Mocked, then monetised: My gripe with ‘cultural references’ in fashion and beauty
Photography by Bobby Clark
Words by Stephanie Simons
“You don’t get to wear the beauty if you ignore the burden.”
On Sundays, my mum would warm coconut oil and massage it through my scalp – part ritual, part love language. On Mondays, I’d walk into school, hoping my oiled hair went unnoticed. It never did. “Greasy”, they’d say. That sting of being different, of feeling ‘othered’, followed me for years.
Now, I’m a mother myself, watching that same oiling ritual, repackaged as a ‘miracle treatment’, having a moment on TikTok. Salon giants and influencer-driven brands are touting expensive growth elixirs and oils, marketing the practice as something new, when in fact, it’s been around for centuries.
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As someone who grew up Fijian Indian in suburban Australia, I know what it feels like to be mocked for your culture, only to later see it paraded, stripped of meaning and disconnected from its roots.
It’s a story that’s all too familiar. Practices I was once taught to feel ashamed of, like hair oiling, threading, turmeric masks and kajal, are now ‘luxury beauty staples’. They’ve been rebranded with sleek packaging and emptied of their cultural context. The glow-up might be real, but the credit is rarely there.
I still remember the dread of Free Dress Day. The things that made me who I am – my bangles, my braids – were suddenly too loud, too much, too other. Now, those same accessories appear in glossy campaigns selling ‘boho chic’, and the braid I was once teased for is everywhere on the red carpet. It’s not the admiration that stings. It’s the absence of context, of credit, of care.
From runway to retail, fashion has a long history of borrowing from the Global South, repurposing heritage as trends, while leaving its origin stories untold. Wearing the look without carrying the history isn’t ‘homage’, it’s cultural erasure dressed up in aesthetics.
But it doesn’t have to be this way. Designers like Stella Jean and Prabal Gurung show us how fashion can be both culturally rich and respectful. Jean, who blends her Haitian and Italian heritage, works directly with artisans from Haiti and the Caribbean to create collections that honour their craftsmanship and history. She not only celebrates culture but also provides a platform for marginalised communities to be seen and paid for their expertise.
Similarly, Prabal Gurung, who hails from Nepal, consistently uses his platform to highlight South Asian culture. His collaborations with Nepalese artisans ensure that their work is credited and recognised in the global fashion industry. Gurung’s collections do more than pay lip service to cultural inspiration; they actively engage with and uplift the communities he draws from.
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These examples show that cultural appreciation in fashion is possible. By ensuring credit, providing fair compensation and fostering genuine partnerships, designers like Jean and Gurung are leading the charge in creating fashion that respects the cultures it celebrates.
But these are the exceptions, not the rule. Too often, sacred garments become festival costumes, centuries-old beauty rituals get dubbed TikTok trends and our style is rebranded, but our stories left behind. That’s not celebration, that’s consumption.
You don’t get to wear the beauty if you ignore the burden. If you’re celebrating the aesthetics of a culture but not listening to its people, that’s not tribute. It’s appropriation. Don’t call it ‘inspired’ if you don’t name the source, because credit is the bare minimum. Compensation is better and collaboration is best.
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And that’s the part that sits heavy for me. I love fashion. It’s my voice, it’s how I express what I can’t always say out loud. I’ve built a career in marketing, often working at the intersection of creativity, culture and image. But even now, I rarely see people who look like me in the brand strategy meetings, campaign shoots, or the front row. That absence is jarring. It makes me wonder who the industry is really built for and who’s just being styled into the narrative without being invited to write it.
If you work in fashion, ask yourself: where’s the credit? Where’s the collaboration? Where are the South Asian, Middle Eastern and African creatives in the room, not just mood-boarded, but making decisions? We don’t need performative respect, we need structural inclusion.
If you’re thinking, ‘What if I don’t know enough about a culture to engage with it respectfully? What if I unintentionally offend someone?’ These are valid questions and I want to acknowledge that. The truth is, we’re all learning. What matters is the willingness to listen, learn and grow.
If you’re unsure about something, ask questions. Educate yourself. Look to creators and storytellers from the cultures you draw from, and give them the space to lead the conversation. Engaging in cultural exchange and appreciation should never feel like a transaction; it’s about mutual respect and understanding. If you’re in doubt, step back, listen, and give credit where it’s due.
Fashion isn’t just about wearing clothes, it’s about what those clothes represent. So, before you slip into that ‘boho’ dress or try the latest TikTok-viral beauty treatment, think about who that story belongs to, and whether you’re truly honouring it.
Don’t be afraid to make mistakes but make sure they’re mistakes of learning, not ignorance. The more we open ourselves to real conversations, the more we’ll collectively foster an environment of understanding, where everyone’s culture is treated with respect, love and care.
We are more than your inspiration boards. We are stylists, strategists and storytellers, and we’re done being erased from the story. It’s time for us to take the lead in telling our own narratives, because if you wouldn’t survive in the skin, you shouldn’t profit from the style.
For more about cultural appropriation in fashion, try this.
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