By: Sadie Zanzuri

In an age when the world seems to be more connected than ever, we see an increase in cultures around the world sharing their traditions with each other. This naturally spills into fashion. Fashion has always played a key role in identity; different patterns, fabrics, and designs reflect different eras and cultures. Understanding where our clothing comes from is a key part of being able to appreciate its beauty. Catwalks, social media feeds, and fast-fashion shelves all display pieces drawn from all regions of our world, from West African prints to South ­Asian beadwork, Native American embroideries, and Middle Eastern silhouettes. This can feel exciting, just as your own wardrobe might feel richer for incorporating global aesthetics, but it also raises important questions about who is borrowing what, from where, how, and under what terms. 

The term cultural appropriation is flung around in the media, but people don’t always know what it means and the implications it may have on minorities, often within the Western world. Cultural appropriation is when a group takes elements of a marginalized culture without permission, credit, or context. In fashion, that might mean, for example, a major brand using a headdress or a sacred motif as a stylistic accent without recognizing its significance, or a collection characterized as “tribal” that flattens multiple lineages into one “exotic aesthetic.” As Chinese American designer Kim Shui put it: “Appropriation is when you turn something into a costume… like wearing a qipao with chopsticks in your hair.” Shui uses qipao styles in her own design and also sees others appropriate the style. Cultural appropriation is different from how Shui honors her culture; it is the misuse or stealing of the style without giving credit. The results of this can include misrepresentation, commodification, and the perpetuation of stereotypes. This unfortunate occurrence rightfully angers the people who belong to these cultures, with their sacred traditions and pieces repurposed for commercial gain. The irony, of course, is that these same cultural elements that were once used to mock, exclude, or stigmatize the very communities they originate from become rebranded as “high fashion.” 

Trends we’re seeing today, most notably the rise of “boho-chic,” have frequently been criticized for cultural appropriation. The boho-chic aesthetic is defined by loose-fitting, layered silhouettes, earthy tones, fringe, and intricate patterns like lace, florals, and paisleys, often paired with accessories made of leather, wood, or semi-precious stones. But, behind this seemingly carefree look is a fraught history. The term bohemian originated in 15th-century France, used to describe the nomadic Romani communities who were (incorrectly) thought to have migrated from the region of Bohemia in what is now the Czech Republic. The Romani people faced severe discrimination, marginalization, and impoverishment; their way of life was not whimsical or idyllic but shaped by exclusion and hardship. The problem with the boho-chic trend, then, is that it romanticizes a lifestyle born from oppression, turning it into an aesthetic detached from its history. As the trend has evolved and migrated, it has also absorbed elements from other marginalized cultures, such as turquoise jewelry and feather motifs from Native American traditions, especially within music festival culture. Yet the people wearing these looks often have little understanding of the significance behind the symbols they adopt, which reinforces a pattern of taking without context, acknowledgment, or respect.

By contrast, cultural appreciation is engaging with another culture’s aesthetics with respect, acknowledgement, and context, ideally in collaboration and with benefit to the source community from which the inspiration came. In the best cases, fashion becomes a site of inclusion of underrepresented designers participating in cultural exchange that supports them rather than brands claiming their heritage as their own at the expense of the community. 

One clear marker of inclusive fashion is representation: seeing designers, models, and creative directors from diverse backgrounds. Another marker is transparency over production. Are designers credited? Are profits shared? Are narratives centred on lived experience rather than a flattened, generalized “exotic” reference? Moreover, appreciation also preserves traditions that might otherwise fade under industrialized mass production. When artists are directly involved in design and manufacturing, their craft is kept alive within each piece. Designers who consciously center cultural heritage help sustain local economies while showcasing their traditions, which otherwise may be unknown on a global platform.

Fashion has important potential to be a bridge across cultures, for style to be shared rather than taken. When done well, borrowing motifs from a different culture can raise awareness, celebrate diversity, and enrich our wardrobes in meaningful ways. But, there is also a real risk. Seeing one’s own history on runways can instill a major sense of pride, but only when credit is given and the original artists are supported. When cultural symbols are transformed into disposable trends, when the original communities aren’t acknowledged or compensated, and when nuance is flattened, communities feel like their history was stolen. 

 As consumers, it is our duty to talk about where our trends come from and recognize that appropriation in fashion is not acceptable. Culture and fashion go hand in hand, and the world is richer for this collaboration on a multitude of levels. Coming from a multicultural background, I know just how important this representation is when done correctly and with respect. Seeing pieces that resonate with the clothing worn by my ancestors, but with a modern twist, makes me excited to wear them and fills me with a sense of pride. I do not feel that when I see a piece from a big brand or fast fashion company that fails to give credit. Fast fashion and larger designers can sadly dilute the meaning and, most of the time, fail to give any credit where credit is due. Instead, I may opt for pieces from a small designer on Etsy or in local markets where I know each piece was made with love and in honor of tradition. 

To me, the question isn’t simply “Is this aesthetic?” The question is: “Who created it? What does it mean? Who benefits?” When we begin to unpack these questions, we will be able to see all of the beautiful stories woven within the fabric of each piece of clothing we adorn ourselves in.