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<h1 class="left">I have a serious problem—I feel an inherent need to be on a gluten fast while the world is eating cake. I rot in bed while the girls are hunting for their other half on the Nike Run app. It’s the fear of being... basic. You might think I’m being dramatic for effect, but as creatives, we inherently seek individuality and constant change. You know, florals for spring not being groundbreaking and all that jazz. So when a PR email about a campaign called “Banaras Bombay” pops up in my inbox, I can’t help but wonder: What constitutes a cry for help? Is it when you’ve not just drunk but completely doused yourself in Kool-Aid? When Raj Kanodia hasn’t just worked on your face but the rest of the red carpet’s, turning facial recognition into a joke? With its title pointing to two cities, the campaign name reveals as much about itself as the aesthetic clinic it was seemingly born in. Why is that a problem? Because everyone you fuck should not be from the same pincode (trust me). </h1>

<h1 class="centre">The campaign is, of course, pleasant to look at. We begin with a joining of two locations, it’s not a try-hard Freudian metaphor, but literal—a clever trick that makes viewers have their aha moment. “It’s about wearing brocade in Bombay, get it?” A woman wrapped in a Benarasi brocade sari is hunched over a table in what is presumably one of Mumbai’s famous tourist traps, Leopold Cafe, a hotspot you’d find on a travel itinerary for blonde hippies hoping to discover themselves in a beach shack. The trajectory follows this simpering Mina Kumari across Bombay as she lounges across her bed, leans over the parapets of a roof deep in thoughts of domestic bliss, and is draped across a chair folded into another sari, like pliant dough. But more on this femme fatale later. </h1>

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<h1 class="right">The overarching aesthetic identity that plagues the fashion circuit like a cancerous lump is the real challenge. I admit having jokingly referred to a particular style of imagery as the “genda phool” effect. What once began as a one-time rite of passage for photographers to pad their portfolios—a documentary-style visual essay on India’s street culture meets fashion has become a sinister predilection for the image makers of our time. Its victims? A nonsuspect heap of bright marigolds in a phool mandi, Varanasi, Malyali pedestrians in mundus, aspiring mini Lakshmi Menons hired to radiate melancholia with a range of movement that oscillates somewhere between positively vertical and sprawled on surfaces like hapless damsels. Add to that some fresh mogras thrown in the air, on the floor, on the model, and you’ll find the Pinterest board we’re all sharing.</h1>

<h1 class="centre">You could give a fashion school upstart with a fanciful dream a film camera, and you’ll find this CTRL+V formula: old-school grain and dialled-up contrast plastered across their visual résumé. A generous C for effort. Perhaps it’s all in the eye of the beholder. Perhaps at this moment, I’m a finance bro staring at a Basquiat and only seeing a bunch of lines and whack colouring skills. </h1>

<h1 class="right">Somewhere this inspired imagery, a Pandora’s box that was our mother’s wedding album re-enacted by adolescent models, made image-makers twist their cigarettes into their palms like they’re fucking Dostoevsky chronicling the zeitgeist. But really we’re just looking at camera-wielding valley girls with the same visual identities thanks to this romanticised vision circulating between every mid-range mid brand in the fashion cesspool. A brocade seller looks like another brocade seller (Banaras branding has a chokehold on us), and their work looks like more brands flushing out clothes that feel morbidly Gandhian in their eri silk exterior. They all envision their clothes being worn in simple cottages where portraits of deceased family members hang on tacky mint walls. And to capture all the sadness that emanates from it, you could deepen the contrast and articulate the glum. We’re frothing at the mouth to add Devanagari somewhere. Anywhere. Call the campaign “home,” but let's name it “ghar.” Very bourgeoisie. Genius! </h1>

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<h1 class="left">This obsession with domesticity goes deeper than just scene setting. It’s ingrained in the very portrayal of who wears the clothes. “A modern woman in love with her traditions,” the official press release will say. What it will be, is a campaign that repeats itself from 2018 where Heer and her cousins walk out garbed in simple brocade kurtas and gold trinkets, enacting a generation of obedient women trained to fry jalebis and darn their significant other’s office shirts. It’s almost 2025, and the girls still look like the very same virginal victims. Docile Mina Kumaris, more used to spinelessly lounging on beds than doing anything remotely less domestic. Like fuck feminism am I right?</h1>

<h1 class="centre">But whatever happened to seeking the gap? To finding a business opportunity that fulfils a genuine need? Granted that somewhere the idea of being passenger princesses does hold appeal, I assume most of us would also not be opposed to seeing more jovial scenes that go beyond the melancholic. Photographers, stylists and creative directors are fumbling in the dark, all trying to push through the same glory hole. Meanwhile, brands are simply lubricating their appetites by throwing major cash at those who’ve mastered the art of churning out fresh marigold and khadi combinations in exchange for forex and visas.</h1>

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<h1 class="right">As spectators, we find ourselves gravitating to imagery that reflects the mood of the hour, and while these perfectly sanitised visuals evoke a sense of nostalgia, in what fresh hell are we longing to be seen as domestic goddesses? Fashion is supposed to be a reflection of the times, of politics, of new agendas and the future. While girls in corsets that barely cover their tits may not be dictating the seasonal forecast, finding a new visual direction could be a new way to see women as more than dasis in a Raja Ravi Varma painting. Perhaps then, this sagging aesthetic identity mutating from imitations of the past could flip the switch. Nothing too crazy, just a hard look at finding an individual identity rather than chasing the buzzwords. We could wake up without another press release vowing to be that perfect balance of “contemporary yet classic,” to something that hopes to rid us of this fashion slump..</h1>

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<h1 class="full">Note: All images used on this feature are for illustrative purposes only and the author does not claim to any ownership in the images. The rights vests in their respective copyright owners & fall under fair use principles. Due credits have been given. The views and opinions expressed are solely those of the authors and are not intended to harm or offend any sentiments. If you believe your rights are infringed, please contact us for resolution.</h1>

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