When Christmas Looks Like Christmas, Why Must Diwali Look Like a Funeral?
There was a time when fashion advertising was about making you want to look at the clothes. The models were beautiful, the clothes were beautifully presented, and there was an unmistakable sense of occasion.
Internationally, Cindy Crawford, Linda Evangelista, Naomi Campbell and Christy Turlington represented an ideal of beauty that was confident, glamorous and larger than life. India, too, had its own generation of supermodels: Mehr Jesia, Madhu Sapre, Noyonika Chatterjee, Sheetal Mallar, Shyamoli Verma and Ujjwala Raut.
Each had a distinctive face, personality and presence.
A model could be dramatic, playful, sensual, mischievous or even imperious. But she was rarely required to look as though she had just received some devastating personal news.
Somewhere along the way, that changed.
Today, increasingly, we are presented with models who look bored, disinterested, vaguely irritated, slouched, pigeon-toed and quite possibly wishing they were anywhere but in front of the camera.
This is not entirely accidental. It has a history.
The origins of this aesthetic can be traced to the early 1990s, when fashion photography began rebelling against the glossy, hyper-polished glamour of the preceding decade. Then came grunge.
Influenced by alternative music, youth culture and anti-establishment expression, a new generation of photographers began challenging the conventions of fashion imagery. Among them was British photographer Corinne Day, whose photographs of a young Kate Moss became emblematic of this shift.
Day's photographs were raw, unpolished and deliberately removed from the familiar world of luxury fashion. Elaborate sets and immaculate styling gave way to shabby apartments, ordinary clothes, harsh lighting and models who seemed almost unaware of the camera.
Her 1993 photographs of Kate Moss for British Vogue became particularly controversial. Moss appeared thin, vulnerable, dishevelled and strangely disengaged. The imagery became associated with what was subsequently termed heroin chic.
A distinction is important here.
Kate Moss became the face of the aesthetic; that did not mean she was herself a heroin addict. The controversy concerned the imagery and what it appeared to romanticise.
Photographers such as David Sims and Juergen Teller further developed this visual vocabulary. The intention was to challenge artificial perfection and make fashion look real, intimate, spontaneous and sometimes uncomfortable.
There was an artistic proposition behind it.
Fashion could be beautiful without being conventionally glamorous. A photograph could communicate alienation, vulnerability or indifference. And, importantly, it was different.
The fashion industry, always rather adept at turning rebellion into commerce, quickly recognised its potential. What began as an alternative aesthetic was absorbed by mainstream magazines and luxury brands. Calvin Klein, among others, helped bring the look to a much wider audience.
By 1997, the controversy had become so pronounced that even President Bill Clinton publicly criticised the fashion industry's apparent romanticisation of drug culture.
But the larger change had already taken place.
The idea that a model did not need to smile, engage with the viewer or even appear particularly interested in the clothes had entered mainstream fashion imagery.
Over subsequent decades, the detached, expressionless model became a recognisable fashion convention. The blank stare became sophisticated. The slouch became an attitude. Looking uncomfortable became a statement. Looking as though one had made no effort became the ultimate expression of effortless chic.
There was, however, a distinction between the original photographic movement and what followed. The former had an identifiable artistic purpose. The latter increasingly became a recognisable advertising formula.
In recent years, luxury fashion campaigns have embraced deliberately awkward postures, hunched shoulders, contorted limbs and models who appear to be negotiating some private physical inconvenience.
The justification is that imperfection and apparent indifference offer a refreshing counterpoint to the artificial perfection of digital imagery and AI-generated models.
There is an argument to be made for that.
When everybody is trying to look beautiful, looking different can help a brand stand out.
Fair enough.
But there is a difference between being unconventional and being incompetent. Between looking effortlessly stylish and looking thoroughly uninterested. Between a carefully constructed editorial image and a model who appears to have been told that the less she engages with the clothes, the more fashionable she will look.
Which brings me to the Indian interpretation of this trend.
We have a peculiar talent for adopting something from elsewhere, stripping it of its original context and reproducing its most superficial characteristics with great enthusiasm.
And nowhere is this more apparent than in some of our festive fashion campaigns.
Consider what we are selling. Sarees, lehengas, silks, brocades, intricate embroidery, craftsmanship, colour and textiles that carry centuries of tradition. Clothing designed for celebrations, weddings, festivals, family gatherings and occasions intrinsically associated with joy.
Our festivals are not occasions for quiet introspection. They are exuberant, colourful, communal and celebratory. They involve dressing up, looking one's best, welcoming people, exchanging greetings, laughter, music, food and a certain amount of perfectly acceptable vanity.
