line?
To be clear, cultures evolve, blend, and inspire one another. But there’s a difference between appreciation—where the origin is acknowledged, respected, and celebrated—and appropriation, where it’s renamed, resold, and repackaged for someone else’s gain.
Many South Asians aren’t asking people to stop wearing dupattas, pashminas, or bandhani prints. They’re simply asking: give credit where it’s due. Don’t erase the story because it doesn’t fit the current trend cycle. Recognize the labor, the legacy, the living culture behind the cloth.
The dupatta’s journey from Indian shoulders to Western screens is more than a style trend—it’s a test case in our global fashion conscience. Will we continue letting algorithms and aesthetics override authenticity? Or will we take a moment to ask, “Who wore it first—and why?”
In the end, the dupatta doesn’t need saving. But maybe our sense of cultural fairness does.
That’s exactly what happened.
A now-viral trend features a fashion influencers twirling in a minimalist outfit: a flowy skirt, blouse, and what they excitedly call a “Scandinavian scarf.” South Asian viewers instantly recognized it for what it truly was: the dupatta. A garment interwoven into the fabric of daily life in countries like India and Pakistan, now spun into a Nordic fantasy with not even a footnote in its caption.
And so begins yet another chapter in fashion’s ongoing habit of borrowing without credit—leaving us asking, “Is the dupatta the next pashmina or bandana in the West’s style-stealing saga?”
How Did the Dupatta Get Here?
The dupatta is far more than a decorative cloth. It carries cultural significance, emotional symbolism, and historical depth. Worn in the mundane and more ethnically during weddings, prayers, and celebrations, it has stood as a symbol of modesty, femininity, and tradition. But in its new avatar as the “Scandinavian scarf,” that meaning gets stripped away, leaving behind just a visual trend ready for mass consumption.
This isn’t a one-off event. It's part of a long pattern. Remember when the intricate, tie-dyed bandhani patterns made their way to Europe and quietly morphed into “bandanas”? Or when handcrafted Kashmiri pashmina shawls—each a product of months of labor and generations of expertise—got repackaged as generic luxury scarves, flooding fashion markets across the globe?
Now it’s the dupatta’s turn.
The Algorithm’s Appetite for Aesthetic, Not Authenticity
Social media’s viral economy rewards looks over legacy. It favors novelty over nuance. When a white influencer wraps herself in what she thinks is a “Euro-chic scarf,” she may not intend harm. But when her video becomes the one the algorithm favors—while the original cultural context is left unseen or ignored—it sends a message louder than intent.
What follows is an erasure. Not of the cloth itself, but of its story, its people, and their place in the global conversation. Fashion becomes less about inspiration and more about silent extraction. And what’s worse? It’s often celebrated.
After that Scandinavian scarf sh*t, I realised how important it is to preserve our culture. They mocked us for our culture, now it’s suddenly “aesthetic”? They hate us but love to copy us. Our traditions aren’t trends they’re identity. Own it. Dupatta is 2025 trending accessory https://t.co/BMeJDmHyD0
— 𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚂𝚝𝚢𝚕𝚎𝚜 ✿◠‿◠) 🎀 (@VanshikaInStyle) April 21, 2025
The Double Standards Woven In
Here’s the sting. For decades, brown women around the world have faced mocking and exclusion for wearing their cultural attire—from being called “too ethnic” to being told they look “costumed.” Yet when the same fabrics, silhouettes, or styles are worn by white bodies under new names, they’re suddenly “boho,” “elegant,” or “Scandi-cool.”
This isn’t just about credit—it’s about who gets to be trendy and who gets to be ridiculed. Who reaps the aesthetic value and who bears the burden of history?
on today’s episode of what i learnt on reels— the word bandana comes from bandhani fabric that the british exported from india and then ruined the name of 🫶🏼 pic.twitter.com/4q1psq8sp7
— Niharika (@niharigoat) June 22, 2024
Pashmina, Paisley, and the Path of Appropriation
The story of the dupatta’s misbranding is eerily similar to that of pashmina. Originally woven in Kashmir using the delicate wool of Himalayan goats, pashmina was once a luxury good signifying royal status. It later became a global fashion statement—flattened, faked, and far removed from its origin. The irony? Most people today couldn’t distinguish between the real and the replica.
Even the famous paisley motif, commonly associated with psychedelic prints or vintage bandanas, has roots in the buta patterns of Kashmiri shawls. But its Scottish namesake has long outshined its South Asian origins in mainstream narratives.
The West doesn’t just borrow; it often forgets to return the name tag.
Appreciation vs Appropriation: Where Do We Draw the Line?
To be clear, cultures evolve, blend, and inspire one another. But there’s a difference between appreciation—where the origin is acknowledged, respected, and celebrated—and appropriation, where it’s renamed, resold, and repackaged for someone else’s gain.
Many South Asians aren’t asking people to stop wearing dupattas, pashminas, or bandhani prints. They’re simply asking: give credit where it’s due. Don’t erase the story because it doesn’t fit the current trend cycle. Recognize the labor, the legacy, the living culture behind the cloth.
The dupatta’s journey from Indian shoulders to Western screens is more than a style trend—it’s a test case in our global fashion conscience. Will we continue letting algorithms and aesthetics override authenticity? Or will we take a moment to ask, “Who wore it first—and why?”
In the end, the dupatta doesn’t need saving. But maybe our sense of cultural fairness does.
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