An open call to fashion’s future from a designer who is done playing dress-up.

It is like the fashion world is stuck in this loop of romanticising the past—always digging up some distant, exotic or elite muse—while completely ignoring the raw, chaotic, powerful beauty of now. We are living in a time of social revolutions, climate urgency, tech explosions, identity redefinitions, and still, some collections come out like we are reenacting a museum exhibit. It is not that history isn’t important—but context is everything.

Design should be a reflection—sometimes even a rebellion—of the world we live in.

So why not be inspired by the unspoken poetry of a small town at 9AM—tailors opening shutters, chai brewing on roadside carts, schoolgirls in uniform, billboards plastered with political promises and movie stars? The quiet war between fast fashion giants and India’s growing tribe of sustainable artisans trying to survive with dignity. The unapologetic noise of Gen Z on social media—challenging gender norms, calling out caste privilege, questioning religion, rewriting identity in real time. The resilience of garment workers reclaiming their stories from behind factory walls, speaking not just of exploitation but of ambition, art, and agency. The irony of influencer culture where authenticity is curated and #woke is monetised. The everyday artist with 1,200 followers creating recycled art that says more than entire runway seasons. The contradictions of Bollywood—where nepotism still reigns, but indie cinema is finally finding its voice. The tension between tradition and innovation. Between privilege and protest. Between what India sells to the world, and what it hides in plain sight. The communities holding culture together without credit. The beautiful chaos of a billion identities trying to find unity not in sameness, but in shared survival. The oligarchs running industries while artists go unpaid. The women leading silent revolutions in spaces nobody’s watching.

The world around us is more layered, alive and relevant than any vintage reference. If design isn’t confronting, connecting or catalysing, what is it even doing?

The Eye Twitch

Every time I hear a designer say their collection was inspired by Victorian architecture, an obscure 17th-century queen, a forgotten European artist—or the opulence of the Mughal era, the minimalism of Japan, the drama of Korea, the romance of Italy, the mysticism of Morocco, or the serenity of Bali—my eye twitches. Not because these cultures don’t hold beauty, but because fashion keeps romanticising postcards while ignoring the living, breathing chaos and complexity of the world right here, right now. Not because those eras lacked beauty, but because we have rinsed and repeated them so much, we have forgotten to look at the world that is unfolding right in front of us.

It is not the references themselves—it is the disconnection. Why are so many of us obsessed with distant pasts and faraway places, while ignoring the raw, urgent beauty of the world unfolding right in front of us? How many more velvet turbans and brocade fantasies before we finally design from the now?

Fashion was supposed to be culture in motion. A mirror. A pulse. A rebellion. It was not meant to be a curated archive of elite nostalgia. But somehow, we keep reaching backward, chasing European opulence and colonial curiosities while ignoring the urgent, wild, brutal beauty of now.

How many more collections will be “inspired by” dead queens before someone designs something inspired by the girl selling flowers on the highway divider? Or the protester with a placard in the rain? Or the migrant family building the city you live in?

This definitely isn’t about canceling the past. This is about showing up for the present.

The Obsession with Dead Muses

It is almost a rite of passage now—attend a fashion show, flip through a designer’s note, and somewhere in there, you will find the phrase: “inspired by Victorian silhouettes,” or “drawn from the grandeur of Mughal opulence,” or “a homage to Giovanni delle Ombre.” It is poetic, romantic, and very Instagrammable—but also, deeply disconnected.

Let us be honest. There is a comfort in referencing the past. It is like a creative safety net—distant enough not to offend, beautiful enough to be praised, and elitist enough to sound intellectual. But here is the real problem: when the defaultmode of inspiration is to look backward or outward, it means we are constantly escaping what is happening here and now.

Designers talk about ancient muses, but can’t name the kid who stitched their sample. They glorify tribal textiles, but don’t credit the artisans keeping those crafts alive in villages across the country. They build moodboards with paintings from colonial eras, but ignore the socio-political trauma baked into those brushstrokes.

We are trained to believe that “high fashion” is synonymous with “high history”—that referencing dead queens and forgotten cultures makes our work more valid, more valuable, more… fashionable. But is it? What happens when the industry becomes so obsessed with past beauty that it forgets to document present truth?

The past has its place, no doubt. But when every collection is a rehash of a museum or an echo of some royal legacy, it stops being inspiration and starts becoming imitation. We end up designing clothes for ghosts—clothes that feel disconnected from the streets, the struggles, the music, the movement, and the madness of today.

Design isn’t about looking away. It is about bearing witness. It is about seeing. And if all we are seeing is what is already been seen, where is the evolution?

The World is on Fire (Literally and Metaphorically)

We are living through one of the most intense, complicated and defining times in human history. And yet, somehow, the fashion world still finds comfort in playing dress-up with relics of royalty and aestheticising eras that are no longer ours to revive.

But this isn’t the 1800s. The world is burning—forests, systems, ideologies, the very fabric of society—and that should be felt in what we create.

