The material innovations shaping Rimzim Dadu’s vision of Indian fashion

People think it’s an obvious downtime once you are done with fashion week or any show for that matter, but it’s the complete opposite,” quips designer Rimzim Dadu, as she pulls a chair upholstered in her signature steel wire textile to sit. “You get into the logistics of everything, have to cost it, and make sure it reaches all your stores.” And for Dadu, it’s a colossal challenge in particular, as her material experimentations don’t follow the traditional cut and-sew mandate. “Additionally, training our retail team adequately is of utmost importance, because we, literally the design team here, just sit and work in a vacuum,” she laughs. The collection in question, Inlae, reimagines the traditional Mughal craftsmanship of inlay and stone-setting through mother-of-pearl at the heart of material innovation.

Individually cut and buffed pieces of mother-of pearl are laid out precisely on a large wooden table, and there’s an artisan busy embedding it, almost meditatively, on what appears to be a lehenga made out of a metallic textile, as we arrive at Dadu’s atelier in Noida. The designer, caught in the middle of a weekday rush in August, is unhurried when it comes to talking about her design interventions, team, and fashion with intent. It’s almost like the white-washed walls, minimalistic interiors, potted plants, and framed swatches—from The Failed Triumphs collection acknowledging the experiments that didn’t work out in the larger scheme of things (a part of the designer’s larger exhibit at KNMA in 2022, titled Rite of Passage)—are intentional to balance the inner workings of a thought chamber.

For Dadu, what started in 2007 as a fashion graduate from Pearl Academy in Delhi who had applied to Lakme¯ Fashion Week’s then debut initiative, GenNext, has unfolded in multiple ways—through learnings, unlearnings, and above all, by staying true to the commitment to surface engineering. “For the longest time, I didn’t care how much money I made or didn’t. It has been a journey of that little kid out of college who didn’t want to put a price tag on her ‘art’.” Understanding the business and especially the audience was no small feat. Her now-signature cording technique with industrial materials like steel was an alien concept and, more often than not, regarded as too avant-garde for Indian fashion buyers. People had all sorts of questions: This is so structured, who’s going to wear it? Who’s going to wear metals as clothes? “I remember these multi-designer stores back then would take my short dress and suggest turning it into a CKD (Completely Knocked Down) kit in a churidar, kurta, and dupatta format,” she laughs. But the designer was always sure about her vision for surface texture innovation and didn’t deter from her path to be perceived as ‘palatable’.

It elaborates on the designer’s stance on multi-retail stores, an otherwise successful business model for young and established designers alike; having associated only with Pernia’s Pop-up Shop, she has shied away from others at large. “Multi-designer boutiques would always pick up the safest things to sell, which would make sense for them. But I’ve always felt that’s not the true representation of my brand.” A Rimzim Dadu rack with ten safe pieces won’t justify the years invested in design solutions. “I don’t think the multi-designer boutiques, at least then, were ready to make the sort of investment in pieces that they felt were a hit or a miss. Or somebody might not even pick it up. It also involves educating the staff—a metal sari has to be draped a certain way.”

It’s the measured moves to expand the scope of craftsmanship with technology-oriented solutions that have led Dadu to build a widely lauded brand over the years. The metal sari worn by Sonam Kapoor in 2016 at Cannes which involved hammering down stainless steel into fine wires and painstakingly sewing them on textile; the silicone jamdani sari created for Devi Art Foundation that required trial and errors on a makeshift loom; leather corded patola skirt—a permanent display at the Victoria & Albert Museum in London; introduction of zardozi on metal for her couture debut in 2024; a metallic sari installation in collaboration with Cartier for the 100-year celebration of Trinity; and the recent experiments with mother-of-pearl—she has been consistently frontlining material experimentations.

 

A designer thrives on being recognised by their signature. But there’s always this constant push-and-pull that Dadu points out. “Let’s say developing the steel-wire textiles took years of work to perfect. I can’t just throw it away three or four seasons later. And there’s always the question of sustainability in design per se. Somebody who bought the metal sari in 2016 should not feel that it’s outdated now.” Consistency is directly related to sustainability from the design point of view, to give a person who’s invested in that piece value for money. Striking ‘that’ balance is imperative for her.

Dadu has never been a fan of tags; rather, she consciously refrains from them. Case in point: her India Couture Week debut two years back, despite pushing the boundaries of conventional prêt from the very beginning. “I can’t make that [prêt or couture] distinction. In fact, the Shape of Becoming collection, ideally a prêt line, involved technicalities and details of couture. And when we sat down to do the costings, my core team was worried and asked for ‘prêt-like’ options. I genuinely tried, but this is what [couture techniques] comes naturally to us. It’s very difficult for us to make traditional ready-to-wear.” 

 

Her design process relies heavily on R&D and involves a fair amount of back-and-forth. It could involve making swatches and sketches, replicating ideas on slightly larger formats or textiles to assess consistency in shape and form, and several attempts to perfect it. “We can never have a collection sketched out and start producing it. It’s always done in micro steps. For instance, the silicone jamdani sari took almost two years to make as the initial version contracted as soon as the woven textile came out of the loom, and we had to do it all over again.” The key is to adapt faster and constantly solve design challenges. “A lot of times I tell my team that it has become a math problem where, say, a five-inch grid has to be three at the waist. It’s essentially a lot of problem-solving skills.” But for Indian karigars, who are often well-versed with traditional materials, textiles, and craft techniques, how do these extreme experiments land? I ask. “They don’t have apprehensions about upskilling. Rather, if I tell them we will keep things simple, they laugh about it. Some of them have been with me for 10, 12, and even 15 years. As I’ve grown, they’ve also grown with me,” she admits readily. There are times when they come up with technical solutions when the design team struggles to give form to an idea, I am told.

 

 

 

With each passing year and collection, Dadu has carefully widened her artistic horizons—from a prominent accessories line including bags, belts, and shoes to a dedicated menswear category, an e-commerce website, and retail expansions in Delhi and Hyderabad. Retail experience, in her words, “is the first touchpoint for consumers and an opportunity for you to transport them to your world. Spaces should be able to ignite an emotion that always stays with the person.” And, as for her plans, “A lot is happening, actually,” she pauses and continues, “We’re opening a new flagship in Mehrauli in about two months. The metal sari has completed ten years. Next year, the brand will turn 20; we have our hands full.” Having sold more than 3,000 saris, Dadu fondly recalls how the first bride came up to her that same year, asking the designer to convince her family about the garment. Created in 2016 as a one-off editorial piece and pushing the brand to a meteoric rise, is ‘the’ sari emblematic of ‘India modern’ in fashion, as she has been consistently enduring craft traditions into a contemporary language? I ask. “There’s no one aesthetic that defines India. It can be a single sari, a modern Banarasi or patola; it could be metal crafts or bandhanis. It can also be the richest of silks. But yes, I do feel that the world needs to see it, and it’s not about seeking external validation. If it can bring better trade opportunities and revenue to India, and its artisans, why not?” Dadu asks rhetorically.

This article originally appeared in Harper's Bazaar India's Aug - Sept 2026 print issue.

Image credits: Tongpangnuba Longchari

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