Last November, craft and cultural entrepreneur Jesmina Zeliang took to Instagram to call out luxury home décor brand Sarita Handa for a collection that claimed it was “paying homage to the weaves of Northeast India”. She said it was reportedly produced outside the region, without the involvement of its weavers and craft communities.
“Acknowledgement is not the same as meaningful engagement. When textiles and motifs that carry cultural significance are referenced, there needs to be a deeper context, attribution to specific communities and, ideally, collaboration with artisans,” says Zeliang, founder of the brand Heirloom Naga and member of the committee of administration in the Export Promotion Council for Handicrafts for Northeast India. “Otherwise, it risks becoming tokenistic,” she adds.
It’s this tokenism that craftpreneurs and designers from the region want to guard against. While Handa’s post was taken down, it was not the first instance of Northeast designs being misrepresented. In 2020, designer Ritu Beri presented a collection for the Tribal Cooperative Marketing Development Federation of India at the Surajkund Crafts Mela, prompting Nagaland’s Chakhesang Women Welfare Society to sue, alleging misrepresentation of traditional Naga shawls and infringement of their GI tag.
In 2021, Fabindia faced backlash over its Folkdelic line using Naga motifs and withdrew the products. That same year, Naga women in Delhi filed complaints against ecommerce platforms selling items labelled ‘Naga Tribal Costume’. These are only reported cases.
Designers say many incidents go undocumented—cases where northeastern textiles are used casually as table runners or throws. Aizawl-based designer Hannah Khiangte, worn recently by actors Kareena Kapoor Khan and Jacqueline Fernandez, says she grew up surrounded by the rhythms of Mizo textiles.
“The puan was never just a fabric in our home; it was memory, identity and community woven together. In Mizoram, textiles carry emotion. They hold stories.”
WHAT IS THE MOTIF?
Zeliang says the mainstream understanding of Northeast textiles remains limited. “Many people see the bold stripes, geometric motifs and the colourful cloth and assume they are purely decorative. In reality, the textiles of the region are highly coded cultural systems.”Across the eight Northeastern states, there are more than 220 ethnic communities, each with distinct weaving traditions, colour vocabularies and motif structures. In many communities, textiles mark identity, clan affiliation, social status and ceremonial roles.
The diversity is vast, says designer Jenjum Gadi from Arunachal Pradesh, which alone has 24 main tribes and over 100 sub-tribes. He welcomes the newfound interest in the region but says it also brings challenges.
“A friend recently told me how he saw someone use a Tangkhul shawl as a runner. People don’t want to misrepresent intentionally but they lack awareness. They don’t realise the importance of a shawl in Northeast traditions,” he says.
LIVING CULTURE
Manipuri designer Mangtinlen Kilong (popularly known as Mangsee) leans into his Kuki identity. He and Roslyn Khongsai are among the few Kuki designers who are contemporising their tribal motifs.
Kuki shawls and traditional garments have a structured visual language, bold linear arrangements, strong colour contrasts and clearly defined geometric bands. Each varidesign carries a specific social and cultural purpose. For instance, Saipikhup is traditionally a male shawl and signifies honour and respect. Poundum is associated with mourning.
He says, “Kuki textiles are distinctive in the way they communicate gender, status and occasion. The textile becomes a social document.” He adds, “When motifs from different tribes are mixed carelessly, or when sacred or status-specific textiles are commercialised without understanding their purpose, it erases distinctions that communities have carefully preserved for generations.”
Khiangte says reinterpretation must remain rooted in respect for the craft. “The puan has its own pulse, its stripes, its borders, the weight of its weave. My role is simply to allow it to speak in a new language.” She adds, “These textiles are not just design elements; they are part of a living culture. For me, reinterpretation should never erase that origin. Instead, it should honour it and allow it to continue evolving.”
However, more visibility brings its own set of problems. Khiangte says, “The pros are that the rest of the country is finally beginning to see the depth, artistry and history that these textiles carry. And recognition creates opportunity. However, when something becomes popular, there is always the risk of it being reduced to an aesthetic.”
Zeliang says conversations around appropriation are often misunderstood. When the Sarita Handa collection was withdrawn, she notes, the brand said it had “caused hurt to some artisan communities and their ambassadors”.
“Many of us took issue with that framing. Reducing the conversation to ‘hurt feelings’ risks trivialising a much deeper issue of cultural ownership and attribution.” To deter such incidents, Zeliang brought together voices from across northeastern states under the banner of the North East Council for Indigenous Knowledge (NECIK), which she now plans to formalise.
DESIGN CHECKS
Easternlight Zimik, Ukhrul-based designer and founder of EAST, says such incidents are becoming more common across fashion and home furnishings. “It’s opportunism, with a bit of ignorance.”
A NIFT-Delhi alumnus, Zimik works with traditional loin loom weavers and incorporates their skills into contemporary garments. After actor Sonam Kapoor wore his designs, demand increased but production remains slow due to the nature of handloom weaving. Zimik says collaboration is the way forward.
“I don’t believe in gatekeeping arts and crafts. If you want to collaborate, do it with resources and efficiency so that both ecosystems benefit.”
Moala Longchar, Dimapur-based designer and founder of Kintem, says contemporising textiles does not mean altering their meaning:
“Within our contemporary line, we ensure that we do not experiment with historically significant textiles.” He cites the Tsungkotepsu, the warrior shawl of Ao Naga men. “To use it to tailor garments, women’s accessories, or home textiles would be deeply offensive. We personally remain mindful of traditional boundaries.”
Shillong-based designer Daniel Syiem believes conversation with local designers can help people better understand these textiles. He works with the GI-tagged ryndia (eri silk).
“When I started working with ryndia about 14 years ago, it was considered a dying art form. Today, with the GI tag and growing interest from designers and buyers, the fabric has found a new life,” he says.
WHO, WEAR, WHAT
For Mangsee, the motivation behind his brand is deeply personal.
“When I started incorporating traditional designs into modern pieces, Gen Z who once overlooked their heritage began to ask questions. They started recognising patterns, understanding their purpose and taking pride in them again.”
His biggest concern is misrepresentation: “The issue is not access; it is accuracy. Preserving the deeper history and symbolic meaning behind textiles is essential so that they are not flattened into a single, homogenised ‘Northeast aesthetic’.”
Consumers, designers say, have a role to play. Longchar says, “Responsibility does not lie with brands alone. Consumers must ask important questions: Who made the product? What weaving technique was used? Has the community been acknowledged? It can go a long way in bringing about transparency.”
“These are living cultural heritage. As Zeliang says, ‘The real question is not whether these textiles can travel beyond the region, but whether the communities that created them travel with them in terms of credit, recognition and economic value.’ And that is the line between appropriation and appreciation.”