Yet some brands seem determined to present their festive collections through models who look as though they have been dragged reluctantly out of bed, dressed against their will and instructed not to make eye contact with anybody.
The shoulders are slumped. The expressions are vacant. The posture is awkward. The body language communicates anything but celebration.
And the clothes? They are almost incidental.
One wonders what exactly the creative brief was. To sell festive clothing or to recreate a particularly depressing afternoon in a fashion photographer's studio?
When Christmas is allowed to look like Christmas, why must Diwali look like a funeral?
There is an interesting comparison to be made here.
Western fashion and advertising houses are hardly strangers to sombre, minimalist or unconventional imagery. Brands such as Burberry, Gucci, Chloé and Ralph Lauren have experimented with muted palettes, cinematic lighting, understated styling and serious expressions in their festive campaigns.
But look more closely at how they approach Christmas.
Burberry's Close Your Eyes and Think of Christmas campaign was eccentric and distinctly British, but rooted in recognisable Christmas rituals: family, food, travel, reunions and togetherness. Ralph Lauren repeatedly builds its Christmas imagery around beautifully dressed families, decorated homes, Christmas trees and the warmth of shared celebrations. Gucci, too, has explored theatrical and unconventional interpretations while retaining the spirit of the occasion.
The visual language may vary. The lighting may be subdued, the styling experimental and the photography decidedly editorial. But the occasion is not lost in the process.
There is an understanding that Christmas is a celebration.
Even when photographed in an understated manner, it remains recognisably festive.
And then we come to Diwali.
One of India's most important festivals, Diwali is an occasion of light, colour, renewal, dressing up, family gatherings, hospitality and joy. It has a visual vocabulary that is quite extraordinary: lamps, rangolis, flowers, beautifully dressed people, illuminated homes, vibrant textiles and the unmistakable warmth of celebration.
Yet some of our advertising campaigns seem determined to strip it of precisely these qualities.
Instead of conveying the anticipation and exuberance of the festival, we are offered models with vacant expressions, drooping shoulders, awkward postures and an air of profound disinterest. Magnificent festive clothing is displayed on people who look as though they have been summoned to attend an event they would much rather avoid.
The irony is difficult to miss.
Western advertising agencies can experiment with the mood and treatment of Christmas without losing sight of what Christmas represents.
We, meanwhile, seem to have confused looking internationally fashionable with looking thoroughly miserable on Diwali.
This is not an argument against contemporary fashion photography or artistic experimentation. It is an argument for understanding the cultural context in which one is working.
A creative director selling a Christmas collection understands that the clothes must belong to the occasion. Why should the same intelligence not apply to Diwali?
We have borrowed the aesthetic but discarded the emotion. We have imitated the pose but forgotten the purpose.
But there is a more fundamental problem here.
Fashion advertising is, after all, advertising. Its primary purpose is to make the consumer want the product. When the model's contorted posture, vacant expression and carefully cultivated indifference become more conspicuous than the garment, something has gone wrong.
A magnificent Banarasi silk, a beautifully embroidered lehenga or a festive saree should command attention. The model should bring the garment alive, not compete with it through an affected pose or an expression of studied indifference.
The original movement that transformed fashion photography was about challenging convention and developing a distinctive visual language. It required observation, artistic instinct and an understanding of the relationship between the subject, the clothes and the photograph.
What we are often seeing today is imitation without comprehension.
Someone has noticed that international luxury brands are using disinterested models, concluded that this must be fashionable and decided to reproduce the look.
But context matters.
A model in a minimalist black dress, photographed in an austere setting with a deliberately detached expression, might communicate a particular aesthetic.
A model wearing a magnificent festive silk saree, looking morose and slouching as though she has just been informed that the festivities have been cancelled, communicates something quite different.
It is not edgy. It is not sophisticated. It is simply incongruous.
There is nothing wrong with experimentation.
Nor must every model smile mechanically into the camera or every Indian fashion campaign be trapped in a perpetual calendar of conventional festive imagery.
But creativity requires an understanding of what one is trying to communicate. It requires distinguishing between an aesthetic and its superficial mannerisms.
Perhaps that is the larger problem with our advertising today.
We are so preoccupied with appearing international, contemporary and fashionable that we sometimes forget to ask whether the imagery makes any sense in the first place.
There is a difference between borrowing an idea and understanding it.
The former requires observation. The latter requires intelligence.
And to mimic something successfully, one needs at least a little of both.
Disclaimer: All images are sourced from the internet and used purely for illustrative purposes. They have no commercial intent or value. Copyright, where applicable, remains with the respective owners.
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