I believe we all had that moment of pause when the sandals appeared on Prada’s Spring/Summer 2026 runway. A double take, then another look, then a quick scroll back just to be sure. That familiar shape, that distinct construction—this is Kolhapuri, right? The recognition felt instant, almost instinctive, because this is a design many of us have grown up seeing, wearing, and understanding without needing an explanation.
When Prada’s leather sandals first appeared on the runway, the resemblance to Kolhapuri chappals felt immediate and unmistakable. The shape, the construction, the toe loop, the finish—everything pointed to a design language that has existed for generations in Maharashtra and Karnataka. Yet the initial presentation came without any reference to India or to the craft itself. That absence set the tone for everything that followed.
What often gets flattened in conversations like this is where Kolhapuris actually come from. The craft traces back centuries to regions like Kolhapur, Athani, and surrounding belts, shaped by communities such as the Chambhars and other leather-working castes who historically occupied a marginalised position within India’s social hierarchy. Their relationship with leather placed them within a rigid caste framework, even as their skill produced footwear that travelled across classes and regions. The process itself remains labour-intensive—vegetable-tanned leather, hand-cut patterns, intricate braiding, and construction done without industrial shortcuts. This is not a design that emerged in isolation; it is tied to a history of caste, labour, and resilience, where the makers rarely received the same visibility or economic return as the product itself. When a Kolhapuri appears on a luxury runway, that layered history travels with it, whether it is acknowledged or not.
Kolhapuris also carry a long history and a Geographical Indication tag. They belong to a specific ecosystem of artisans, techniques, and regional identity. This is a living craft, sustained through community knowledge and manual skill. So when a global luxury house presents that exact vocabulary on an international runway, the question of credit becomes central, not optional.
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Recently, after months of conversation and criticism, Prada acknowledged India as a source of inspiration and released communication that placed the sandals within that context. There has also been movement towards engagement—conversations with artisan groups, discussions with institutions like NIFT, and the possibility of building structured partnerships within India.
I find that shift important, yet incomplete.
The word “inspired” sits uneasily here. Inspiration suggests interpretation, a visible shift in form or idea. What we saw on the runway stayed extremely close to the original Kolhapuri design. That makes the language feel diluted. When the source remains so clearly intact, calling it inspiration feels like a way to soften ownership rather than define it accurately.
This is where the conversation splits. I see the anger, and it feels justified. Credit came after public pressure, which changes how sincerity reads. At the same time, I also see the argument for visibility. Prada operates at a scale that very few Indian craft clusters can access on their own. A Kolhapuri silhouette entering that system brings global attention, new markets, and a different kind of desirability. That kind of exposure can reshape demand in ways that benefit artisans back home.
But visibility and authorship should move together. When one grows and the other stays blurred, the balance tilts.
What stays with me is the question of narrative control. When a Kolhapuri enters a Prada store, who frames its story? The artisan who shaped it through years of inherited skill, or the brand that places it within a luxury context and assigns it a new price point? That shift carries weight. It changes perception, and perception drives value in fashion.
The recent outreach—talk of partnerships, training programs, institutional ties—opens a door. If executed with clarity, it could create a model where credit, compensation, and craft remain aligned. That requires transparency in how artisans are involved, how they are paid, and how their work is named and presented across markets. It requires consistency, not a response triggered by backlash.
I keep coming back to something simple. If a design comes directly from Kolhapuri craft, then it deserves to be called a Kolhapuri. The name carries history, geography, and labour. Any collaboration can sit alongside that identity, amplify it, even elevate it. But it cannot replace it.
Right now, the Prada story sits in transition. There is acknowledgment on the table, and there is opportunity. There is also a lingering sense that the language has not fully caught up with the reality of the design itself.
For me, that gap defines the entire episode.
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The Kolhapuri Chappal That Walked The Prada Runway
