When Prada sent models down the runway at Milan Fashion Week in what looked suspiciously like Kolhapuri chappals — with no mention of India or credit to its artisans — it didn’t just step on toes, it trampled on centuries of craft under designer soles.
What followed was a cultural appropriation row loud enough to echo from Maharashtra to Milan.
Now, in a rare move of accountability, the Italian luxury house has issued a formal statement crediting India with the design. This, after days of social media outrage and artisan protests, and a formal complaint reaching its doorstep.
The controversy erupted after the unveiling of Prada’s Spring/ Summer 2026 menswear line at Milan Fashion Week on June 22.
Amid the featherlight macs, retro tracksuits and Raf Simons’s “calming, positive and balanced” vibe, one accessory stole all the heat — sandals that looked uncannily like Kolhapuri chappals.
Yes, those open-toe, T-strap leather beauties that generations of Indians have worn across dusty towns, train platforms and college campuses.
Social media did what it does best — point out that these weren’t just any sandals but replicas of Kolhapuri chappals, which have held a Geographical Indication (GI) tag since 2019.
What added fuel to the fire was the estimated price tag: ₹1 lakh or more. For context, you could buy a pair of Kolhapuri chappals in Colaba, Gariahat or Karol Bagh for ₹100 to ₹250.
The backlash came in hot. BJP parliamentarian Dhananjay Mahadik led a delegation of Kolhapuri artisans to Maharashtra chief minister Devendra Fadnavis, submitting a formal complaint about protecting GI rights.
Lalit Gandhi, president of the Maharashtra Chamber of Commerce, Industry and Agriculture, sent a letter to Prada, flagging the issue.
In response, Lorenzo Bertelli, the Prada Group’s head of corporate social responsibility, issued a letter to Gandhi.
“We acknowledge that the sandals featured in the recent Prada Men’s 2026 Fashion Show are inspired by traditional Indian handcrafted footwear, with a centuries-old heritage. We deeply recognise the cultural significance of such Indian craftsmanship,” he wrote.
Bertelli was quick to add that nothing had gone into production — yet.
“Please note that, for now, the entire collection is currently at an early stage of design development and none of the pieces are confirmed to be produced or commercialised,” he clarified.
Prada, it seems, is treading carefully. “We are committed to responsible design practices, fostering cultural engagement, and opening a dialogue for a meaningful exchange with local Indian artisan communities,” Bertelli said.
“We would welcome the opportunity for further discussion and will set a follow-up with the relevant Prada teams.”
All this invites a larger question — when will global fashion houses stop flirting with cultural appropriation and finally commit to a long-term relationship with authenticity?
Cultural appropriation isn’t just about lifting designs — it’s about taking them without consent, context or credit. It’s often a one-way street paved with centuries of exploitation.
While cultural exchange encourages collaboration, appropriation has historically meant that a richer, more powerful culture profits off another — minus the footnotes.
It’s a tale as old as... well, colonialism. Influencers across the northern hemisphere flaunt “Scandinavian Scarves” that are, let’s face it, just South Asian dupattas in a palette of beige, fuchsia and cherry.
The tie-dyed Indian bandhani quietly became the Western “bandana”. Kashmiri pashminas turned into “luxury scarves” stripped of origin stories.
Dolce & Gabbana’s “Slave Sandals” in 2016. Gucci’s $790 “Indy Full Turban” in 2019 that sparked Sikh community outrage. Isabel Marant’s Fall 2020 “homage” to the Purépecha community in Mexico. The pattern is clear: appreciation of the aesthetic, but no obligation to the origin.
India, in particular, has long been mined for design without due credit. From chintz and Madras plaid to paisley and seersucker, the globalisation of Indian textiles has fuelled runways for decades.
Indian silhouettes — from the sari drape to the lungi and veshti — have all found their way into Western collections, often repackaged under new names and jaw-dropping price tags. Karigars and their embroidery, meanwhile, quietly power many Paris couture ateliers.