When Dior confirmed off its autumn 2023 assortment in March with a catwalk event in Mumbai, it was lauded as a “watershed” trend second of recognition for India. European high-fashion homes had, in spite of everything, been working with producers there for many years, however few had included the nation in its collections.

Now, attracted by India’s rising prosperous class and luxurious buyer base, right here was a giant Paris label sending fashions down the runway in clothes clearly impressed by India: Nehru collars, silhouettes evoking the sari and sherwani, and complex embroidery produced by its long-time collaborator, Indian atelier Chanakaya.

The Mumbai trend second additionally included the opening of a high-profile arts centre, and a retrospective exhibition from Chanakaya exploring its handcrafted work with Dior over the a long time.

To decide from the star-studded viewers, you’d be forgiven for pondering that fashion was now not simply going in a single route (that’s, from the west to in all places else). Indeed, the sari – which had already loved a glamorous 2022 when it was worn respectively on pink carpets in Cannes and the Met Gala by actor Deepika Padukone and socialite Natasha Poonwalla – was now being worn by well-known faces that weren’t a part of the Indian diaspora, such because the actor Zendaya and mannequin Gigi Hadid.

At a time when cultural appropriation is seen by many as an act of disrespect (by, for instance, not giving credit score to the tradition, or imposing stereotypes), this appeared completely different: appreciative, a shared celebration.

But when Suzy Menkes, the doyenne of trend journalists, posted on Instagram from the Chanakaya exhibition, writing “who could have imagined that humble Indian handiwork could develop into Dior’s haute couture”, it was met with derision. “Humble” didn’t look like the appropriate phrase for the coaching over generations that such craftsmanship required, and customers accused Menkes of a white, colonial gaze.

True appreciation of India’s design status, it appeared, nonetheless required some studying.

Fortunately, a groundbreaking new exhibition on the Design Museum in London has arrived to plug the data hole. The Offbeat Sari is a primary of its sort: an examination of the up to date sari and its eclectic, cutting-edge reinvention.

The sari is conventionally understood to be a single piece of unstitched cloth draped on to the physique. “Because it has a simple form, it’s become a canvas for expressing different ideas,” explains Priya Khanchandani, head of curatorial on the Design Museum.

Those concepts, displayed on the exhibition, embrace saris comprised of unconventional supplies and worn in different methods – one by couturier Guarav Gupta is woven from metal, whereas one other by Indian label NorBlack NorWhite features a hood, creating an nearly streetwear-inspired look.

The exhibition additionally encompasses a sari from the feminist group the Gulabi Gang, whose members put on a uniform of a sizzling pink sari, and the sari as red-carpet showstopper: two saris by Poonwalla proven on the Met Gala and one other black and gold sari worn on Padukone at Cannes may even be displayed. Of the latter, no photograph can do justice to the hundreds of stitched sequins glistening on a cloth so delicate you would possibly count on it to tear underneath the burden – but in some way it doesn’t.

The brainchild of Khanchandani, The Offbeat Sari started as an concept when she was working for the British Council in Delhi and observed how in another way the ladies in her design-led area wore the sari: “They were wearing pared-back saris, not the very heavy embellished ones I would see at weddings in the UK. And they were wearing it with T-shirts or shirts and trainers.”

Those much less acquainted with the sari might have a selected concept of it of their minds, maybe draped at full size over a shirt. But that iteration solely developed “during colonialism, because it conformed to Victorian ideas of modesty”, says Khanchandani.

“There’s always been different ways of draping – regionally, according to function, according to environment, according to taste. In fishing villages, it’s draped cropped, which makes complete sense.”

The sari is worn throughout south Asia to varied levels, however in India itself it has develop into a logo of “Mother India”, Khanchandani explains. “There are mixed opinions, but in my view the sari has become related to Indian nationalist ideologies,” she says, pointing to “the rise in cultural conservatism in India coming from above”. “Some of that comes from the fact that handloom cloth was intrinsic to the independence movement. Mahatma Ghandi told people to spin their own cloth at home.”

Gandhi inspired folks to boycott material that was manufactured within the UK and transported to India by the British, who monopolised textile manufacturing – which is why the spinning wheel adorns India’s flag.

I found how political the sari is as of late when a stranger approached me at an awards dinner for British south Asians to ask concerning the inherited navy sari I used to be sporting.

“Why are you wearing that, aren’t you a Muslim?”. The implication was that the sari just isn’t solely Indian, however solely Hindu too.

But that isn’t why the exhibition focuses solely on Indian design over the previous 10 years. Khanchandani explains: “I had to make a decision about which geography represents sari, and I chose India because it’s most commonly worn there.

Through the 90 trailblazing saris assembled on loan from Indian designers and studios – alongside photos, magazines, textiles and even sculpture (featuring a sari cast in resin) – The Offbeat Sari certainly delivers on its promise.

But in doing so it also tells the story of India’s changing urban woman, from hybrid saris that look at first glance like ballgowns, pre-draped saris for the busy working woman, and saris worn by rebels kicking against prescriptive gender roles.

It even goes as far as exploring new gender identities entirely, and telling of sari-wearers rolling through cities on their skateboards.

“The sari has always been a canvas, it’s always been malleable. But in the last 10 years or so, that change has really condensed into this incredible moment,” enthuses Khanchandani.

“It’s a sari revolution.”