Ruth Chawngthu
In 2013, the MET Gala adopted PUNK: Chaos to Couture as its theme of the year. The title itself suggests that punk is intrinsically chaotic when associated with its original immigrant and Black working-class identity in the U.K., yet becomes refined or “coutured” once it enters the largely white elite ecosystem. This metamorphosis was driven by Vivienne Westwood and Malcolm McLaren, who took punk from the streets of London and repackaged it as high fashion, stripping it of its original meaning. What began as an anti-establishment movement was gradually repackaged, with its aesthetics sold to those who have the privilege to wear subversive symbols without experiencing the oppression that birthed it.
A similar pattern of aesthetic appropriation and sanitisation is evident in Indian media and history. We might already know Dr. B.R. Ambedkar’s views on Gandhi’s performative poverty. This sentiment was reiterated by Sarojini Naidu, a close associate of Gandhi, who is often quoted as saying, “It costs a lot of money to keep this man in poverty.” Maybe it could be argued that his deliberate co-option of minimalistic clothing and ascetic living was not a reflection of his authentic reality (as he was from a Bania caste and the son of a Diwan), but a carefully curated aesthetic that romanticised poverty to create a visual spectacle. Perhaps this spectacle is what bothers a lot of people. The same can be seen today in our biennales, the fashion of “indie” artists, intellectuals, and politicians, to name a few.
In 2014, Priyanka Chopra, a brown mainland woman, did yellowface to portray Mary Kom, a person who belongs to a racialized group of peoples. Before BTS and the mainstream popularity of Korean culture in India, Northeast people were largely visible in media only as racialized caricatures, mocked as “Nepalis” or “Chinese”. Conversely, Northeast people despise it because it marks them as those they themselves perceive as “others” and as “immigrants” (there’s much that can be built on this, but I shall leave this for another day). Now, however, Northeast, “chinky” models and personalities are increasingly represented in media, not because of a fundamental shift in racial attitudes, but because the identity is now associated with the more “civilised” cultural capital of South Korea, rather than the dog-eating identity or “immigrant” label. This is because dominant groups shift their perceptions of marginalised people based on external cultural capital rather than any fundamental change in their biases.
What exists behind all this is the fact that counterculture aesthetics, i.e., the visual, stylistic, and expressive symbols or characteristics that emerge from identities that do not fit into the dominant norm, only become cool and palatable when the dominant groups appropriate, “sanitise”, or rebrand them on their terms.
One might say the world is a stage anyway, so why so much fuss? The question is: who gets to direct the play, who gets the lead roles, and who is forced to play the props? The issue is not that life is a performance, or that the visuality of oppression should not exist, but visual spectacles of this kind are strategic acts by people in power to maintain existing hierarchies while mimicking the aesthetics of oppression to artificially create authenticity to appeal to the masses. That was quite a long sentence!
Inclusion/Exclusion
The important questions that we should be asking are:
Who is allowed to be included in dominant cultural spaces? On what terms?
Who remains excluded despite their contributions to the culture of the collective?
Who is being ridiculed in these cultural spaces?
Since the late 2010s and early 2020s, the term “chhapri” started being used in the culture industry as slang to refer to young people, often from marginalised caste and working-class backgrounds, who adopt flashy aesthetics inspired by Bollywood, Reels, and street fashion or anything that is associated with low culture. The term is mainly used to mock these archetypes as they engage in “over-the-top” self-presentation on social media. It also has its roots in queerphobia as the visual presentations do not conform to the ideal of “sophisticated” gender roles associated with upper-class/caste gender expressions. The “cringe” does not simply stem from the flashiness itself. It is sort of like the dominant caste and class scoffing at the audacity of this particular group, originating from the thought process of “How dare they express uncouth behaviour in MY space?”. A similar dynamic is explored by Pierre Bourdieu in Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste, where he argues that dominant groups enforce social hierarchies by defining and policing aesthetics, reinforcing their cultural superiority.
In the mainstream design, art scene, and other social institutions in India, institutional barriers exist to gatekeep the “others”, or those who are not perceived as polished, who lack the social capital, who lack the accepted language, and, in short, those who lack the aesthetic sensibilities dictated by the dominant caste, race, and class. By doing so, these institutions maintain a hierarchy of taste. Even when marginalised aesthetics and people are allowed to enter these spaces, their inclusion is conditional: requiring sanitisation, fetishisation, exoticisation, and validation. These institutions are built upon the culture and labour of the very communities they systematically exclude.
Take Shalini Passi from Fabulous Lives of Bollywood Wives as an example of the type of people in charge of these institutions. She at least expresses herself as she truly is: self-absorbed, reveling in privilege, openly flaunting her wealth and status. There is at least a hint of honesty in this display. The more insidious figures, however, are those who mask their role in maintaining exclusionary systems by virtue signaling and cultivating airs of sophistication. They are more insidious because they also somehow convince themselves and others that they are progressive.
