Falling behind in the Fashion-Privilege Wagon
For someone trying to make it in the fashion industry, all the odds are stacked up against me.
These days, the internet has made us believe that everyone (and their dog) has an Instagram following of millions with three side businesses going on for the near achievement of financial freedom. The influx of visuals of luxury, independence (from bills), lavish dinners and cars has made us believe that that scenario is the definition of success. The cloudy judgment of where we should be in our lives, and where we currently are, broods the stress in our lives.
It’s been a while since I have kept this unheard, and I can’t help but let the word vomit out, even if it is as nasty as when Cady Heron did it in Mean Girls.
I am aware that I do not hail from a country which has the luxury to think about fashion, and even if sustainability is at the heart of its culture, it does not have the means to uplift it any further. I know that I was not born with the privilege of looking at runway shows or store launches with my naked eye, and it’ll be a distant dream to even step into the Met Museum or the next big fashion tent. The limited resources (in-turn leading to limited connections) can be a major reason holding me back and cultivating an anxious grief of never “making it” in the actual industry.
The Internet is Your Oyster
Quite literally. With no fashion events happening within a 30km radius, we are glued to our screens for all the latest updates and fantasizing about being anywhere near the destination. It is disheartening to know that 15 year-olds are making millions by just being there, and you are barely above the surface.
Not too long ago, the anonymous Instagram account of Diet Sabya called out the ‘tacky’ ethnic looks of Bridgerton. The discussion tumbled down to whether NRIs (Non-Resident Indian) can truly dress in Indian fashion. Many mentioned in the comments how Indian influencers who were born and brought up abroad wear the most gaudy items in the name of embracing their ethnicity. Netizens of India who followed fashion claimed these diaspora Indians as the worst dressed even in the priciest lehengas and saris, much like the debacle of Parvati and Padma Patil in Harry Potter.
Media company The Juggernaut quickly picked up the story, being an alibi, and cautiously not taking a side, knowing it was a platform created by the global South Asian community (but mostly in NYC). Their motto? Bring in the discrimination to light and end it once and for all, which, if you ask me, was done better by a comment written to Diet Sabya, coming back to square one:
At the heart of it all, it is within what is boiling out the anger to surface it in rage. NRIs have the privilege which citizens dream of having in their 100 rebirths, and this distinction in class, yet the shared culture between the two parties causes all the disparity of ‘to be or not to be’. Citizens riot with the notion of how they are privileged with the country and class NRIs are living in, while the NRI themselves are dreading an existential crisis, clinging to each chanderi dupatta to find their own, ‘unique’ identity shared by over 138 crore population.
The tacky NRI fashion sense is one of many such instances that glares at this distinction. The meme culture of Punjabis going to Canada, buying three varieties of Porsche and wearing sherwanis and lehengas on Oxford Street, all breed a thought process of ‘having it all when you go abroad’.
The obsession of moving abroad is rampant, and is a social status in Indian society. It is this diaspora and the strong financial differences that led us to divide amongst ourselves. I am not beyond my phase of ‘I wish I was white’, yet it is the conscious conditioning, and unlearning what I have been told about my own race, that can put this war in my mind to an end.
Put Yourself Out There!
I may not have social anxiety, but I do find myself in a position where my fingers are sweaty, eyes averting their gaze from the screen, as I force myself to upload a post after what seems like ages. Social media anxiety is something I am trying to overcome, and while I still can’t upload videos and Tik-Toks even at gunpoint, I am slowly trying to put myself out there, one post at a time.
What works for me is doing it like a band-aid, ‘if you like a picture and want to show it to someone, upload it’ is the only thing I force myself to think about when I take a good click every once in a blue moon.
Another major drawback I observed by being on social media is the lack of a medium to build long-term connections. From story replies turning to just heart-reactions and our request boxes piling up with desperate loners, it can be hard to keep a track of who is genuine and who isn’t, who is here to solve a query and who is ready to be a mentor.
Falling into this spiral of tiny conversations can make you feel that it’s all a hoax; that it won’t be worth it if you’re not in a big fashion capital, or that you just can’t make it if you don’t have a trillion dollars in your pocket.
Shallow Sentients & Pretty Privileges
A year ago, I wrote a feature article for Fashion Comes First on the dichotomy of beauty standards in the industry: how it erupts, changes and dictates the decisions of the consumers dependent on the geographical location they’re living in. The contrast of western vs. eastern beauty is vast, yet I as an Indian fill none of the checkboxes in either. My country’s youth is split ruthlessly between looking like a doll or having the most voluptuous curves possible. Honestly, we can’t make up our minds, and we have bigger problems (poverty being the first) than setting our own beauty standards to be judged upon.
Me? Pretty? My race is not considered pretty. This isn’t to just rage it out or sulk about it, this is a triple-fold emotion of sulking. Life gave me spoilt lemons, and with that you can’t even qualify to participate in the spoon-lemon race. Sigh. To my dismay, looks play the part when it comes to working in fashion. My ethnicity was me picking the short end of the stick, and my vulnerability to it amplifies the chances of me failing.
Pretty privilege is by far the worst kind of privilege to exist, and one which we have none or little control to change. I am not photogenic, nor am I the ideal type of person to look flawless while taking a daring shot in the middle of the street (taking a vodka shot might be easier than an actual photo-shot for me).
The Land of Culture and Bigotry
“India is not a place for mega fashion shows, it is a land of culture!” many might say, and it is something I cannot disagree with. It is a land of culture, rooted in sustainability with its fashion. The techniques of handicraft have stood the tests of time and technological advancements to be much better for the environment, compared to any machine pulling the lowest carbon footprint. For people like me, it is a safety net to earn the respect of our fellow relatives by promoting ‘our culture’, and manage to work in fashion by being in India.
Sustainability: Brownie Points, PR Stunt: Not found.
Navigating through these ifs and buts of jumping from volunteering for local fashion to dreaming of working in a high-end couture house has so far been extremely tiring. However, as we say, “Har kuttey ka din aata hai” (every dog has its day), I would have never thought that I could make it this far.
Even though I don’t get paid on Medium for my content, many reached out to me for freelance opportunities. It is through writing for the internet that I was able to build a portfolio and confidence to call myself a “fashion writer”.
It is the hope in this industry, both genuine and false ones, that keeps me going. Some days, going to London or Paris in my fantasy white boots and dress seems like a piece of cake, on others, I have to consciously convince myself to watch one fashion YouTube video. I don’t know if it gets better or not, but I know that if I put my mind into something, I’ll get it done, by hook or by crook.
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This might have been my most poorly-written article so far, but I simply wanted to put this out in the sea of content. Even if I am at a disadvantage, I know that there must be some school kid still doubting their passion for diving in this industry, and to them I say, take the risk, it is the unknown that will take you places.
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