Design is not neutral. Every silhouette, fabric, campaign and runway is either reflecting reality or running from it. When you step into today’s world—scroll through a single feed, walk through a protest, speak to a migrant worker, witness a climate event, talk to Gen Z in a tier-2 city—you realise: inspiration is everywhere. And it is alive.

We are surrounded by emotion, by resistance, by culture in real-time. But to tap into it requires a different kind of eye—one that isn’t trained by textbooks and trend reports, but by living, listening, observing, absorbing, acknowledging, respecting.

Designers should be cultural archaeologists of the present, not just historians of the past. Because if fashion isn’t speaking to the moment—what is it even saying? This world doesn’t need another reinterpretation of baroque glamour. It needs clothes with context. Stories with weight. Collections that respond, not just romanticise.

Inspiration Should Be Lived, Not Googled

There is a difference between research and real life. Between aesthetic and authenticity. Between being “inspired by” and being immersed in.

Too often, “inspiration” today comes from moodboards that are four clicks deep into Pinterest, pulled from image banks of people, places and cultures the designer has never experienced, never engaged with, never even attempted to understand beyond the surface. It is not inspiration—but extraction. It is tourism, not storytelling.

You cannot borrow depth. You cannot shortcut soul.

If you want to be inspired, go live. Go walk through the streets. Go sit at a tea stall in Dharavi and talk to the guy wearing a knock-off Vetements hoodie who has more style in his pinky finger than most fashion schools teach. Go to queer safe spaces in Bangalore. Go to the desert in Rajasthan not to photograph, but to listen. Go stand in a government school where girls are learning to code. Go to the interiors and see what the girl child has to endure. Speak to the farmers. Speak to Graphic Designers. Speak to seamstresses and to the cabin crew. 

Inspiration should not be filtered through colonial nostalgia or Western validation. It should rise from where you are—your city, your roots, your people, your problems, your passions. Fashion should not feel like it is flying above society. It should be in the mud with it. It should have the dust, the noise, the truth, the mess. 

And if you are going to be inspired by something outside your world—at least do the work. Learn. Acknowledge. Credit. Compensate. Collaborate.

Because here is the truth: moodboard minimalism and stolen stories will never beat the gravity of lived experience. They just can’t. You can’t fake emotional resonance.

The best collections don’t come from cool references. They come from confronting reality. From empathy. From fire. From standing in the middle of the mess, and creating something meaningful within it.

So what now?

Let us stop pretending we don’t know what the problem is. And let us stop hiding behind “creative freedom” when that freedom is built on borrowed narratives, detached privilege and outdated ideas of beauty.

This is my call to young designers. To emerging voices. To anyone who believes fashion can be more than pretty clothes and empty applause.

Before you dive into your next collection, do this:

• Walk your streets before you scroll your feed.
• Talk to a real person before you quote a French philosopher.
• Spend time with an artisan before you sample a print from their culture.
• Let your environment, your experiences, and your generation shape your aesthetic—not some Pinterest board of museum references and palace portraits.

Instead of appropriation, practice collaboration.
If a community’s craft inspires you—collaborate. Credit. Share value. Add value. Go beyond romanticisation into relationship.

Instead of nostalgia, chase relevance.
Ask yourself: What am I saying through this piece? Who am I speaking to? Who am I excluding? What am I changing? Am I inspiring anyone? Is this work just “nice”? Or is it necessary?

Because if your designs aren’t rooted in this moment—this real, difficult, beautiful, broken moment—then you are just designing costumes. And the world doesn’t need any more of those.

Our world, right now, needs armour.
It needs uniforms for change.
It needs expressions of identity.
It needs raw truth stitched into wearable form.

Fashion is power. Use it.

Fashion for the Living, Not the Dead

The past can teach us, yes. But it cannot lead us. The present is where the revolution is—loud, messy, unfiltered and urgent. If you are brave enough to look it in the eye, it will give you more inspiration than any museum ever could.

So next time someone asks what your collection is inspired by, don’t say “the Rococo era.”

Say: 

“By my people.”
“By this moment.”
“By what needs to be said—right now.”

And then let the clothes speak for themselves.

Designer’s Note

I didn’t write this to offend. I wrote this because I am tired.
Tired of seeing beautiful clothes with no soul.
Tired of watching fashion chase ghosts while the living are screaming.
Tired of aesthetic being prioritised over accountability.
Tired of brands preaching “storytelling” without actually having anything to say.

I believe design is documentation. Creation is commentary. Fashion is political. Always has been. Always will be.

This rant of mine is not about dismissing history—it is about not using it as a crutch.
It is not about canceling references—it is about claiming relevance.
It is not about hating fashion—it is about holding it to its power.

If you are a young designer reading this, I’m not here to tell you what to do.
I’m here to tell you: don’t look away.
Your world is your muse. Your people are your palette.
Create for them. Create from truth. Create to disrupt.

And maybe, just maybe, we will start designing for the living.

Kal Kalim
Grateful.