Truths That Shape Our Identity
A well-known narrative regarding Vallabhbhai Patel criticising Dr. Ambedkar’s aesthetic presentation goes like this:
“Sardar Patel: Mr. Ambedkar, you wear expensive suits while your people live shirtless and naked? You look like a European colonist. Look at Mr. Gandhi; he lives shirtless like your people. He is the true leader of your people.
Dr. Ambedkar: Mr Patel, my people have been living shirtless and naked for 2000 years. Mr Gandhi impersonates them because he wants them to live shirtless for another 1000 years. I don’t want my people to suffer anymore. I want my people to wear good clothes and have a decent life as soon as possible.”
Although there is no actual recorded evidence of Patel ever having said this, this apocryphal quotation is a reflection of the general sentiment during that time and something that continues to be relevant today: it shows how the dominant caste imposes visuals of “downtrodenness” on marginalised castes.
Similarly, there are many apocryphal quotes attributed to Ropuiliani, who remains a central figure in Mizo nationalism. One example:
“Hei hi ka ram a ni a, engvang nge ka ram chhungah min rawn tihbuai, anmahni hi an let leh tur a ni. Nangni vai chhiahhlawh, mahni ram pawh hum ngam lo, mi dawihzepte hian ka khua leh tui hi rawn pal fo tawh suh u, in hmel pawh hi ka hmu duh lo ve.”
Translation: This is my land. How dare they come here and create a nuisance? They should be the ones going back. You Vai* colonial subjects, who are not even brave enough to fight for your land; you cowards should stop passing through my land. I don’t even want to see your faces.
*Vai: non-Mizo people from the plains and mainland India. Taken from the word “bhai”.
In Mizo oral tradition, the aesthetic power of this statement is in its ability to provoke the assertion of Mizo identity as distinct from the Indian national imagination. Since the history of the marginalised has been largely preserved through oral storytelling rather than written records, narratives like these serve as both symbolic historical markers and ideological affirmations.
What I’m trying to say is that apocryphal truths, or truths that are widely believed, that may not be factually and textually verifiable but convey deeper symbolic meaning, are only seen as valid when they emerge from the dominant groups. It’s less about truth itself, but about who holds the power to define it and enforce it.
I remember during my M.Des course, one of the visiting faculty got really bothered by my use of the term mainland Indian. This probably arose from his attachment to the fantasy of a singular, unified “Indian” identity, a convenient and easily swallowed truth. The same indulgence in selective truth-making can be seen in the narrative of the Dalit with a Mercedes/IAS dad being espoused as a factual norm—a character conjured up in the imaginations of general category folks in elite institutions whereas factual evidence seems to be against this “truth”.
How Should We Represent Ourselves?
Frantz Fanon, in Black Skin, White Masks, discusses how colonised, racialised, and marginalised people are forced to see themselves through the gaze of the dominant group. We are often forced into a position where we must either assimilate into dominant narratives or remain trapped in an identity framed as savage, powerless, “others”. The apocryphal quotation regarding Ambedkar reveals the monolithic expectation the oppressed should conform to. Ropuiliani’s story of resistance is about rejecting the authority of those who seek to define and control us, mocking their authority over us if necessary.
We must reclaim our identity on our own terms, more distanced from the frameworks designed by our oppressors. This requires decentring dominant groups from our understanding of what is considered beautiful or ugly aesthetics and redefining these standards through our own cultural and historical lens. In doing so, we must also examine our own position in the larger system of the collective and the responsibilities that we owe to our communities. As creatives, academics, and contributing members of society, we must not simply limit ourselves to fitting in; we must actively challenge the gaze that excludes us. I bring this up in the context of Mary Kom because her acceptance of, and even justification for, the erasure of her own ethnic identity and aesthetics for a Bollywood movie reflects how systemic oppression conditions us to accept and even justify our own erasure.
Completely ignoring or refusing to engage with dominant systems may not be practical, as these structures shape our material realities, and there should be space for negotiation. However, I urge that we do not abandon our dignity and ourselves during this negotiation. The challenge, then, is to navigate these interactions. Perhaps we can start by asking ourselves:
Are we creating or expressing ourselves for validation from dominant groups, or are we shaping narratives that serve ourselves and our people?
Are we replicating hierarchies that oppress us, or are we progressing toward spaces of understanding?
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Ruth Chawngthu is a Social Design practitioner with over six years of experience within the social sector, encompassing the fields of gender and sexuality, education, and constitutional awareness. She likes to analyse why life sucks and enjoys using emojis 
to express her emotions. She wants you to know that although she likes yelling a bit in her writings, she can be trusted with your passwords.
